Corpus Christi

 

Several years ago I performed a Holy Union at sunrise on the beach of North Padre National Seashore.  Popular opinion has it that South Padre is the more glamorous vacation and resort spot, but once I heard the waves, felt the salt breeze on my skin, and encountered that primordial expanse of water, it did not matter whether I was at the North or South end of the island.

 

North Padre is part of Corpus Christi, and throughout the weekend I found myself struck by the meaning of the city’s name:  Body of Christ.  The family and friends of the couple were the body of Christ gathered by the sea, much like the disciples, to bear witness to a holy event:  an eight-year relationship blessed through the proclamation of vows and the exchange of rings. 

 

Later that day, there was communion on the beach.  A group of small children broke bread and offered it to the seagulls.  As I watched the birds catch their nourishment in mid-air, I heard the words of Christ, “Take, eat this is my body.”  And I heard the words that I pray Sunday after Sunday over the Corpus Christi, “make this holy food for our holy journeys.”   I thought, “may these moments, and all the ones just like them that are available to me every day, sustain me on my journey.”

 

Then there were the Pelicans.  The mother Pelican feeding her young with flesh from her own breast has long been a symbol for Christ in the church.  As I watched the Pelicans plunge into the sea to scoop up a fish for their nourishment, I was reminded of the interconnectedness of all things.  Corpus Christi, the world is Christ’s body and whatever we do to harm it or care for it has eternal consequences not only for us, but for generations to come.

 

As I lay on the beach, I observed the following:  a wheelchair specially equipped with big tires to travel the beach; a very white elderly man who was anointed with sunscreen to protect his body from burning; a bikini clad, bronze Hispanic woman whose laughter mingled with the waves.  I realized that we are we are all Corpus Christi and we come in many shapes, sizes, colors and abilities.

 

The final visual memory I have of Corpus Christi is a disturbing one.  While I sat in the airport terminal my eye caught a video monitor showing Olympic qualifying trials.  I saw female athletes whose bodies were drawn and thin, evidence of a dream gone bad.  Corpus Christi.  Our bodies are holy temples, not mere receptacles of our spirits or our dreams.  They are the means by which we flesh out Christ in the world.

 

Who would have thought such a simple trip could reveal so much.