Sermon by Father David Beresford
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Many years ago I lived in England, in the southern seaside town of Brighton. I worshipped at the Anglo-Catholic church of St. Michael and All Angels, a church very similar in appearance and style to the Church of the Good Shepherd. The main difference was size—St. Michael’s was a grand church of gilt and marble, nicknamed the “cathedral of the back streets.” It was built during the Victorian era, when the Anglo-Catholic movement was gathering steam and English church architects were reimagining local churches in the Italian style.
The church is located in a residential neighborhood where the very wealthy rub shoulders with those who are less well off. One day, a group of squatters moved into an empty apartment a few doors up the road, in St Michael’s Place. As far as we could tell, none of them worked for a living; with their wild, unkempt appearance, it is unlikely that any employer would have taken them on. Despite being out of work, they had money and used it to buy drugs. They stayed in the apartment for several weeks, until something happened that brought their occupation to an end.
But first, we got to meet them, or at least, one of them: a man named Tex. You don’t need me to tell you that people in England named Tex are rare indeed. He was tall, in his twenties and with a mohican—he definitely stood out from the crowd. We never found out his last name. He came to church one day to see what we were up to and we invited him to stay for a Eucharist. When it came to receiving the sacrament he held out his hand. In those days, you needed to be confirmed before receiving holy communion. However, the time to ask that question was not then. I guess we were glad that he was there in the first place. So, Tex received the sacrament of our Lord’s body and blood.
Not long after his visit, we heard some awful news. Tex had died of an overdose. When our parish priest heard the news, he visited the squat and offered to celebrate a Requiem Funeral Mass for Tex. To our surprise, Tex’s friends readily agreed. When I asked my parish priest about it later, he quoted those words we heard in today’s gospel: “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day.” Because of that one visit to us, when Tex received the sacrament, he was entitled to the very best the church could offer. So he got the full works—a requiem Mass done in the best High Church style. After the funeral the squatters left and we never saw them again.
The memory of Tex came to me as I was reading today’s gospel. It is the reading for the feast of Corpus Christi, which we are celebrating today. Corpus, meaning body, and Christi, meaning Christ—today is about Christ’s Body.
At Easter we celebrated Christ’s resurrection, and then more recently his Ascension into heaven. At Corpus Christi we acknowledge that, although the human Christ has ascended into heaven, we continue to receive him sacramentally in the celebration of the Eucharist.
My parish priest’s generous offer to celebrate a requiem mass for Tex mirrors the generosity of God in providing the memorial of our Lord’s body and blood. It is one we receive in a spirit of repentance and supplication. Indeed, our preparation involves a confession and a request for mercy, as we ask God to forgive our sins. Suitably penitent, we come to the Eucharist simply because Jesus has commanded us to do so.
In the letter of St Paul to the Corinthians—among the earliest of all Christian writings—we hear Jesus’ words that were shared by the disciples and recorded by Paul. He says:
Jesus took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way he took the cup also, after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.”
The new covenant, or new testament, brings about a new and permanent change in our relationship with God. In the Old Testament, fealty and proximity to God came via the Law: by following the ordinances and commandments of God, we would walk the path of righteousness. And that is still true. However, Jesus draws us more deeply into that relationship - indeed, he makes it personal. He invites us into a new covenant, where the way to goodness and life is to follow him. But we are not merely walking in his footsteps; we are learning to see with his eyes and touch with his hands and speak in his Spirit.
In the celebration of the Mass we are entering another dimension of reality. We receive both material and spiritual nourishment in the sacrament of Christ’s body and blood. This is food for our journey, the meal that fortifies us and unites us to Christ. In this offering of bread and wine—now body and blood—we share in Christ’s presence and ourselves become transformed into Christ’s likeness.
How far you achieve that likeness depends on you. Being in relationship with Christ makes demands on you, as it should. It means taking responsibility for your life by adopting habits and practices that align more closely with God’s will for you. Here are some suggestions.
First, make attendance at Mass a regular discipline in your life. Second, accept a discipline of prayer—for the Church, for the world, for others and for yourself. Third, learn humility and practice it. Fourth, be the gospel to others in the way you live and in who you are - let others see the transforming and life-giving power of Christ in your own life.
Above all, be thankful. The original meaning of the word “Eucharist” is Thanksgiving. Today we come to share in the body and blood of Christ and become one in him and one another. He is our spiritual host, broken and offered to us that we may live.
The Feast of Corpus Chrsti
June 7, 2026