The world is more than meets the eye — and so is the Eucharist. Both invite us to wonder and expand our understanding of reality. Yet beyond allegorical similarity, they are metaphysically and intrinsically linked, drawing us into deeper communion and love with God and Creation.
Our senses have limitations. Most would agree with that statement. As Plato argued in The Allegory of the Cave millennia ago, even our perception of reality may not always align with the truth.
Nevertheless, humanity has ceaselessly sought to study, analyze, and comprehend the natural world. And with each scientific advancement — mathematical, theoretical, and technological — we’ve uncovered realities once invisible. The Greek philosopher Democritus (460–370 B.C.) proposed the existence of atoms, but it wasn’t until thousands of years later that the electron microscope confirmed what could only be imagined before.
In much the same way, the Eucharist is far more than bread and wine. At the moment of consecration during Mass, these elements are transubstantiated: they retain their appearance but become the body, blood, soul, and divinity of Jesus Christ.
This transformation is not metaphorical but real. The Eucharist, as the sacramental presence of Christ, has a “cosmic character,” as St. John Paul II wrote in Ecclesia de Eucharistia (2003), because it “unites heaven and earth,” and “embraces and permeates all creation,” the partners that are necessary for the greatest Love.
The Catechism of the Catholic Church affirms this divine cosmology:
“To the offering of Christ are united not only the members still here on earth, but also those already in the glory of heaven. In communion with and commemorating the Blessed Virgin Mary and all the saints, the Church offers the Eucharistic sacrifice. In the Eucharist, the Church is as it were at the foot of the Cross with Mary, united with the offering and intercession of Christ.”
Though unseen by the naked eye, the faithful proclaim belief in this invisible reality every week in the Nicene Creed — which marks its 1,700th anniversary this year — professing God as the “maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible.”
The natural and divine realms both originate from God, who is Being itself — and Love itself, as the First Letter of John proclaims. When we view creation through the lens of its divine authorship, even empirical evidence points not only to God’s existence and centrality in the cosmos, but to His eternal love. As Dante Alighieri concluded in Paradiso, after journeying through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, that Love “moves the sun and the other stars.”
Thomas Merton observed that modern “man has lost Dante’s vision” and “in so doing, he has lost the power to find meaning in this world.” This is demonstrated by atheists and agnostics who, because God is invisible, often doubt or deny His presence. In recent years, science has taken on a quasi-religious role for some. Roughly 50% of Americans believe science and religion are in conflict. Still, God remains. And so do we.
Likewise, many have questioned the truth of the Eucharist, despite its visible form. From the beginning, Christ’s teaching on the Eucharist caused division. After feeding the five thousand, Jesus was asked to “give us this bread always.” His reply was radical:
“I am the bread of life. … Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you have no life in you; he who eats My flesh and drinks My blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day.”
His audience murmured. Many walked away. To first-century Jews, these words were not just challenging — they were offensive, even cannibalistic. But Jesus did not back down. At the Last Supper, He declared definitively that the bread is His body and the wine is His blood.
If Jesus is God, as the Nicene Creed proclaims, then His words are not symbolic — they are truth. To deny this reality is to diminish Christ’s invitation to conversion and communion, and ultimately our intimate union with Him in the Eucharist.
As Father Mark Mary Ames notes, the Eucharist is a “humble and accessible” gift — the “creativity of love par excellence,” where Jesus gives Himself in the form of bread and wine to remain with us. Indeed, during the consecration, the faithful physically and spiritually enter into the Upper Room, which shatters the illusion of time. We are truly present at the Last Supper; and Christ is truly present to us.
Ultimately, for Catholics, the Eucharist is the sacrament of Love; and many saints have noted that this sacrament is so little loved. But, as J.R.R. Tolkien described, the Blessed Sacrament is the “one great thing to love on earth.”
However, many Protestants — and even some Catholics — consider it merely symbolic. Yet, on closer examination, several Eucharistic miracles have had a consistent AB blood type, which further disputes the symbolic conclusion. Still, despite the doubts, God continues to invite us to peer beyond the veil of the material world.
The Eucharist affords us that opportunity: it is a window into heaven, our true home, and at the prime mover of existence — the one who established the natural order. Put another way, if God is being itself, then when one adores the Blessed Sacrament, one miraculously witnesses reality itself. And reality itself is lovingly, compassionately, invitingly, staring back.
Humanity’s hubris is believing we can attain all knowledge divorced from God — a perilous delusion, which has only been amplified by modern tools like smartphones and artificial intelligence. Access to information or asking ChatGPT to write our thoughts is not the same as acquiring wisdom — or creating something true.
Instead, examining and marveling at the natural world, and adoring the Eucharist are tangible reminders of our smallness in the vastness of the cosmos and time. Both, however, present an opportunity to reflect on God’s majesty since our logic takes us only so far. And therein lies a glorious mystery, one that should be met with thanksgiving, praise, and love. After all, the quest for every Christian — and every person — is to love God; and to allow His love to penetrate the deepest interiors of our hearts and souls.
For Dante, the pilgrimage ends at God because He is where life begins — and the fulfillment of life. Every Christian — and person — is on the same quest: to come to love God, and allow His love to penetrate the deepest interiors of our hearts and souls. The Eucharist affords us this opportunity on earth to glimpse into and receive this eternal Love — and to recognize the truth St. Paul preached nearly two thousand years ago: that “faith, hope, love remain, these three; but the greatest of these is love,” since the formers’ relevancy is no longer necessary in heaven.
This realization should leave an indelible mark on the soul: that God so loved humanity He not only created the world, but continues to sustain it — and us. And that invisible reality, through the Eucharist, becomes visible at the altar, where heaven, earth, and love meet.
Andrew Fowler is the Editor of RealClearReligion. He is also the Communications Specialist at Yankee Institute and author of "The Condemned," a novella about a Catholic priest fighting off the cartel to save the residents of a small desert town (which you can find here).
