We Will Meet Again, in the Eucharist

+JMJ+

In the liturgy, the curtain between heaven and earth is torn open, and we are taken up into a liturgy that spans the whole cosmos.

- Pope Benedict XVI, The Spirit of the Liturgy

When I say goodbye to friends, especially if I know we might be apart for a while, I often say, “See you in the Eucharist!” It’s always been a comforting habit (when I remember to say it), but now I see it as something much deeper. I’ve realized that this simple phrase encapsulates a profound truth, reminding us of how the Eucharist connects us not only with one another but also with the entire Body of Christ, both on earth and in heaven. This insight has been especially comforting amid personal loss, like the passing of loved ones such as my father. Through saints’ and theologians’ writings, I’ve learned that this sense of connection—whether with those who have passed or friends far away—is not just a feeling but a genuine reality affirmed by the Church’s teachings.

When we observe the Eucharist, we are not only united with each other here on earth, in the countless churches worldwide, but also with the saints in heaven, including our loved ones who have gone before us and been received into heavenly glory. Of course, we are ultimately united with Christ Himself: Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. This helps us understand the Church as the Mystical Body of Christ—its members united in a bond that surpasses even the closest human relationships. As close as I was to my father when he was alive, we are even closer now whenever I attend Mass or pray in Eucharistic Adoration. Just as we were united through the Eucharist when we received it on earth, we remain united in an even more powerful way in that same Eucharist. What a wondrous reality!

The most meaningful confirmation of this for me is found in St. Thérèse of Lisieux’s The Story of a Soul, where she describes her First Holy Communion. Thérèse wept with joy at receiving the Holy Eucharist, but those around her thought it was because she missed her mother and sister, who had passed away. Clarifying their assumptions, she writes, “How could my mother’s absence grieve me on my First Communion Day? As Heaven itself dwelt in my soul, in receiving a visit from Our Divine Lord, I received one from my dear mother, too. Nor was I crying on account of Pauline’s absence, for we were even more closely united than before. No, I repeat it—joy alone, a joy too deep for words, overflowed within me” (The Story of a Soul, Chapter 4).

What more could we possibly need apart from the Holy Eucharist? This reflection on mystical union reveals the vast love and generosity of Our Lord. He gives us Himself entirely, even on earth, and provides a way for us to stay united within His Body, the Church, surpassing even the limits of time and space (“What is impossible with men is possible with God,” Luke 18:27). In a truly mystical way, every time we receive the Eucharist, it strengthens the bonds of charity, which John Paul II called the “mystery of communio, a miracle of unity among human beings” (John Paul II, To the participants in the Plenary Assembly of the Pontifical Council for the Laity, November 23, 2002, §4). Our Lord—love itself, revealed in a little host—unites us, even with our departed loved ones. This teaching can bring comfort to those of us who mourn and look forward to the day we will reunite with those in heaven. In a sense, we don’t have to “wait” because the Eucharist allows us to “see” our loved ones—a love-filled spiritual vision that goes beyond human perception. This is what made St. Thérèse weep with joy, and anyone can participate in this if they choose.

Many believe that once our loved ones’ caskets are buried and the final “Amen” is said, the story ends, leaving a void until we hopefully reunite. However, thanks to the Eucharist, that’s not the whole story. God, in His infinite goodness, offers us a way to join in what Benedict XVI describes as “a liturgy that spans the whole cosmos,” where “the veil between heaven and earth is torn” and the bonds of love sustain us until that divine day when we are truly reunited—not through mediation, but in the fullness of heavenly glory, where, even as everything else has passed away, love endures.