
Cassandra Spellman contemplates Christ’s Real Presence in the Eucharist—and how we can be really present to Him in return.
Our 4-year-old recently celebrated his birthday. We asked him beforehand for some ideas of gifts that he would like to receive. He responded, “I want a real garbage truck. I want a real kitchen so I can cook real food. And I want a real tractor.”
Now, our son already has toy garbage trucks and tractors, as well as a beautiful play kitchen stocked with plastic food. Despite this, however, he yearned for something more. The toys look authentic, but in his 4-year-old wisdom he discerned that they are models and replicas of something that is even more desirable: something real.
It reminds me of Pinocchio, the wooden puppet who seems very much alive. After all, he can dance, talk, walk, and experience emotions. Nevertheless, even though he has these characteristics, this isn’t enough. He yearns to be a real boy.
There’s the restaurant chain “Real Seafood,” which boasts the freshest (most real) fish. A knock-off Louis Vuitton bag may be much more friendly for your pocketbook, but it’s just not the same without the iconic monogrammed “LV” logo. A cubic zirconia is synthetically manufactured in a lab. As such, it is significantly cheaper than a diamond. But we value a diamond so much more because it is real: a diamond is a natural gemstone.
We use phrases like “get real,” “real world,” “keeping it real,” and “the real deal.”
This grappling for something real seems to reflect something deep within the human heart. It’s not enough to have a knock-off, pretense, or imitation; we desire what is genuine and true—something of value that isn’t easily replaced.
Have you ever had a conversation with someone where you could just sense the person wasn’t being real with you? I have struggled with a particular relationship like that in my life. Whenever I speak with this person, we talk about matters of little significance, such as the weather. Yet there lies between us layers of hurt and emotions left unsaid. That kind of conversation just doesn’t feel real. We are present to each other but not really.
And then there is another kind of presence: a Real Presence.
Jesus, through the Eucharist, is real. Jesus knows we want something real so He comes Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity to be there in the fullest and truest sense with us. He isn’t a symbol that is just a reflection of something greater. The Eucharist isn’t a mere memorial of something more real that happened a moment in history two thousand years ago that we remember now today. At Mass, we are really there, kneeling at the foot of the cross, Jesus’s death re-presented in the same sacrifice on the altar.
As I gaze at the Eucharist as the priest elevates the sacred Host, I whisper words of adoration and love. This is real. Jesus makes Himself real to me. He gives everything of Himself, hiding nothing, pouring Himself out, making Himself—God, Creator of the universe—vulnerable in order to make Himself real.
What is my response to this Real Presence? Am I, in return, really present to Jesus?
As I receive Jesus in the Eucharist, do I open my heart and show Him what’s really there, even if it’s made ugly with sin? Maybe I pour out a jumble of words and hide behind the formulas. Perhaps my thoughts wander to what I have to do later, that person I want to catch up with after Mass, or the toddler who is asking if Mass is done yet.
Jesus wants me to be as real with Him as He is Real with me.
This means purposefully genuflecting with meaning and purpose while entering and exiting the church. It means making the Sign of the Cross whenever I drive past a Catholic Church, knowing Who is really inside the tabernacle. It means staying present in the Presence of Jesus: focusing my attention during Mass, as much as I am able, and resisting distractions. If possible, I can drop to my knees to receive the Eucharist, knowing that the King of all Kings is here before me and I am but an unworthy servant. I can visit a church during the day, dropping by to say, “Hello” to the Friend who, unbelievable as it seems, yearns for my presence. I can give Jesus everything present in my heart: all my hurts and all my hopes.
When we allow Jesus truly present in the Eucharist to penetrate our souls by being truly present to His grace, we can transform like Pinocchio did. We become more than mere ordinary men and women: we become saints.
And this is the real deal.
Copyright 2023 Cassandra Spellman
Images: (top, 2 bottom photos) copyright Holy Cross Family Ministries, all rights reserved; all others Canva
About the Author

Cassandra Spellman
Cassandra Spellman is grateful to God for the gift of her Catholic faith and her vocation as wife and mother. She and her husband wrote The Shadows of Freedom series, a Christian dystopian trilogy. They blog about faith, marriage, philosophy, and literature at SpellmanBooks.com.
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