Corpus Christi: A Cross in the Darkness

Supernatural.

When we entertain the idea of a supernatural occurrence, the modern skeptic comes out in us all.

Doubt is almost the first thought in the brain when someone tells of their supernatural experience. Don’t believe me? Bring up the topic of ghost experiences. The face is always telling. More times than not, your mind will say that whatever story they are giving is baloney.

The etymology of the word supernatural is simple enough. It refers to something beyond nature- something that transcends the ordinary processes by which we understand the world. It exists outside our ability to fully explain.

We live in an age that prizes explanation. We have access to more information than any generation in human history. We can identify stars, sequence genomes, communicate across continents in seconds, and carry vast libraries in our pockets. We have become accustomed to believing that if something is real, it must also be explainable.

Why do we do this?

Postmodernism has turned the possible into coincidence.

To be clear, skepticism is not always a bad thing. Human beings are capable of exaggeration, deception, wishful thinking, and error. Discernment matters. The Christian tradition itself has always insisted upon careful discernment when evaluating extraordinary claims. The Church herself approaches extraordinary claims with caution. Apparitions are investigated. Miracles are scrutinized. Discernment is considered a virtue.

But discernment is not the same thing as dismissal.

The Christian worldview has always held that reality consists of more than matter alone. Angels and demons, grace and providence, miracles and mysteries are not medieval embarrassments to be explained away. They are part of a universe created by a God who is not limited by the laws He established.
Perhaps the greatest challenge for modern people is not that we believe too much, but that we struggle to leave room for mystery. We have become so accustomed to asking how something happened that we rarely pause to ask whether something beyond ourselves might also be at work.

Perhaps the greater danger today is not believing too much but believing too little. Not that every strange experience is supernatural. But that we have become reluctant to admit that any experience could be.

Today is Corpus Christi, the feast on which Catholics celebrate the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist.

It is a feast built upon a mystery.

The belief that Christ becomes truly present under the appearance of bread and wine has always required faith. It asks us to accept that reality is larger than what our senses alone can perceive.

I was not expecting anything unusual when I went to Mass.

I certainly was not looking for a supernatural experience.

Yet after receiving the Eucharist, something happened that I will never forget.

I received the Eucharist and returned to my pew. Kneeling, I began to pray the Anima Christi, as I often do after Communion.

When I finished, I closed my eyes and waited quietly while Father and the deacon continued distributing the Eucharist. After a few moments, I opened my eyes to see where the Communion line was. It had finished. Father was completing the final purifications.

I closed my eyes again.

At first there was only the normal darkness.

Then, gradually, something began to appear into vision.

A small white cross emerged from the darkness and slowly came into focus. It was as though it were moving toward me, becoming clearer and more distinct with each passing moment. The lines were perfectly straight, impossibly white, unlike anything I had ever seen with my eyes closed before.

The experience startled me enough that I immediately opened my eyes.

My first instinct was doubt, that skeptical brain I spoke about.

I looked around the church, searching for a crucifix or some object that might have caught my vision. Perhaps I had looked at something without realizing it. Perhaps there was a natural explanation.

But I could not recreate what I had seen.

As I sat there, tears began to form. I wept.

I closed my eyes once more. Honestly, I was in a silent panic.

This time, instead of a single cross emerging from the darkness, I saw many.

Tiny white crosses appeared, one by one. Some were upright. Some were sideways. Some appeared at different angles. Yet they all possessed the same brilliant whiteness and perfect clarity as the first.

I remember having the overwhelming sense, not through words, but through intuition, that this was not something I was creating.

I cannot prove what happened.

I cannot explain it fully.

I only know that in that moment, immediately after receiving the Eucharist on Corpus Christi, I experienced something that felt profoundly real.

Perhaps there is a natural explanation.

Perhaps there is not.

The Church wisely teaches discernment regarding extraordinary experiences, and I have no desire to make claims beyond what I experienced.

But I do know this:
The experience drew my attention not to myself, but to Christ.
Not to spectacle, but to the Cross.
Not to curiosity, but to worship.

Whatever happened in those moments, I left Mass with a deeper awareness of the mystery I had just received, the One whose sacrifice is made present at every altar and whose Cross remains at the center of the Christian life.

The skeptic in me still has questions.

Perhaps there is an explanation I have not considered. Perhaps there are things about the human mind and vision that I do not fully understand. I am comfortable admitting that.

But I am equally unwilling to dismiss an experience simply because I cannot explain it.

The Christian faith has always occupied that tension. It does not ask us to abandon reason. It asks us to recognize that reason has limits.

After all, the Eucharist itself confronts us with a mystery that cannot be reduced to what our eyes perceive. Every Mass requires us to accept that reality is larger than our senses, larger than our categories, and larger than our explanations.

I cannot tell you with certainty what happened.

I can only tell you what I saw.

A cross emerging from darkness.

Then many crosses.

Brilliant white. Perfectly clear. The straightest lines that I have ever seen.

And in that moment, immediately after receiving Christ in the Eucharist on Corpus Christi, I was reminded that the world may be far more mysterious than we often allow ourselves to believe.

Perhaps that is the true lesson.

Not that every unusual experience is supernatural.

But that the supernatural remains possible.

And sometimes, when we least expect it, God reminds us that He is still present.

Father's homily challenged us to look beyond.

Beyond what is visible.

Beyond what is easily explained.

Beyond what seems possible.

Perhaps that is what I was reminded of today.

The Eucharist itself asks us to look beyond appearances.

And sometimes, when we do, we catch a glimpse of a reality far greater than our own.