VOICE OF THE LOGOS: REFLECTION/HOMILY FOR FRIDAY OF THE THIRD WEEK OF EASTER, YEAR 1

Food is one of the most basic necessities of life. Every living organism, from the smallest insect to the most complex human being, requires nourishment to survive, grow, and function. For humans, food not only sustains the body but also brings communities together, marks celebrations, and reflects culture and identity. Yet, beyond its physical role, food carries symbolic and spiritual meanings, especially in the biblical tradition. In the time of Jesus, this reality was no different. In first-century Palestine, food security was uncertain for many. Daily bread was earned with difficulty, and hunger was a familiar companion for the poor. Capernaum, where Jesus delivered the profound Discourse on the Eucharist in the Gospel of John was a fishing town on the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee, which thrived on trade and agriculture. It served as an economic and religious center, bustling with merchants, fishermen, and Torah teachers. The people understood the value of food deeply, especially bread and fish, their staples. The very name Capernaum (Hebrew: כְּפַר נַחוּם, Kefar Nacḥum), meaning “village of Nahum” or possibly “village of consolation,” offers an ironic backdrop to the drama of spiritual hunger. Though it was a place where Jesus taught and worked many miracles, including feeding multitudes and healing the sick, its people often missed the deeper meaning behind his actions. They sought perishable bread but resisted the call to deeper faith and lasting nourishment; and this brings us to reflect on the theme: “Beyond the Perishable Foods of the Capernaum of Today’s World.”

In light of this hunger for more than bread, today’s first reading (from Acts 9:1-20) introduces us to Saul, a man consumed not by physical hunger, but by ideological zeal. His appetite was for the destruction of the nascent Christian community. The “Sitz im Leben” (life’s setting) of this passage reflects a turbulent post-Resurrection period when the early Church was facing severe persecution. Saul’s mission to Damascus was part of an effort to extinguish what many considered a heretical sect. Yet, in the very moment of his blindness and fall, a radical inversion occurs. The persecutor becomes the penitent, and in being baptized, Saul enters into communion with the very Body he once tried to destroy. Following his conversion, we were told that for three days he was without his sight, and took neither food nor drink. Here, he sought to distance himself from perishable food in anticipation of real food, which is the Holy Eucharist. Needless to say, the Eucharistic implication of this passage is unavoidable in the sense that when Ananias laid his hand on Saul, he was consequently baptized. Here, Baptism becomes not only a rite of initiation but a gateway to the Table of the Lord. The Greek term for nourishment, trophē (τροφή), which means food or sustenance, becomes relevant here. Saul’s conversion marks a shift from the pursuit of power and violence to a longing for true spiritual sustenance. The one who formerly devoured others in hatred is now prepared to receive the Bread of Life. His hunger has changed from destructive ambition to redemptive communion, signalling the type of hunger that transcends the perishable.

In the context of our reflection, the responsorial psalm acts like a liturgical invitation to the Lord’s banquet for spiritual nourishment. In the Temple’s liturgy, perhaps at the great pilgrim feasts, Gentiles and Jews alike would have joined their voices in the ancient Hebrew word “hallel,” (praise) giving thanks and receiving God’s mercy. This psalm insists that divine nourishment is not rationed according to pedigree or moral résumé; it is a font of grace poured out for all – “O praise the Lord, all you nations, acclaim Him all you peoples…”. The psalmist’s refrain, “His faithful love endures forever,” reminds us that true sustenance comes not from what we earn but from the covenantal promise offered freely to every soul. In our own “Capernaums”, whether our neighbourhoods or our worshiping communities, this universal banquet challenges us to stretch our arms wide in welcome rather than clutching the crumbs of exclusivity.

And ultimately in the gospel reading (from John 6:52-59), the setting returns us explicitly to Capernaum, where Jesus confronts the grumbling of those who cannot comprehend the scandal of his teaching: “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.” The Sitz im Leben here is the post-feeding discourse in the synagogue of Capernaum, where expectations of political deliverance met the stark invitation to radical intimacy. The Greek words used are precise and shocking. Phagēte (φάγητε) is the aorist subjunctive of esthiō (ἐσθίω), meaning “to eat,” but later, Jesus intensifies the language using trōgō (τρώγω), which means “to chew” or “gnaw,” suggesting a concrete, physical eating of his flesh. This explains why the word used for “flesh,” is “sarx” (σάρξ), and for “blood,” haima (αἷμα), which do not allow for purely symbolic interpretation. Jesus insists that his sarx and haima are real food (alēthēs brōsis) and real drink (alēthēs posis), using the term alēthēs (ἀληθής), meaning true or genuine. Hence, in Jesus’ words: “I tell you most solemnly, if you do not eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you will not have life in you. Anyone who does eat my flesh and drink my blood has eternal life, and I shall raise him up on the last day. For my flesh is real food and my blood is real drink. He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood lives in me and I live in him…not like the bread our ancestors ate: they are dead, but anyone who eats this bread will live for ever.” This is no metaphorical gesture. He is contrasting his gift with the perishable loaves the crowd had consumed. While the Jews hungered for a messiah who would multiply bread, Jesus offers himself as the imperishable nourishment. The controversy of this discourse would scatter many of his disciples, yet it remains central to our Eucharistic faith.

Today, the “Capernaum” of our world remains obsessed with consumption. Supermarkets overflow, digital platforms are flooded with food content – ifood, UberEats, etc, and yet spiritual hunger grows. The perishable foods of modern Capernaums, whether in the form of instant gratification, material comfort, or superficial religiosity, cannot satisfy the longing planted in every heart. Christ’s call still echoes: “Do not work for food that perishes, but for food that endures for eternal life” (John 6:27). In every Eucharist, the Bread of Life is offered, not only to nourish the body but to renew the soul. Thus, the readings invite each of us to cultivate an inner appetite for what endures. In a world drowning in instant gratification, snacks, social media, self-help trends, we easily mistake fleeting comfort for lasting nourishment. The gift we call Eucharist reminds us that the true bread does more than fill; it transforms. May we leave every table hungering still for more of Christ, confident that our deepest longings find rest only in the One who feeds us with his very life

Finally, the discourse at Capernaum challenges our Eucharistic faith. Jesus does not soften his words, and neither should we dilute the radical demand of the sacrament. Receiving his flesh and blood is not just a ritual but a full participation in his life, death, and resurrection. To eat this Bread is to accept the risk of becoming broken for others, poured out in love, and misunderstood by the world. In a time when many approach the altar with minimal reflection, we are called to a deeper understanding and more conscious reception of the Real Presence. Capernaum’s mistake must not be ours: to prefer the loaves and miss the Lord.