16 Eylül 2026 · 7 dk okuma

The Eucharist and the Light of Christ: Called to Communion

Efkaristiya ve Mesih İsa’nın Işığı: Komünyona Çağrı

Anyone who has played a real-time strategy game knows “fog of war.” Your units cast a circle of light on the map. Outside that circle is darkness, but the enemy doesn’t stop existing there. Armies can gather in the dark, moving into position, and you won’t see the attack coming until it’s at your gate. The darkness doesn’t remove the threat; it just removes your ability to see it. Sin works on the soul the same way.

Our Lord Jesus Christ is the light of the world (John 8:12), and His presence in us keeps the field bright and lets us see “the map” clearly. So when it comes to sin, persistent and unrepented sins do not make God disappear, it shrinks the light we are able to receive from Him. And the dark ground doesn’t stay empty, the Enemy doesn’t need light to move. He advances exactly where we have stopped lighting up. We don’t switch God off. We let our own share of His light shrink, and something else moves into the space.

Where the Light Begins

So where does that light come from, and how do we keep it lit? Before anyone talks about staying close to God, it’s worth asking how that closeness begins in the first place. For Catholics, the answer is Baptism. Christ’s own words to His disciples were not vague: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 28:19). Baptism is not a symbolic first step in a program. It is the moment we are reborn, the moment Christ begins to live within us. Everything that follows, every other sacrament, every act of devotion, is the unfolding of a life that Baptism already started. The Eucharist does not begin that life. It feeds it. And it’s that distinction, between what starts the journey and what sustains it, that this whole piece is really about.

Scripture returns to the image of light and darkness again and again, and its language is blunt. Isaiah writes, “Your iniquities have made a separation between you and your God, and your sins have hidden his face from you so that he does not hear” (Isaiah 59:2). In Deuteronomy, God warns that when His people turn away, “I will hide my face from them” (Deuteronomy 31:17). St. Peter, quoting Psalm 34, says the same: “The face of the Lord is against those that do evil” (1 Peter 3:12). In each case, God is the grammatical subject. He hides, He turns. But the Church reads this language analogically, not literally. God doesn’t change. What these verses describe is our experience of distance from a God who never actually leaves. He is the father who runs to meet the prodigal while he is still far off. He is the God who, in St. Paul’s words, loved us “while we were yet sinners” (Romans 5:8). The distance is real. But it is never God stepping back.

Sustained by the Eucharist

So how is that closeness sustained once Baptism begins it? Through the Eucharist. Christ didn’t leave this open to interpretation. When He said, “unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you” (John 6:53), many of His own disciples left Him over it, calling the teaching too hard (John 6:60, 66). He let them walk away rather than soften it into a symbol. Because the Church holds to this Real Presence, receiving Christ lets a believer carry His light within and let it shine outward. That’s why the Eucharist sits at the center of Catholic life. It isn’t where the Christian life begins. It’s how the life Baptism started gets fed and renewed.

This is also why so many baptized Catholics live far from grace that’s already theirs. Many were never taught, or never came to believe, that the Eucharist is more than a symbol. Many go to Mass only on Easter or Christmas, or receive Communion in serious unrepented sin without going to Confession first. None of this puts them outside God’s reach. But Scripture is clear that receiving unworthily isn’t a smaller version of the gift. It’s a real danger (1 Corinthians 11:27–29). The answer isn’t to receive anyway and hope for the best. It’s Confession first, then the table.

A Hierarchy of Grace, Not of Souls

I should be honest about something else. The Church teaches a real hierarchy of grace: the Eucharist as the fullest means, others as real but less complete. That’s a hierarchy of instruments, not a ranking of souls. Christ’s warning that “many are called, but few are chosen” (Matthew 22:14) ends a parable about a wedding feast. The guest turned away isn’t excluded for lacking an invitation. He’s already inside. He’s turned away for showing up without a wedding garment, unprepared to meet the host. That’s about the state of a soul, not a census of religions. Nobody gets to draw that chart. The Church itself teaches that those who, through no fault of their own, don’t know Christ but sincerely seek God are not cut off from salvation. Vatican II taught that other traditions can carry real “rays of that Truth which enlightens all” (Nostra Aetate). Grace isn’t confined to the Church’s visible walls, even as the Church holds the Eucharist as grace’s fullest form. Fuller access to the means isn’t a fuller soul. Both halves of that need saying.

So the real point isn’t who’s in and who’s out. It’s that a gift sits closer than most people realize, worth returning to or finding for the first time.

My Own Story

I know this from the inside. I was born in a secular Muslim country, raised far from Catholic teaching. I didn’t experience that as darkness while I lived it. It was simply my life, and I don’t think it was wasted. If Nostra Aetate is right that God’s truth can be found outside the visible Church, then whatever was good in that upbringing wasn’t nothing. It was already a ray of the light I’d later know fully. Recognizing that now doesn’t erase the good that was there then. But by the logic of everything above, it was still real distance from the fullness of the Eucharist. Through the Holy Spirit, I eventually found what Christ calls “the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6). My son’s birth opened that door in me. It took forty years, and I’ve come to believe God’s timing, even when slow, is never wasted.

As Catholics, we hold all this with humility, not pride. It’s easy to fall away, and none of us is owed our own perseverance. I pray often for those who’ve drifted, that they’d return to the real Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Christ. I pray just as often for those who don’t yet believe, that the Holy Spirit would open a door in their hearts the way one opened in mine.

Everything above was an argument. What’s left is an invitation. If you’re curious, unsettled, or quietly drawn toward Catholicism, His table is prepared for you. Come home, confession and all, and be seen in the fullness of His grace.

May God bless you all.

David Erduran

September 16, 2026