Fifth Gospel, Part 2

Examining the Eucharist of Melchizedek and Abram

06/22/2024

In case you are just joining us, we are picking up now with a second in a series of homilies on the Eucharist, seen from the perspective of the land of Israel. Everyone should have a ticket in hand and taken their seat as we open the Fifth Gospel, and hear the Good News not from inspired saints but from inspired stones. Our first stop on this tour of land and liturgy is the prototypical Mass of Melchizedek and Abram recounted in Genesis 14. Incidentally, my master’s thesis in seminary investigated the identity of this mysterious Melchizedek, with the cheeky title: “Who the Heck is Melchizedek?” Unfortunately, I did not get any extra credit for the catchy title. My modest thesis was just the latest attempt in a long line of Scripture scholars all scratching our collective heads about the true identity of Melchizedek, and not turning up any conclusive answers.

The Ignatius Catholic Study Bible offers a few possible personas for this rather peculiar priest: “Christian tradition sees [Melchizedek] as a type of the royal-priestly Messiah (Heb 5-7) and has identified him as an angel, as a manifestation of the pre-incarnate Christ, or as the patriarch Shem.”  Significantly, the Bible punctuates critical junctures of salvation history with surprising manifestations of Melchizedek. Where? Well, besides Genesis 14, Melchizedek shows up again in Psalm 110, rubbing shoulders with royalty, King David and his son Solomon. He makes a third cameo in the Letter to the Hebrews, where Jesus is said to be “a high priest for ever according to the order of Melchizedek” (Hb 6:20). In other words, if you tend to associate with scriptural hall of famers like Abraham, David, and Jesus, your name is not “nobody.”

But whatever his real identity, one fact remains indisputable: this priest-king – the first priest mentioned in the Bible no less – brings out bread and wine as a thanksgiving offering to God on behalf of Abram. Now, what is Abram so grateful for? Genesis 14 details an amazing military campaign Abram conducts to defeat four kings who themselves had defeated five kings. Consequently, within the confines of the land of Canaan, Abram stood squarely as “the king of kings,” bringing peace or “shalom”, a variation of the word “Salem.”  Abram’s primordial Eucharist of bread and wine was a thanksgiving offer to God for victory and peace.

But how does the Fifth Gospel, the land of Canaan, shape the liturgy? This brief Eucharistic encounter between the first biblical priest the “father of faith” is the moment of the birth of the first Mass. These stones around Salem (future Jeru-salem) acted as “spiritual midwives” witnessing to and bringing about this birth. It was on their heads, sort of say, that war was fought and victory was celebrated.

But also, looking ahead, these same stones, which once witnessed Abram conquer worldly rulers, would one day witness Jesus, the real King of kings, conquer the “world rulers of this present darkness” (Ep 6:12) and bring everlasting peace. Hence the Catechism describes the Eucharist as “a sacrament of love, a sign of unity, a bond of charity.”  That is how this land afford us a deep look into the liturgy: as the quintessential place of war and peace.

And by the way, no place on earth is more fraught with fighting than the Middle East, especially the Holy Land, particularly by the sons of Abraham, the Israelis (born from Isaac) and the Palestinians (issue of Ishmael). That is, the stones around Jerusalem would not be surprised by today’s war in Gaza. These silent stones have been watching for millennia how no one fights like family. Only the Eucharistic King of kings can end to war and bring peace as it was once betokened in the meal between Melchizedek and Abram. That is how the land shapes the liturgy, and why we pray for peace at every Mass.

In case you think I am making a theological mountain out of a Jerusalem molehill, consider these reflections by Bishop Robert Barron on the supreme significance of Abram’s arrival in and acquisition of the Promised Land. He lists the lessons this land teaches: "Throughout the history of Israel, this particular plot of earth, east of the Mediterranean, west of the Jordan, from Dan in the north to Beer-sheba in the south, would be of crucial importance. Whether they were loving it, longing for it, fighting over it, defending it, planting it with cities, counting its people, mourning its loss, or singing of its beauty, the Promised Land would be a unique obsession of the descendants of Abram. This, of course, is because it was much more than a piece of real estate; it functioned as a symbol of the divine favor, the land flowing with milk and honey, the base of operations for the announcement of God to all the nations, and ultimately, an anticipation of the ultimate homeland of heaven. "

In the movie, “Gone with the Wind”, Gerald O’Hara taught his daughter a similar love of the land. He gently chided: “Do you mean to tell me, Katie Scarlett O’Hara, that Tara, that land, doesn’t mean anything to you? Why, land is the only thing in the world worth workin’ for, worth fightin’ for, worthy dyin’ for, because it’s the only thing that lasts.”

Bishop Barron and Gerald O’Hara’s words describe the Fifth Gospel, the land that injects meaning into the liturgy, the Mass, and should thrill us with excitement every time we celebrate the Eucharist. Why? Because in a spiritual sense, we, too, stand on those sacred stones at every Eucharist and ask Jesus – “a high priest for ever according to the order of Melchizedek – to end the wars and bring peace in our own lives.

Praised be Jesus Christ!