Christianity is the earthiest of all religions. Fr. Ron Rolheiser writes that Christianity doesn’t call you out of the physical, out of the body, or out of the world. Instead, Christ enters the physical, becomes one with it, blesses it, redeems it, and tells us there is no reason to escape it. Something in that statement goes against the grain. Christ’s relationship to the physical, his language of eating him, was perceived as cannibalism that literally scandalized his contemporaries. It is still hard for us to accept today. But it’s also a wonderful part of Christianity. In the Eucharist, our skin gets touched. Given all our tensions, we need that touch, frequently, daily even. The late essayist and novelist Andre Dubus once wrote an excellent little apologia about why he went to Eucharist regularly, “This morning I received the sacrament I still believe in. The priest elevated the host, then the chalice, and spoke the words of the ritual, and the bread became flesh, the wine became blood, and minutes later, I placed on my tongue the taste of forgiveness and love that affirmed, perhaps celebrated, my being alive, my being mortal. This has nothing to do with immortality, with eternity. Although I believe in that life, I love the earth too much to contemplate life apart from it. No, this has to do with mortality and the touch of flesh, and my belief in the sacrament of the Eucharist is simple: without touch, God is a monologue, an idea, a philosophy; he must touch and be touched, the tongue on flesh, and that touch is the result of the monologues, the idea, the philosophies which led to faith; but in the instant of the touch there is no place for thinking, for talking, the silent touch affirms all that and goes deeper: it affirms the mysteries of love and mortality.” Skin heals when touched. It’s why Jesus gave us the Eucharist.