5 June 1988
Paris, France

My dear Sisters,

When passing down the rue de Sèvres some mornings ago, I noticed a large van with the words DON DU SANG written on it. There was a notice inviting people to come inside and to donate some of their blood. We have become quite familiar with the practice of being a blood donor from time to time. What a marvelous reality it is, that I can give a pint of my blood today, which tomorrow or a year later may save the life of someone who has been involved in a road accident, or has been gunned down by a man of violence, or to a woman who is giving birth to a child. It is a reality we take for granted, but to one who lived a hundred years ago, it would pass for a miracle.

Whether we live in the twentith century after Christ or in the twentieth century before Christ, blood speaks of life. In the twentieth century before Christ as today, people died when all their blood was poured out. The miracle of modern medical science is that by giving blood to a person, even when that blood is not his own, his life can be saved. Life can almost be given back. The language of blood is the language of life.

All three readings of today's Mass speak of blood, and in each of them the language of blood is also the language of life. For an Israelite of Old Testament times, contact with the blood of an animal that had been ritually sacrificed was considered to be a very close contact with God, the giver of all life. It is thus easy for us to see how momentous for the disciples must have been Our Lord's words recorded in St. John's Gospel: "He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me and I in him," (Jn 6:56) or his words spoken at the Last Supper and recorded in today's gospel: "This is my blood, the blood of the covenant; which is poured out for many (Mk 14:24)...and they all drank of it." (Ibid.).

The tremendous reality of our lives is that each day we receive a blood transfusion, and the blood is the blood of God. Each day we receive a new transfusion of life, and the life is the life of God. The bleeding ulcers of sin and selfishness drain us of spiritual energy, and we lie on life's road wounded and half-dead. But each day the Good Samaritan, the living and risen Christ, passes by and pours into our veins a transfusion of His own blood, and with the new life received we are able to continue on our journey. Moreover, when we have been strengthened by the body and blood of Christ, we are enabled to share that life with others. What is your vocation, my dear Sisters, but to give new life to the poor? What you do for the poor is an expression of the life of God that is within you, and which is strengthened by your daily experience of Holy Communion. When you serve the poor in whatever way your vocation indicates to you, what are you doing but transfusing divine life to another suffering member of the Body of Christ?

Custom stales the daily miracle in my life that I am nourished with the body of Christ, the Son of the living God and of the Virgin Mary, and that I am energized by the gift of His blood. It would be a great grace indeed if God would give back to each one of us something of the wonder we once had when we received the body and blood of Jesus Christ for the first time. It would be a real grace, too, if on this feast of Corpus Christi our eyes would be opened in wider wonder at the miracle which is the Blessed Sacrament in our tabernacles. What a loss it has been for many in the past two decades that the abiding presence of Christ in the Blessed Sacrament is not the source of strength and energy that it once was for them, and which Our Lord would wish it to be. "Sweet Jesus! Gentle Jesus!," prayed St. Louise, "My God and my All! Have mercy on all souls redeemed by Your precious blood. Inflame them with the arrow of Your love in order to make them grateful for the love that urged You to give Yourself to us in the Blessed Sacrament." (Spiritual Writings of Louise de Marillac, A. 49, p. 834).