By Tom Quiner

I spent the lunch hour in the hospital today.
I looked around at all the sick people. I had my 89 year old mother-in-law with me whose body is quickly wearing out. I saw people on crutches , some because they’ve lost a limb. I saw a young man who possesses an extra chromosome which lumps him into a category known as Downs Syndrome.
I was surrounded by sick people. In fact, I was one of them. We all awaited the cure.
Interestingly, despite so many apparent afflictions in so many people at the hospital, that’s not why they came. You see, we each had another illness, the very same one, that requires ongoing treatment.
The disease isn’t contagious, because we’re each born with it. We each anxiously awaited the treatment that would soon be dispensed by the Physician’s assistant.
As we awaited our upcoming healing, I listened to the music. This hospital didn’t play the same type of music you hear on Muzak at most hospitals. This music was thrilling, full of life and inspiration.
The words, sung so beautifully by children, warmed my soul:

Panis Angelicus fit panis hominum
Dat panis coelicus figuris terminum
O res mirabilis! Manducat Dominum
Pauper, pauper, servus et humilis
Pauper, pauper, servus et humilis

Translated, here is what was sung:

The angel’s bread becomes the bread of men
The heavenly bread ends all symbols
Oh, miraculous thing! The body of the Lord will nourish
The poor, poor, and humble servant
The poor, poor, and humble servant

The Physician’s assistant dispensed the life-giving nourishment, this Bread of Life, this Cup of Love, which heals our original sin, our pre-disposition to sin.
The Mass is a hospital for a craven band of sinners who want to do better, who desire to spend eternity with the Physician, our Creator, our Hope, our Salvation.
I have never been fed better over the lunch hour.

 

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