There’s a peculiar thing happening in the Church today, and no one seems to notice the grand theft. Imagine someone sneaking into your home and making off with your most precious heirloom, all the while convincing you that they’ve left you something better in its place—something more modern, more approachable, less, shall we say, transcendent. This is precisely what has happened to the Holy Eucharist in the aftermath of Vatican II, though the culprits did not arrive in the dead of night wearing masks. No, they did it in broad daylight, and they had the gall to call it "progress."
Modernism has, like a good pickpocket, swiped the Church’s most cherished treasure—our belief in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist—and replaced it with a cheap imitation that looks and feels like the real thing, but lacks its soul. And we, distracted by the clamor of "relevance" and "renewal," didn’t even notice.
Communion in the Hand: The Casual Crime of the Century
Let’s begin with the most brazen act of this ecclesiastical burglary: Communion in the hand. Picture this: once upon a time, Catholics approached the altar rail on their knees, eyes cast down, hands folded, prepared to receive the very Body and Blood of the King of Kings. Today, the faithful stroll up casually, as if approaching a buffet line, and, with all the reverence of someone receiving a library card, extend their hands to "take" the Eucharist.
Saint Thomas Aquinas, that great champion of clear thinking, would be positively scandalized by such a practice. He, in his meticulous and holy logic, taught that only the consecrated hands of the priest should touch the Sacred Host (STh III, q. 82, a. 3). Why? Because the hands of the priest have been anointed to handle divine mysteries. The rest of us? Well, we haven’t. In his brilliance, Aquinas understood that reverence was not simply a matter of good manners, but of theology. When we touch the Holy of Holies with unconsecrated hands, we don’t just lose reverence—we lose belief.
Now, imagine if we treated all sacred things like this. What’s next? Shall we haul Michelangelo’s Pietà down from its pedestal and use it as a doorstop? The casual reception of Communion is akin to that, a sacred mystery reduced to the ordinary, which eventually leads to it being seen as nothing more than ordinary. The whole thing would be a grand joke if it weren’t so tragic.
The Vanishing Altar Rails: Breaking the Barrier Between Heaven and Earth
Next, we have the sad tale of the vanishing altar rails, those beautiful barriers that once marked the divide between the sacred and the profane. Like some sort of ecclesiastical magician’s trick, they disappeared almost overnight. With their removal, the faithful were now expected to march right up to the altar as if heaven itself had suddenly become "accessible"—as though removing the rails somehow made Christ more democratic.
What the reformers forgot (or willfully ignored) is that we need the rails. They serve not just as a practical aid for kneeling but as a profound symbol of the divide between heaven and earth, a reminder that when we approach the Eucharist, we are approaching the throne of God. To remove that barrier is to tear down the veil that once covered the Holy of Holies—and what happens when you tear down the veil? You’re left staring at something that looks too familiar.
As Aquinas teaches, man is an animal of sense. We need outward signs and gestures to inform the inward soul. Strip away the outward reverence, and the inward devotion crumbles along with it. Now we have congregations standing in line as though waiting for a ride at a theme park, unaware that they are about to encounter God Almighty. If it weren’t so appalling, you’d have to laugh.
Modernism: The Snake Oil of the Spirit
But all of this is just the fruit of a far deeper and more insidious problem: the Modernist spirit that Vatican II let loose upon the Church like a pesky salesman hawking theological snake oil. Modernism, you see, is the belief that we must update and improve the old truths to fit the new times, as if the eternal Word of God were something that could go out of style like last season’s fashion.
The real irony here—one that would make even Chesterton himself chuckle—is that the more "relevant" the Church has tried to make itself, the less relevant it has become. The Mass, once a transcendent encounter with the living God, has been rebranded as a sort of community gathering, where the focus is no longer on Christ, but on us—our fellowship, our celebration, our participation. And in this spirit of modern egalitarianism, the sacred mysteries have been reduced to banal human activities. We have ceased to worship and have begun to merely gather.
Aquinas, always the master of clear thought, would have none of this. He teaches that the sacraments are not just signs or symbols but instruments of salvation (STh III, q. 62, a. 1). The Eucharist is not a mere communal meal; it is the Sacrifice of Calvary made present again on the altar. But Modernism has blurred the lines so badly that the faithful no longer know what they’re receiving. The result? They don’t believe they’re receiving Christ at all. And why would they, when all outward signs have been systematically dismantled? The sanctuary is now just another space, the priest is just another guy, and the Eucharist is just another wafer.
Conclusion: The Return of Awe or the Loss of Faith
So, what is to be done? Shall we carry on pretending that this Modernist charade has been a roaring success, or shall we, at long last, admit that we’ve been conned? The answer is obvious: we must return to the traditions that nourished the faith of countless saints, from Aquinas to Catherine of Siena, from Francis of Assisi to Teresa of Ávila. We must restore the reverence, the mystery, and yes, the awe that once accompanied the reception of the Most Holy Eucharist.
Let the altar rails rise again, not just as a physical barrier but as a symbol of the sacred divide between God and man. Let us kneel before our Lord once more, receiving Him with the trembling hands of those who understand that they are holding not a symbol, but the very Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Christ Himself.
And let Modernism—bless its misguided little heart—be cast back to the theological flea market from whence it came. Because the truth is, the eternal truths don’t need updating. They don’t need rebranding. They need to be believed, cherished, and worshipped with the reverence they demand. Anything less, as Aquinas would tell us, is sheer folly.