Corpus Christi 2026

Here beneath these signs are hidden
Priceless things to sense forbidden;
Signs, not things are all we see.
--Sequence for the Feast of Corpus Christi

This summer day an image of your bounty;
this storm that’s rolling in your wrath, of course—
your mercy, too: We could not live without it.
Yes, all the things we see are metaphors

for you, and we see dimly in a mirror.
I look, and those I know all seem to me
trees walking, ‘til you make my vision clearer.
When will you touch my eyes and let me see?

I walk a world of shadows, nothing real.
Content with them, I ask you, “What is truth?”
You do not answer, only set a meal
and give your flesh to me, my tongue and tooth.

And all the bread I’ve tasted was an image,
just ink and paint and paper, dry as ash.
And all the wine I’ve drunk was but to mimic
the soul that sips a flood where you were gashed.

But when I eat the meal you set before me
I feel the life that rises from the dead.
The seed that fell and rose reveals your glory:
You offer me my first real taste of bread.

Last Supper, drawing, Philips Koninck, late 1650s. Pen and brown ink, brush and brown wash, over traces of red chalk, heightened with white gouache, with framing line in pen and brown ink. Laid down. - This file was donated to Wikimedia Commons as part of a project by the Metropolitan Museum of Art. See the Image and Data Resources Open Access Policy, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=60888837