This year marks the ten-year anniversary of Peter Leithart’s “What I Want From Catholics.” The 2015 wish list may seem like a trivial thing to mark an anniversary of. It made some waves when it was first published but has since died the quiet death of most internet blogs posts, being largely forgotten in the decade since.
But for me, the anniversary is like the death of a pop star from my youth. I vaguely remember when it was published, as I was starting to obsessively follow the Catholic blogosphere. When I stumbled upon it again more recently, it was another sharp reminder that many of my youthful memories are now measured in decades rather than years.
So I reread the list for nostalgia’s sake—and was hit by a passage that contributed to its initial rage-circulation:
I want Catholics to give up veneration of the consecrated host and other sacred objects. Jesus gave us his body and blood to eat and drink, not to admire. Whatever Catholics think they are doing, to Protestants they appear to be indulging in a form of liturgical idolatry. At the very least, they are distracting from Jesus’ purpose for the Eucharist: take, eat; take, drink.
These words are unremarkable from Rev. Leithart himself. He is a Protestant minister, and so he calls Catholics to do exactly what we’d expect: Become more Protestant. I have no problem with that (though I think he is wrong); he’s asking what he ought within his tradition.
What’s more surprising is how many Catholics seem to have taken up his advice in the ten years since his letter.
As an altar server, I had a priest stop me from praying before Mass, claiming that it would take away from my “reception” of the Eucharist. In seminary, I had formators who discouraged us from adoration, dismissing such eucharistic prayer in words very similar to Leithart’s. Many readers could offer their own stories. We need not look to Protestant brethren for examples; in many parishes, schools, and internet caves, you’ll still find Catholics suspicious of eucharistic adoration, though often for the same reasons as Protestants: The Eucharist is to take and eat, not to look at.
These Catholics didn’t originate with Leithart, and realistically, they haven’t increased because of him, either. They’re instead another remnant of the post-Vatican II liturgical and spiritual upheavals.
In that sense, the argument is worth reexamining in 2025 just as in 2015. After all, the point is largely correct: The Eucharist is a meal. It has its origin in the Last Supper, comes to us today in the ritual meal of the Mass, and is given to the faithful for consumption. Isn’t there a tension between this divine intention and adoration, where the Eucharist decidedly isn’t consumed?
This is a false competition, as anyone who has tried adoring the Eucharist knows. The Eucharist is meant for consumption, but that doesn’t necessitate that it’s meant for only consumption. But still, we shouldn’t presume God’s purposes of a gift as precious as Jesus’ body beyond what he told us—and it seems as though he’s told us to take and eat, without mentioning taking and adoring.
So let’s see if we can reason additional insight into the Eucharist from what Jesus did tell us. Perhaps he implied more than he was able to explicitly say in that little room 2,000 years ago.
Let’s instead use the closest analogy we have to the soul and the Eucharist—a man and his wife.
St. Paul prompts us in Ephesians 5 to make the connection. The Song of Songs, and the saintly commentaries on it, prompt us to do the same, as does Revelation. Most importantly, Jesus himself implies a nuptial dimension when he gives us his body.
A woman gives her body to her husband in marriage in some sense for the purpose of sexual union and the bearing of children (perhaps among other purposes). After all, this is the consummation that seals the sacrament into an unbreakable bond; this is the action that separates marriage from other forms of friendship and relationship, and the core of why it’s a separate sacrament in the first place, as opposed to, say, sacramentalizing “friendship.”
But imagine the husband who says, “Honey, I really don’t want you wearing such beautiful clothes anymore, or doing your hair. When you do, I can’t help but admire the beauty of your body—but I don’t want to admire it; I want to experience it. So, except for when we’re in the marital embrace, I want you to wear this burka at all times.”
That husband clearly misunderstands the nature of a sexual union. Even Islamic cultures that laud the burka and the hijab do not do so at home with the woman’s husband.
The admiration of the other, including of their body, outside of the actual sexual act clearly is ordered toward and helps facilitate the sexual act. As do other forms of bodily self-gift: taking out the garbage, giving a back rub, speaking pleasantries, or cuddling on the couch. The wife’s purpose in giving her body in the sacrament of marriage is for the husband to “take, have; take, hold.” That purpose is not frustrated by “take, look; take, admire.” In fact, it is furthered.
Of course, this “looking” isn’t the full story in marriage, either. My wife would doubtless be perturbed if I stared at her all day, especially if I refused to do anything else. My gaze of admiration can go awry if it is made into the goal rather than an instrument. Like a marital relationship, the Eucharist indeed is transgressed if “looking” and “adoring” eclipse the “taking” and “eating” and becomes a substitute for the clear primary intention Jesus had in giving us his body to consume.
This might also give an objection that even Leithart misses but is levied at times by the Orthodox: The Eucharist is too sacred for display. Yes, gazing and adoring are normally ordered toward reception and intimacy. But the Eucharist is so special that we ought to shield it from the ravenous gazes that may fall upon it.
This is the sensibility of Islamic and Eastern cultures in general. A Muslim woman needn’t wear the hijab with her husband, since everything about their relationship can be ordered toward intimacy, but she needs to wear it in most other situations because all men except her husband are not meant for that same intimacy with her. And though this seems extreme to most Christian cultures, the principle is shared by all faiths. A husband may not object to his wife’s lingerie at home, but he certainly objects to it on the street corner.
But this goes beyond adoration in general and gets to prudential applications of when and how the Eucharist should be exposed to faithful eyes. This is why the Church has rules about adoration: to protect it from abuses. Debates about the exact rules and application will rage on, as ever they have.
Perhaps the East ought to be less obscure, just as the West ought to be more modest. Or perhaps both are appropriate for their sensibilities, just as there are legitimate variations of physical intimacy among married couples. But the ever-changing mores about how, when, and where the Eucharist ought to be adored shouldn’t cause doubt that it should be adored at all.
The Eucharist is too sacred to look at, too sacred to touch, and too sacred to eat. Yet the Eucharist is “what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands” (1 John 1:1). Though we should guard against abuses, we must also remember that anything we do in relation to the Eucharist is a generous gift.
So, whereas objections can be excused from Protestants, and even from the Orthodox, fellow Catholics should know better. We look upon our beloved in love and admiration, and then, with hearts primed, we’re all the more able to unite in true affection in the eucharistic liturgy. For where the Eucharist is, there is Christ. And where Christ is, there is God.