Holy Mass remains the fundamental ritual of the celebration of the event of Christ and the command ‘do this to remember me.’ It remains the celebration of life and death of Christ making it the grammar of the Christians. It calls for a theologically founded worldliness. Scientific thought is no more celebrative but framing and utilitarian, which makes the earth a reserve of resources for man’s use and abuse. Today’s consumer culture creates an attitude of self-serving egoism and totalitarianism of converting the whole world to human domination. The art of a radical questioning converts into a piety of questioning. That permits many to take notice and listen attentively to something unsaid in the said. We do not come to thoughts. They come to us, which are gifts from the unsaid. Thinking is no longer a means to gain knowledge. The utilitarian thought patterns have to be overcome. It is thinking into the soil of being a pious and reverential involvement. I am like a hungry stomach—that is, I am without ears. Of all my senses, I would miss hearing the least when I eat; deafness toward everything seems to be a repercussion, if not a deliberate outcome of enjoyment. As I am eating chicken soup, I am certainly deaf towards the starving human, spatial relationship between the world and the human subject, as facilitated by vision.

Christ is the point of the fusion of divine and the cosmic. Thinking is the celebration of life where the extra-ordinary, the holy is not experienced as dead, but rather as living and cared for by humans. This is the apparent paradox of festivals: they repeat an unrepeatable. They present the absent. The festivals are thought-provoking phenomenon of temporal jointure and historical transition throughout the wonders of the house, the inhabitual blink of an eye, the anticipation of the ringing, and of the festival-day itself where the festivals of natality, festivals of mortality, and wedding festivals disclose the very essence of festival most clearly. The essence of the holy defines the ordinary out of extraordinary.

The ability to determine the other is what elevates me. When I give hospitality to the other, when I consider the other more important than myself I become eminent. My separation from the world can be understood as exaltation, an ‘above being.’ I am ‘noble’ just as vision. And it is this nobility that makes sight an incomplete relationship with the world. The I exists as separated in its enjoyment… and it can sacrifice its pure and simple being to happiness. It exists in an eminent sense; it exists above being. I can maintain my ‘elevation’ even while being immersed in neediness. Happiness becomes my access to height. A tree is not happy, but that it is not aware that this is happiness. Suffering is a failing of happiness; it is not correct to say that happiness is an absence of suffering. Happiness is made up not of an absence of needs, whose tyranny and imposed character one denounces, but of the satisfaction of all needs. For the privation of need is not just a privation, but is privation in a being that knows the surplus of happiness, privation in a being gratified. I deprive myself of my food to feed my guest. I sacrifice myself for the other. I can celebrate that happiness in banquet. To adhere to Christ in the Eucharist is inevitably and ipso facto to incorporate ourselves a little more fully on each occasion in becoming Christ.

Teilhardian evolution is identical with the eucharistisation of the universe, the transformation of the cosmos into the body of Christ. “As the sun’s fire begins to rise on the horizon, the living surface of the earth wakes and trembles, and once again begins its fearful travail. I will place on my paten, O God, the harvest to be won by this renewal of labour. Into my chalice I shall pour all the sap which is to be pressed out this day from the earth’s fruits.”… “Through your own incarnation, my God, all matter is henceforth incarnate.”… “That is why, pouring into my chalice the bitterness of all separations, of all limitations, and of all sterile fallings away, you then hold it out to me. ‘Drink ye all of this.’” It implies a consent to the communion with all not only men but the whole of the cosmos. Communion is not a matter of having one’s own little parcel of divinity, but of yielding oneself to the on-going divine purpose. The incarnate divine fire consecrates, not only liturgical bread and wine, but with these the whole earth.