We believe the bread and wine become the actual Body and Blood of Jesus Christ. Not symbols. Not metaphors. The real thing.
This is the heart of Orthodox worship. Every Sunday at St. Michael’s, when Fr. Nicholas stands at the altar during the Divine Liturgy and the choir sings the Cherubic Hymn, something happens that defies explanation but demands belief. The gifts we bring, bread and wine, are transformed into Christ Himself. We receive Him. He becomes part of us, and we become part of Him.
It’s a Mystery, Not a Formula
If you’re coming from a Baptist background here in Beaumont, you’re used to communion as a memorial. Grape juice and crackers passed down the pews once a quarter, remembering what Jesus did. That’s not what we’re doing.
If you’re coming from a Catholic background, you might know the word “transubstantiation”, the philosophical explanation using Aristotelian categories about substance and accidents changing at the moment the priest says “This is my body.” That’s not quite what we’re doing either.
We don’t have a formula. We have a mystery.
The Orthodox Church has always refused to explain exactly how the bread and wine become Christ’s Body and Blood. We know that they do. We know it happens through the Holy Spirit. We know Christ promised it and the Church has believed it from the beginning. But we don’t reduce it to a philosophical system or a precise moment you can pinpoint with a stopwatch.
St. John Chrysostom, one of our greatest teachers (and the one who wrote the liturgy we use most Sundays), simply said to receive it in faith. Don’t dissect it. Receive it.
The Epiclesis Changes Everything
Here’s something that surprises most people: the change happens when the priest calls down the Holy Spirit, not just when he repeats Jesus’s words at the Last Supper.
During the Anaphora, the Eucharistic prayer, the priest says the words of institution: “Take, eat, this is my Body…” But then he continues. He invokes the Holy Spirit to come down and make the bread and wine into Christ’s Body and Blood. This invocation is called the epiclesis. It’s the Holy Spirit who transforms the gifts, working through the prayer of the whole Church gathered together.
Catholics locate the change at the words of institution. We see the entire prayer as one unified action, with the Spirit completing what Christ began. It’s a Trinitarian event. The Father receives the offering, the Son is made present, the Spirit effects the change.
This Is a Sacrifice
The Eucharist isn’t just a meal. It’s a sacrifice.
Not that Christ is crucified again, that happened once, on Golgotha, and it was enough. But in the liturgy, that one sacrifice is made present to us. We step outside of time. Calvary and the Resurrection and the Ascension all become now. Christ offers Himself to the Father, and we’re caught up in that offering. We bring bread and wine, ourselves, our whole lives, and they’re united to His self-offering.
This is why we call it the Divine Liturgy. It’s not a worship service we attend. It’s the work of the people, the corporate action of the Church on earth joining the worship of heaven.
Who Can Receive?
Only baptized and chrismated Orthodox Christians can receive communion. Period.
I know that sounds exclusive, especially if you’re used to churches where anyone who loves Jesus can take communion. But the Eucharist isn’t just about individual faith. It’s about being united to the Body of Christ, the Church. When you come forward to receive, you’re declaring that you’re in communion with the Orthodox faith, that you’re part of this body.
Before receiving, Orthodox Christians prepare themselves. We fast from midnight (or at least several hours before). We go to confession regularly, especially if we’re struggling with serious sin. We pray. We examine our consciences. St. Paul warned that receiving unworthily brings judgment on yourself, and we take that seriously.
If you’re visiting St. Michael’s and you’re not Orthodox, you’re welcome to come forward at the end for a blessing and blessed bread (antidoron), but not the Eucharist itself. It’s not that we don’t like you. It’s that communion means something specific: full unity in faith and life.
Why This Matters
The Eucharist is medicine. It’s not a reward for being good. It’s the cure for our sickness, the food that heals us and transforms us into the likeness of Christ. Every time we receive, we’re being saved, present tense, ongoing process.
This is how we understand salvation. Not as a one-time decision, not as fire insurance, but as union with God that grows deeper every time we receive His Body and Blood. The technical word is theosis. The practical word is healing.
When you stand in line on Sunday morning at St. Michael’s, waiting your turn to receive from the chalice, you’re not just remembering Jesus or honoring His memory. You’re receiving Him. The same Christ who walked in Galilee, who died and rose again, who ascended to the Father, He’s coming to you, into you, making you part of Himself.
That’s what we believe about the Eucharist. It’s why we’re here. It’s why the liturgy is long and we stand through most of it and we fast beforehand. Because this is the real thing, and nothing else comes close.
