What we leave behind as a legacy says a lot about us. But I’m not talking about bank account balances or real estate, or even—if we have been blessed to have them—our children. The word “legacy” is derived from the Latin verb legare, which means not only to bequeath, entrust, but also to send as an envoy with a specific mission. Mission, then, is built into the notion of what we leave behind.
The Church is a powerful example of this. When Jesus ascends into heaven he no longer belongs to the world of corruption and death but leads “our human existence into God’s presence, taking with him flesh and blood in a transfigured form” (Pope Benedict XVI, May 7, 2005). On the Mount of Olives, as “he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight” (Acts 1:9), the Risen Christ gives his frightened and still-unsure disciples the task of picking up the mission where he left off in words we have come to call the “Great Commission.” He promises to send the Holy Spirit to guide and assist them in bringing the message of salvation to the ends of the earth. But even before Pentecost, Jesus has already left a singular legacy to the Church: the gift of Holy Eucharist.
By faith, we know that this gift is far more extraordinary than it seems at first glance. The Eucharist is not in a merely generic way the body, blood, soul, and divinity of Christ. Eucharistic miracles—in which the Sacred Host turns into fleshy tissue—are often regarded by Catholics as “proof” of the Real Presence of Christ. Yet they tell us something even more amazing. Time after time and test after test, numerous Hosts associated with approved Eucharistic miracles have been found to include the presence of human myocardial tissue. In the Eucharist we encounter the living heart of Christ (cf. Dilexit nos, no. 26). The legacy and mission Jesus has left us in the Most Blessed Sacrament shows us his Sacred Heart. “In the Eucharist the merciful and ever-present love of the heart of Christ invites us to union with him” (Dilexit nos, no. 84).
Six months before he died, Pope Francis took time to gaze into the heart of Christ. The last word he left the Church is contained in his final encyclical, Dilexit nos. Written to acknowledge the 350th anniversary of St. Margaret Mary’s visions, the document explores devotion to the Heart of Christ throughout history. But Pope Francis also calls us to the kind of devotion that reaches outward with love, and, echoing St. Margaret Mary Alacoque, he connects this with reparation.
We have all fallen short of our calling. And we have all wounded the heart of the One who loves us best. “In union with Christ, amid the ruins we have left in this world by our sins, we are called to build a new civilization of love. That is what it means to make reparation as the heart of Christ would have us do” (Dilexit nos, no. 182).
When Jesus sent the twelve out on their first mission, he encouraged them to be generous. “Amid the devastation wrought by evil, the heart of Christ desires that we cooperate with him in restoring goodness and beauty to our world” (Dilexit nos, no. 182). “You received without payment; give without payment” (Mt 10:8).
Many of us have heard spiritual presentations that speak of various “love languages.” If we want to make reparation to the Sacred Heart, to offer consolation to Jesus for all the derision, rejection, and pain he has suffered, we could think of offering the love language we receive best to everyone we encounter. For God speaks them all, fluently. If receiving gifts touches you, give alms. If words of affirmation, make it a point to praise God for who he is, and others for who they are. If quality time, increase your time in Eucharistic adoration. If acts of service, become part of an apostolate that helps the needy. If physical touch, make yourself more available to the elderly and infirm, those who may not experience physical affection on a regular basis.
And yet, true reparation cannot consist in a checklist. “Christian reparation cannot be understood simply as a congeries of external works, however indispensable and at times admirable they may be. These need a ‘mystique,’ a soul, a meaning that grants them strength, drive, and tireless creativity. They need the life, the fire and the light that radiate from the heart of Christ” (Dilexit nos, no. 184).
Zeal, obedience, and concern may move us into mission at first. But the “source and summit” of all we do must be love, and nothing less than the love of our Eucharistic Lord. The mission of salvation originates in the loving heart of God. The Lord touches our hearts for one purpose: to make us like him.
If we are to console the Heart of Jesus, then, we must cultivate the love that others lack and express the love they fail to show.
It is true. We know it all too well. Our love is impoverished. But God knows that when we express our love, even when it is lukewarm or little, it grows in both quantity and quality. Our mission has always been the same: to love God, to love our neighbors as ourselves, to love one another as Christ has loved us. But love isn’t theoretical, and we can’t love “mankind” in the abstract. We can only love those we encounter, those closest to us. Often, that’s a struggle.
The Sacred Heart of Jesus teaches us that love is willing to suffer. Aflame and crowned with thorns, a heart like his will cost us—not something—but everything. To follow him into mission requires of us the willingness to accept ridicule and rejection, derision and disregard, ingratitude and indifference. Our inheritance is, after all, the Cross. And the greatest consolation we can offer Christ, is to take it up.
