The first time I truly experienced hunger was in 2009, when the Communist government arrested me and imprisoned me in Vietnam because I spoke out in defense of religious freedom. For two days, I was given no food. My body weakened, and my strength faded. In that emptiness, I realized how little I had—and how much I needed God.
On the second night, I knelt on the floor of my cell and slowly prayed the Lord’s Prayer: “Give us this day our daily bread.” It was no longer a routine prayer, but a cry rising from the depths of my hunger.
Suddenly, a guard banged on the door and shouted, “What are you doing?”
“I am hungry and praying,” I replied. Then I spoke the words of Jesus: “One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Mt 4:4).
The guard stood there silently for a moment, looking at me. Then he turned and walked away. At the time, I did not understand what had happened, but I believe that God was already at work in that moment—guiding me in ways I could not yet see. Those words spoken in a prison cell would later accompany me on my entire journey—from Vietnam to Thailand and eventually to the United States—where I would come to respond to God’s call to the priesthood.
In the Gospel, Jesus says: “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh” (Jn 6:51). These words stand at the very heart of our faith.
Jesus promises us eternal life if we eat his Body and drink his Blood, which we receive in the Eucharist. This is the greatest gift he left to us before returning to the Father. As Venerable Fulton Sheen once reflected, Jesus could have left us many things—security, comfort, or promises of earthly happiness. Instead, he chose to leave us the greatest gift possible: himself.
Saint Thomas Aquinas expressed the same wonder when he wrote: “O precious and wonderful banquet that brings us salvation and contains all sweetness! What could be more wonderful than this?” Through the centuries, the Apostles, the saints, and the martyrs have lived and died for this mystery of divine love.
God knows the distance between himself and us. He knows our weakness, our limits, and our inability to reach him on our own. Through the Incarnation, he came to us as one of us and lived among us. Yet he did not stop there. In the Eucharist, Jesus goes even further: he enters into our hearts so that we may remain in him and he in us. In this way, the Eucharist fulfills his promise: “I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Mt 28:20).
In 2011, I fled Vietnam again because I was in danger of being arrested. I went to Thailand and lived quietly, often in fear. My life became very simple. I went only to school and to a small chapel at Assumption University in Bangkok to attend daily Mass. Yet in that small chapel, I found everything. Before the tabernacle, in the quiet presence of Jesus in the Eucharist, I discovered peace when I was afraid and strength when I felt alone. The Eucharist became my refuge and my hope.
When I later arrived in the United States, I continued to nurture this quiet friendship with Jesus in the Eucharist. It was there, in prayer before him, that I gradually began to hear his voice more clearly and recognized his call to become a priest.
Today, by the mercy of God, I have been ordained a priest. Saint John Paul II said that a priest is ordained above all to serve this mystery of love. The heart of the priesthood is the Eucharist, the sacrament of sacraments, given to satisfy the deepest hunger of God’s people.
Every day at Mass, I repeat the words first spoken by Jesus at the Last Supper: “This is my Body… This is my Blood… given up for you.” Through the priest, acting in the person of Christ, Jesus continues to speak these words today and continues to give himself to us as the Bread of Life.
Saint John Vianney once said that if we truly understood the gift of the priesthood, we would die—not from fear, but from love. The same is true of the Eucharist. If we fully understood the love of Christ present there, we would die for love.
When parents prepare a meal, they rejoice when their children gather around the table. In the same way, we can imagine the joy of Jesus at the Last Supper as he saw his disciples gathered with him. Even now, he rejoices whenever we come to celebrate the Eucharist and to spend time with him.
From the Cross, Jesus cried out, “I thirst.” That thirst remains. He continues to thirst for our love, for our presence, and for our hearts. As he revealed to Saint Faustina Kowalska, he waits for us in the tabernacle, ready to receive us at any moment, to speak to us, and to pour his grace into our lives (Diary, 1485).
Our bodies cannot live without food. In the same way, our souls grow weak and can even die without spiritual nourishment. The Eucharist is the food that sustains us on our journey and gives us the strength to remain faithful.
The Solemnity of Corpus Christi invites us to remember this great gift and mystery. At every Mass, Jesus continues to offer himself as the Bread of Life for each and every one of us. In every moment of hunger—whether of body or of soul—Jesus remains the One who truly satisfies.
Fr. Joseph Thong Van Nguyen is a priest of the Archdiocese of Washington and is serving at Our Lady Star of the Sea Parish in Solomons, Maryland. Formerly a human-rights advocate in Vietnam, he was imprisoned for defending religious freedom before fleeing the country and eventually receiving asylum in the United States.
