Maggots, grubs, worms. When I imagine one or many of these nasty slimy buggers living inside my body — unseen, feeding off my flesh, slowly rotting me out — I feel deeply disgusted. If I knew I had a worm, I would do anything to remove the alien invader, and fast. But what if I couldn’t ever get it out?

When I was a wet-behind-the-ears seminarian, I was sent for an immersion with the poor. For one month, I lived in a home for adults with developmental disabilities. It was a challenge for me because the residents had significant communication issues. A 30-year-old man there named Robin was totally deaf and mute. He had Down’s Syndrome. He looked like a Viking, with a shock of red hair and a fine beard. But I felt awkward and disconnected from him. All my normal ways of interacting failed. I resigned myself to the fact that we’d never connect.

This morning I received a text message that a member of my extended family will likely die of cancer within the next few hours. His name is Luke. He is a 45-yearold husband and father of six. Though I am not as close to him as my sister (she is his sister-in-law and knows him well), I wonder: how can we, including Luke himself, manage such a terribly awful and unfair situation?

One of the most touching YouTube videos I’ve ever seen is one in which a deaf woman receives new technology to heal her hearing. She hears her husband's voice for the first time — and her own, too — and bursts into tears of overwhelming joy. It must have been like an immovable wall between her and her loved ones came tumbling down.

Purity isn’t popular at the moment. Or is it? Look at a rack of health magazines or at popular podcasts. You’ll see an infinite ocean of regulations and rituals of diets, intermittent fasting, morning sun rituals, intense juice detox practices, lists of dangerous foods, mental practices, as well as long lists of dos and don’ts for the proper cleaning of clothes, dishes, cars, houses, pets, and children. Like it or not, we long to be pure, clean, and without blemish.

The famous Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoyevsky said, “Love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing.” In the Gospel reading this week, Jesus does something harsh and dreadful — he watches his own disciples abandon him. What could possibly be loving about that?

A priest I know was asked by a door-to-door evangelist, “Do you believe in Jesus?” He answered, “Yes, I do. But if I may ask you,” he continued, “Where do you experience Jesus’ body and blood?” His interlocutor responded somewhat confusedly, “I don’t. I just believe in him. That’s all that is needed.” Later my priest friend would relate to me, “The more I thought about it, that response struck me as totally inadequate. As human beings, we need to encounter Jesus’ body and blood, not just hear about him and mentally believe. Otherwise, Jesus is just a ghost.”

This week we hear Jesus say, “He that believes in me, has eternal life” (John 6:47). These straightforward words, uttered by human lips, sound — how to put this? — insane. Who could possibly say such a thing? Jesus says things that are so high, so demanding, so beyond our capacity to fathom, we hardly know what to do with them and (if you’re like me), they usually go in one ear and out the other. So, let us ask: how can believing in him lead to eternal life?

Since my college days I’ve loved a song called “Dance with You” by the rock band Live. It touches on the deep mystical hunger of our heart: “I’ve tasted all the wines/ a half a billion times/ came sickened to your shore/ you showed me what this life is for.” These lines resonate with anyone who has feasted on the good things of this world only to be left spiritually hungover and unsatisfied.