Transubstantiation stymies us in the same way, and for the same reason, as the Incarnation. In both cases, God takes embodiment in a finite creaturely vessel. The Logos takes the form of man and of bread (and likewise of Church, and Word – but tace re them for the nonce). These forms remain what they were. Jesus the man is still a man – Good News for us, since only qua man could he make strictly human reparation to God for the sins of Man, thus healing the cosmic wounds particularly inflicted by men – and the bread is still just as bready as ever – again, good, or we could not eat him, and so partake his Body and its sacrificial redemption of all our predicaments. The human nature is not driven out of the man by the divine nature, and the breadiness of the bread is not driven out by the divinity of it. On the contrary, they are each perfected. When God becomes man, a man – and, so, Man in general – becomes the God, so that men (can) become gods. Likewise, when God becomes bread, the bread becomes the supersubstantial Bread of Heaven: it becomes the God, who is the manna that feeds the angels, and the other members of God’s Body. Us.
We are what we eat, deo gracias.
In both cases, the soma remains soma; and, so, as soma, divine participant and influence in this world – a solid, as heavy as any stone, and so therefore scandalous to any who would pass by.
The true question is this: why should either Incarnation or Transubstantiation so scandalize us? Is it not only, merely, that these Incorporations of the divine into his creation are difficult for us to comprehend?
Should our comprehension be the measure of what is real? It is an absurd suggestion. Consider women: what man understands them, really? Not a one. Yet, there are those women, as real to us – nay, far more real, important, and portentous, indeed crushing in their cruciality to our lives – as any stone, or a fortiori any such evanescent indefinite thing as success, or a dollar, or a mountain climbed. I don’t mean to suggest that women are especially incomprehensible in any absolute sense, only to admit and reckon that they are at bottom incomprehensible to men.
Perhaps men are just as incomprehensible to women; I could not know.
Perhaps all creatures are incomprehensible to each other. Perhaps the only way that they can well and truly know each other, and then love each other, well and truly, is by way of a prior apprehension of who and what they are to and in and for God.
Our comprehension is *not* the measure of what is real. It is the other way round. The real is what it is. Our comprehension struggles with it. Do we comprehend the real? It is to laugh.
How then might we conceivably determine it?
We do not even understand ourselves.
OK: the Creator of all things incorporates himself into his creation. How in God’s name could it be otherwise? What, exactly, is the problem here?