Several years ago, my wife and I took a tour through Italy and one of the stops was Siena. It’s this beautiful, old, medieval village – most famous for its most famous saint, Catherine of Siena. And, in fact, you can visit a museum there and actually see St. Catherine’s head on display.

I was a little shocked at that. Let me just say that the years have not been kind to St. Catherine.

But the most memorable part of our visit occurred late one afternoon when we were ushered into a crumbling old church in the town, the Basilica Church of St. Francis. There, a wobbly old friar came out after we were gathered together, looked at us Americans and, with a weary sigh, began to tell a story that he has undoubtedly told hundreds, perhaps thousands of times to tourists with cameras and fanny packs just like us.

It is the story of a thief, and a miracle.

It happened almost exactly 280 years ago, on the Feast of the Assumption. August 15, 1730. At that time, there were special services and festivals held around the town in connection with the feast. And so while most of the town was out celebrating, and the church was deserted, a thief went into the chapel where the Blessed Sacrament was kept, picked the lock to the tabernacle, and carried away the gold ciborium with the consecrated hosts.

Nobody discovered the theft until the next morning, when the priest went to the tabernacle for communion. He alerted his superiors and the entire town began searching for the hosts and the ciborium. The Archbishop even ordered public prayers of reparation.

Two days later, in another church in town, a priest noticed something white sticking out of the offering box. He took a closer look and discovered it was a pile of hosts. Since the offering box was only checked every few months, it was filthy. Some of the hosts were suspended on cobwebs. Authorities soon confirmed that they were the same hosts that had been stolen from the Church of St. Francis – nearly 400 of them.

The hosts were cleaned off, placed in a ciborium and returned to the Church of St. Francis.

And at this point, the friar telling the story paused to explain the miracle that followed.

Across nearly 300 years, those hosts have remained intact.

They have not deteriorated. They haven’t crumbled or decayed. In fact, they still smell as if they were freshly baked.

And then the old friar walked over to a side altar, pulled a small chord, and a curtain behind him parted, revealing those hosts, in a glass ciborium. Each one was perfect and white and appeared, for all the world, brand new.

As we knelt before the ciborium, the friar told us that theologians and scientists had all examined the hosts over the centuries – most recently in 1922. They could find no explanation for what had happened. One doctor even wrote that the preservation of the hosts was “a fact unique in the annals of science.”

What makes this especially significant, the friar explained, is that this miracle has never stopped. It continues. It is ongoing – even as I speak. Since the hosts are in a perfect state of conservation – still maintaining completely the appearance, taste and smell of bread – the Church has declared that they are still truly and completely the Body of Christ.

They are, in other words, almost literally what we hear in today’s gospel.

“I am the living bread come down from heaven,” Jesus said. “The one who feeds on me will have life because of me.”

For the past few weeks, we have been hearing the “Bread of Life” discourse from John’s gospel – and it is a blessed opportunity for us as Catholics to reflect on our bread of life, the Eucharist, and to cherish it anew. It is a chance for us to draw closer to it, to draw closer to Him, and to consider the meaning of the Eucharist in our lives.

We began this summer with the Feast of Corpus Christ, honoring the Body and Blood of Christ. We carried Christ through the streets and celebrated Benediction on the steps of our church and proclaimed, proudly and prayerfully, the presence of Christ – the Real Presence – in something as simple as bread.

Now, nearing the end of the summer, we might ask ourselves if that moment mattered.

Skeptics who saw us pass by on the street stopped and watched and wondered.

But we who believe had no reason to wonder.

The real wonder, I suppose, is why more of us don’t fully appreciate this great grace.

Do we approach communion with awe? With humility? Or is it just one more part of the mass?

Do we – as one of the Fathers of the Church put it – “make of our hands a throne” when we are given this gift of our King? Or do we just grab Him and walk away?

Do we express gratitude, with our hearts and with our souls, after we have received Him?

For gratitude is the defining emotion of this great meal. Eucharist means “Thanksgiving.” What more could we offer for the Bread of Life than sincere, genuine, awe-struck thanksgiving? What more could we say?

This morning, we are thousands of miles from that old basilica in Siena. But we have in our midst our own living bread. In a few moments, we will come forward to receive that bread, to receive Christ, and to make him a part of us. As we do that, remember the miracle of Siena. The miracle without end.

The miracle that is the Eucharist.

Savor this extraordinary gift as we receive it today. As the psalmist puts it so beautifully: “Taste and see the goodness of the Lord.”

Taste and see. Take and eat.

And give thanks. For God’s grace. For His mercy. For His unwavering love — a love so great that it can humble itself, and become nothing more than bread.

Bread that then lives in us…so that we might live in Him.