On the Tongue or in the Hand? - A time for Choosing.
Open Wide and Close your Eyes: Why Every Catholic Should Receive on the Tongue
There is no phrase more magical in modern Catholicism than:
“But they did it in the Early Church.”
This argument has resurrected liturgical novelties, beige vestments, felt banners shaped like abstract doves, and Communion in the hand—usually delivered with the confidence of someone who read half a footnote once.
Yes, the early Christians received in the hand. They also worshiped in catacombs, faced routine martyrdom, and lived in a world where “active participation” meant “possibly eaten by lions.” If we are restoring everything from the 3rd century, I look forward to Sunday’s parish announcement: “Communion in the hand is back—persecution and Roman execution after the Knights of Columbus Pancake Breakfast.”
But history is inconvenient. The Church did not move from hand to tongue because she forgot antiquity. She moved because she deepened in Eucharistic theology. As belief in the Real Presence became more clearly articulated—especially after heresies denied it—the Church intensified external signs of reverence.
Translation: when you realize that the Host is literally God, you stop handling Him like a superbowl potato chip.
By the 9th century, reception on the tongue was the universal norm in the Latin Church. The Synod of Rouen (878) was not subtle: the Eucharist was not to be placed in the hands of laymen or women, but in the mouth.¹ This wasn’t medieval superstition. It was theological development.
St. Thomas Aquinas explains the logic bluntly: the consecrated Host is touched by the consecrated hands of the priest.² Your hands are wonderful for holding coffee, steering wheels, and smartphones. They are not anointed for handling the Body of Christ.
Cue the modern reply: “But it’s allowed.”
Yes. By indult.
An indult is not a ringing endorsement. It is a concession granted after a practice spreads illicitly and suppressing it would cause rebellion. In 1969, Pope St. Paul VI surveyed the world’s bishops about changing the norm. The majority said no.³ He retained Communion on the tongue as the standard practice and warned of risks: loss of reverence, doctrinal confusion, profanation.⁴
How prophetic he was.
Fast-forward fifty years. Pew surveys show large percentages of Catholics denying or misunderstanding the Real Presence. Eucharistic particles land on carpeted sanctuaries that have seen more crumbs than a bakery floor. Hosts are occasionally discovered in hymnals, pew racks, and—yes—pockets. Ask your average Sacristan at Our Lady of Liturgical Creativity in suburbia.
But please, tell me again how this is the mature expression of baptismal dignity.
Communion on the tongue does something scandalous in 2026: it removes your control.
You kneel (or at least bow).
You open your mouth.
You receive.
You do not take.
That posture is devastating to modern sensibilities formed by Amazon Prime and self-checkout kiosks. We are accustomed to grabbing what we want, when we want, how we want it. Communion in the hand fits beautifully into this anthropology of autonomy. Communion on the tongue destroys it.
“But, it makes me look like a child!”
Exactly.
The Gospel says we must become like little children. It does not say we must become liturgical food critics carefully inspecting the Host before self-administering.
There is also the inconvenient matter of fragments. The Church teaches that every particle of the consecrated Host is fully Christ.⁵ St. Cyril of Jerusalem warned the faithful to guard even the smallest crumb.⁶ And that was in a world without industrial carpeting and toddlers running relay races down the aisle.
If every fragment is the whole Christ, then casually placing Him into hands that will shortly return to pockets and purses is not a neutral act. It is a theological statement.
Communion on the tongue is not about clericalism. It is about ontology. The priest’s hands are consecrated for sacrifice. Yours are consecrated for diaper changes and email.
The deeper tragedy is not that Communion in the hand exists. It is that we have grown so comfortable handling God that we no longer tremble.
The medieval peasant who knelt and opened his mouth may not have had a theology degree, but he knew enough to fear rightly. We, armed with podcasts and parish committees, seem less certain.
There is also the uncomfortable historical footnote that modern liturgical minimalists prefer not to mention: During the Protestant Reformation, reformers deliberately altered Eucharistic practice to undermine Catholic theology. The move away from kneeling, away from priestly mediation, and toward handling the bread as ordinary food was not accidental. It was theological warfare. If you deny transubstantiation, the sacrificial priesthood, and the ministerial distinction, then of course you normalize grabbing the “bread” yourself. The posture preaches the doctrine. The body catechizes the mind. So when Catholics casually defend Communion in the hand as though it were a neutral preference, they forget that in Protestant polemics, the dismantling of Eucharistic reverence was part of dismantling Rome itself. For that reason alone—even if no other argument existed—Catholics should instinctively lean toward the posture that most clearly proclaims: This is not ordinary bread, and this is not my sacrament to manage. Fidelity is not merely interior. It is embodied.
So here is the modest proposal: if we actually believe the Eucharist is the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Jesus Christ, then let us receive like it.
Stop clutching Him like a Costco Sample.
Stop acting like you are the minister of your own sacrament.
Open your mouth, close your eyes.
Say “Amen” like a beggar before a King.
And perhaps, just perhaps, if we relearn how to receive, we may relearn what it is we are receiving.
Endnotes
Synod of Rouen (878), decree on reception of the Eucharist.
St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, III, q. 82, a. 3.
Sacred Congregation for Divine Worship, Memoriale Domini (29 May 1969), report of episcopal consultation.
Ibid., rationale for retaining reception on the tongue and warnings regarding profanation and doctrinal confusion.
Council of Trent, Session XIII, ch. 3; Catechism of the Catholic Church §1377.
St. Cyril of Jerusalem, Mystagogical Catecheses, V.21.
