If It’s Just a Symbol, to Hell with It

“If it’s just a symbol, to hell with it.”

That line from Flannery O’Connor cuts like a blade—and rightly so. With her usual frankness, O’Connor gets to the heart of the matter: the Eucharist is either the real presence of Jesus Christ, or it’s nothing at all. There is no middle ground. There is no safe, abstract, poetic middle. It’s either Him—or it’s bread.

This isn’t just a clever quote or a hot take to stir the pot. It’s a theological fault line that separates how Catholics understand the Mass from how many Protestants understand church.

Why the Eucharist Matters

If the Eucharist is merely symbolic, then what are we doing? Why gather weekly around bread and wine—or grape juice and crackers—if Christ is not truly there? What is the point of worship if it does not culminate in communion with the Living God?

For Catholics, the Eucharist is not just the highlight of the Mass—it is the Mass. The “source and summit” of our faith. It’s not a symbol to remind us of Christ. It is Christ. We don’t just recall the Last Supper—we are mystically present at it, and He is present to us. Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity.

It is His promise fulfilled: “I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”

It is the answer to our deepest hunger: “My flesh is real food, and my blood is real drink.”

It is the moment our hearts burn within us, like the disciples on the road to Emmaus—because He is made known in the breaking of the bread.

What I Missed as a Protestant Minister

I didn’t always see this. As a Protestant pastor, I loved Jesus. I preached His Word with conviction. But I didn’t grasp the significance of the Eucharist. Communion was something we did once a quarter—or maybe once a month—depending on the tradition. It was meaningful, yes, but it was also largely symbolic. We were “remembering” Christ’s sacrifice, not encountering it.

The focus was usually on the sermon or the music. We poured energy into making sure the band sounded tight, the transitions were smooth, the message was relevant. And while the motives were often sincere—making church accessible, engaging, “excellent”—the heart of worship had subtly shifted.

Without realizing it, we had built an experience around personal preference rather than sacred presence. The sacraments became accessories. Communion, baptism, confession—these were important, but only insofar as they resonated with our modern sensibilities. If they didn’t, we set them aside.

When We Reduce the Sacraments to Symbols

That’s the tragedy O’Connor was naming. When the sacraments are reduced to mere metaphors, they lose their weight. Their gravity. Their grace. And eventually, they disappear.

Look around: How many Protestant churches still practice regular confession? How many still treat baptism as more than a public testimony? How many have abandoned the Eucharist as the beating heart of the Christian life?

We don’t set out to abandon these things. But when we forget what they are, we stop making space for them. We lose them—not because someone ripped them away, but because we quietly let them go.

The Depth of the Sacraments

This isn’t just about the Eucharist. It’s about all the sacraments—confession, baptism, confirmation, anointing of the sick, holy matrimony, and holy orders. When we see them merely as symbols, we miss their power. We miss their purpose. We miss the grace that flows through them.

Each sacrament is a physical encounter with the divine. A meeting place between heaven and earth. When we strip them of their mystery, we flatten the faith. We empty it of the very things Christ gave us to sustain us.

Flannery Was Right

O’Connor understood this. She believed in the real presence, and her words sting because they’re true. “If it’s just a symbol, to hell with it.” Not out of contempt, but out of lament. If Christ is not really present in the Eucharist, then all our reverence is misplaced. But if He is present—then we ought to approach that altar with fear and trembling, with awe and joy, with gratitude that God Himself has not left us alone.

A Final Word

I used to think the sermon was the most important part of worship. Now I see it as the road to Emmaus. The Word is opened, our hearts burn within us, but it all leads to one moment: the breaking of the bread.

That’s where He is. That’s where He has always been.

Not a symbol.

A Savior.