Outwardly very little seemed to happen at these Sunday gatherings.  The celebrant, who would be the bishop, stood at a table facing the people with his priests and deacons on either side of him.  On the table was a dish and a two-handled cup.  When they were ready to begin, those present filed past in front of the table and put a piece of bread, which they had brought with them, on the dish and poured some wine from a small flask into the cup.  Then, after the bishop had said a longish prayer of thanksgiving – the Prayer of Consecration – he broke a piece of Bread, ate it, and took three sips from the cup.  Each communicant then filed past and was given a piece of consecrated Bread and sipped from the cup as the bishop had done.  And that was all.

Yet it was this which, repeated in countless towns throughout the Mediterranean lands, preserved the Church and its Faith.  It was to do this that an innumerable company of men, women and children risked their lives week in and week out.

And why?  Because they knew that in the Eucharist they were actually entering into that new relationship with God which Christ had won for them on Good Friday.  For Christ was crucified and was raised again in order to bring them to God as his people whom he had saved; and it was in the Eucharist that he brought them – week by week – to the very Throne of Heaven itself.

Through this simple rite, which Christ had commanded, they entered with him into the Eternal Holy of holies.  “Do this”, he had said; and the Christians – the people of God – did it Sunday by Sunday until the last week of their lives.