My husband and I have a stubborn, unresolved argument in our marriage: What would we do if we won the lottery?

We do not actually play the lottery, to be clear, but reality never muddles a good debate. What we might do if we did win — that question makes for endless dinner discourse. My spouse insists you must give all the wealth away. Otherwise having too much money ruins your life.

I agree — mostly.

“But could we get a hot tub?” I plead each time. “That wouldn’t change anything!”

No, he shakes his head. It has to be all or nothing. Otherwise, it’s a hot tub and a pool, or a hot tub and a dream vacation, or a hot tub and college tuition for all the kids. We either give it all away, or we’ll start to make exceptions everywhere.

He and I may never resolve the hot tub question. But thankfully we do agree on the more important point: While there are countless worthy causes, we would give our theoretical lottery winnings to those who lack food and water. Nothing feels more pressing.

Scripture speaks abundantly about feeding the hungry. Jesus gave himself to us in bread and wine, flesh and blood, because he knew hunger and thirst are humans’ most basic daily needs — just as we would always need his presence and love. The Church reminds us that feeding the hungry is a corporal work of mercy. Clearly, as Christ’s followers we are meant to feed others.

Yet despite my love for the Eucharist, I did not fully grasp the truth of what it means to feed the hungry until the body of Christ began to feed me anew.

Translation: Our parish has been bringing meals to our family for months following my cancer diagnosis, and their loving service is transforming my faith.

As I look out on the congregation now, whenever I am well enough to join them for Sunday Mass, I see the faces of all those who have been bringing dinner to our doorstep. Casseroles, soups, salads, lasagna, enchiladas, home-baked bread, fresh fruits and endless desserts.

I watch the same parishioners who baked and cooked for us come forth to the altar to serve as extraordinary ministers of the Eucharist. The body of Christ bringing the Body of Christ to the body of Christ. What could be more profound?

They have taken up the call to feed the hungry and are living out the spirit of the Eucharist in their own kitchens to bring to ours. In chicken and rice, chili and chips, stuffed peppers and broccoli casseroles — not to mention the ministry of mailing gift cards from one busy family to another — our parish is teaching me what it means to reach out to the hungry body of Christ and become part of the healing work of God. (Honestly, we won the true lottery.)

This truth brings me to my knees.

Jesus knew what it meant to be hungry. Mary fed him, first from her own body, then from her kitchen. He shared meals with his family, stopped to eat with his disciples on the way, and made miracles happen over meals. He understood hunger, and he fed the hungry. Our call is the same.

Whether we have a million dollars or only five to spare, the need is real and the commandment unmistakable. Jesus gave Peter this lasting charge — “Feed my sheep” (Jn 21:17) — and the words echo for us today: to feed those in our own homes, our community, and around the world.

Christ continues to nourish us in sacrament and Scripture. As St. Augustine wrote, we become what we receive: the Body of Christ. What a wonder when we live up to the call we have been given, and what a gift to learn what it means to receive.

Fanucci is an author, speaker and founder of Mothering Spirit, an online gathering place on parenting and spirituality at motheringspirit.com.