The Eucharistic Pilgrimage

“No way,” I said to my wife. “There is no way we are going to make it there on time if the girls are going to be at the front of the procession.” My wife makes the plans, and I execute them. Which is a bit backwards, but it works in a heavenly comic sort of way. People say that God has a sense of humor, which is true. But sometimes his humor is more sanctifying than I would like. Nevertheless, her eyes widened, her jaw dropped and she gasped, “Oh! You’re right! We gotta go.”

Our daughters, wearing their first communion dresses, scurried into the van like mice trying to avoid two angry cats, while our son proceeded to calmly collect his things and join them in the van. My wife and I jumped into the car and proceeded to ask the kids their “flight check” questions:

“Do you have your water bottles?”

“Yes!”, they replied in unison.

“Do you have your change of clothes for after the procession?”

“Yes!”

“Do you have your rosaries?”

“Yes!’

“Everyone buckled?”

“Yes”, “Yes”, “Almost!”

“Hurry up!”

The GPS had our destination loaded, we had started up a Saints Alive episode, and we were off! The day would prove to be one I will remember forever, but it didn’t hit me until we arrived in the city, parked our car, and began to walk to the Cathedral.

Every Knee Shall Bow

We pulled into our parking spot, and we informed our kids to get out of the car as if they were trained Navy SEALS. “Trust your training!”, I yelled over the roar of the minivan air conditioning. Ok, I never said that, but sometimes my ADD and my imagination get the best of me.

As we walked through the heat of downtown Cincinnati, we looked out of place among the morning walkers and joggers. My son wore his orange camouflage polo with khakis and my daughters were dressed in all white gowns as if they were attending their first communion all over again (since they had received their first communion earlier this year, they were granted the opportunity to walk at the front of the procession). My wife was wearing a long, dark blue dress, her dark hair trailing behind her like a veil. But everything was still a blur at this point. We speedily walked toward the Cathedral, my wife and I bickering and trying to keep eyes on our kids, especially that one who, for whatever reason, enjoys sauntering five feet behind us in areas where they are most likely to be kidnapped.

We walked past the urban buildings towering over us, the sun beating down as we walked in our “Sunday Best” on a hot Saturday morning. We made a final turn and walked a long stretch of sidewalk that ended on a main road. “Turn left and cross the street”, my wife said. I told the kids to stop and look both ways. To our left we saw the Cathedral, but to the right the procession was approaching. They were singing and Christ was high and lifted up.

Time stood still. We all stopped and looked; then, instinctively, I knelt down on one knee. My children and wife followed my example. It was a powerful moment, where I felt as if my whole being was taken to a deeper mystery about the body of Christ. As recent converts to the Faith from protestantism, it felt like my soul was being plunged into a Eucharistic abyss. I was speechless, but my soul cried out within me, “Who is this King of Glory that even under the appearance of bread, he would bring me and my family to our knees in the middle of a public street?”

As we knelt, I couldn’t believe the transformation I had undergone. It was only seven years ago that I was arguing with a friend and his wife about how silly the Catholic Faith was. Even my friend, a far more intelligent man than me, affirmed my arguments were valid. But God is not concerned with validity as much as he is with the Truth. As they started to leave, my friend’s wife turned to me, pointed her finger at me, and with incredible conviction said, “Daniel, if the Holy Spirit wants you in the Church, he will get you there.” I was speechless. But that didn’t stop me from letting out a disapproving grunt. It’s a defense mechanism they teach you in seminary when you’ve been owned but don’t know it yet.

My friend’s wife was right and her words were lodged in my mind like a thorn. God does not condescend himself to the logical ghettos of mere validity and Christian agnosticism. A Christian without the Church is like a human without his body. It’s not that he doesn’t exist, but he’s not fully Christian. As I watched my Eucharistic Lord process, I turned to my wife and sheepishly asked “You think we can just join in?”

As you can tell, I don’t do many public events. There aren’t a lot of rules with these sorts of things and my wife confidently assured me we could. We easily merged in with the Body of Believers, the Church animated in real time and space, by the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

After a celebration of the Mass by Archbishop Schnurr, we took to the streets of Cincinnati. United with Christ in the Eucharist, following Mary’s example, we took Christ into the world.

Thousands of people filled the streets and songs filled the city in praise for Christ the King. My wife took the girls to the front after Mass, and they processed in front of Christ, throwing flower pedals in front of the King of Kings. My son and I were in the middle of the pilgrimage, carried by the mass of people singing ancient hymns of praise to Christ. My wife informed me that she saw onlookers bow low before the Lord as he processed by. As I looked to the side, I saw people videotaping us with wonder and bewilderment on their faces. “What is this all about? What are these people doing?”

Similar questions must have prompted St. Justyn Martyr to provide the following response between 100-150 AD:

For not as common bread and common drink do we receive these; but in like manner as Jesus Christ our Savior, having been made flesh by the Word of God, had both flesh and blood for our salvation, so likewise have we been taught that the food which is blessed by the prayer of His word, and from which our blood and flesh by transmutation are nourished, is the flesh and blood of that Jesus who was made flesh. For the apostles, in the memoirs composed by them, which are called Gospels, have thus delivered unto us what was enjoined upon them; that Jesus took bread, and when He had given thanks, said, This do in remembrance of Me, [Luke 22:19] this is My body; and that, after the same manner, having taken the cup and given thanks, He said, This is My blood; and gave it to them alone. ¹

The power of Christ is real, and the moment where this is most true is in the reception of Christ in the Eucharist, the summit of the Faith. Whether you are a genius or a humble and hard working man, all are equal before Christ at Calvary; we are all sinners seeking to be made saints by that heavenly meal that is both the cure for our sins and the joy of the Lord. Is there anything better this side of heaven than knowing that Christ has never left us? That he desires to strengthen us in the battle between light and darkness in such a way that our sufferings become his sufferings and our joys become his joys? How humiliating it must be for the Devil, a roaring lion who seeks to devour souls, to be defeated—not by flesh and blood, but by the Bread of Heaven.

I was asked after the procession was over, “Dan, did you ever think that you would have found yourself in a Eucharistic Procession?” To which I responded, “Never.” How is it that a man who at one time was convinced this was idolatry, would find himself kneeling and worshipping publicly in the streets? It only proves that Christianity is not so much about “intellect” or “sinners’ prayers”, but whether we will submit to God’s way of salvation. God is not bound by his sacraments, so the Catechism teaches. But God will reward those who heard his call, “I have longed to share this Passover meal with you before I suffer…” and answered, “Let it be done to me according to your will.”

To those who still doubt that the Church is Christ’s vehicle for salvation: in the words of St. Bernadette, who was privileged with a visitation from the Blessed Mother at Lourdes and suffered much because of it, “I can’t force you to believe me; I can only answer by telling you what I have seen and heard.”

— DR

1. St. Justyn Martyr, The First Apology. Ch. 66. (https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/0126.htm).