…a mystagogy of the national Eucharistic procession

At the beginning of June, life in Minnesota began to get good: temperatures well above freezing, flowers blooming, graduates commencing, kids eating ice cream. And in the midst of it, Jesus Christ was processed down our streets in remarkably devotional ways in the Marian route of the National Eucharistic Procession.

I will be honest. I know people who have been very excited about this procession from the beginning, seeing it as an occasion of great witness and grace. I also know people who have been a little skeptical, not about the Eucharistic Lord, but about processions. I recall one person mentioning that in his diocese, they recently had a procession as part of their Revival that brought out all the gold and finery and processed into a non-Catholic, very poor part of the city. He admitted he found that procession almost disturbing in its message. Yet others have said they simply don’t know if observers will “get it” in a post-Christian world. Others have said processions can feel more “look at us” rather than “look at your Lord.”

Without denying that we need to be aware of how others can perceive our tradition without needed context…I want to focus on the positive. Because I do think there has been a lot of positive. I mean, this was the week Jesus came and walked down my street.

I was at our diocesan Corpus Christi mass, which coincided with the procession coming through Rochester, Minnesota. Granted, when you are “working” a Mass (I was helping with hospitality/ushers/Eucharistic Minister placement in an arena), there’s a lot more Martha than Mary in the experience. And yet: there was an anticipation, a joy, that the Lord was coming closer and closer and closer to us as we waited for the procession. I leaned over to a priest friend of mine as we welcomed the throngs to the city’s civic center, and whispered: “The Lord is coming! The Lord is coming!” And we both smiled with joy. It was advent at the beginning of June, without the Christmas shopping madness. It was lovely.

But what really got me was when I saw the pictures of the procession. Rochester is not my home, but it is a city I spend a lot of time in, because two of my children are seen at the Mayo Clinic. That means I know the streets. And my associations with a certain street, 3rd Ave SW, are mixed: a street where I arrive with my handicapped son and another son with chronic disease. I’m grateful for great medical care, but it’s a place I would not be if my children were not medically challenged. So when I saw this:

I drew in my breath. In a place of such mixed history and emotions, Jesus was there. What an incredible juxtaposition: a walk of suffering meets a walk with Jesus Christ. Doors of natural hope as you walk into an international medical clinic, while the Lord walks by and silently says “I am the door.”

Earlier in the week, I saw this truly remarkable image from St. Paul, Minnesota, where I began my teaching career in a university on this street, Summit Avenue, and it made me smile:

But again, I was struck spiritually by a lesser-seen image, when this leg of the procession and the Eucharistic Lord crossed the intersection of Summit and Snelling Avenues:

You all, this is where my first son was baptized–in the Immaculate Heart of Mary Church to the left in this picture that you cannot see (in fact, it’s no longer there, but that’s another story). It was my parish home for years in my late twenties and early thirties. Honestly, a long time ago, but spiritually it feels like yesterday. And the Lord was there then, and he walked by last week and reminded me of the great blessings of that time in my life.

And finally, you simply cannot live in southern Minnesota without an awareness of the vastness of the land. We are in the center of the continent, and it feels like it. It feels like it stretches forever, and at this point, most of it is cropland stewarded by God’s people. I was deeply touched when I saw this picture of the procession pausing for adoration, and the Eucharistic Lord blessing the land of my home: an everyday landscape, plowed, watered, nurtured, and now named as holy.

At its best, a Eucharistic procession is about remembering that Jesus walks where we walk. He is the incarnate God and he is telling us he belongs here, in the street, and on your street. If you get a chance to experience the national Eucharistic procession–use it as an opportunity to deepen your understanding of God-with-us, Emmanuel. What does it mean that Jesus is walking down your street? Don’t just think about it; take it to prayer, and let him tell you.

If you get the genuine blessing of the national Eucharistic procession moving through your town, city, or cornfield: I encourage you to take it as an opportunity to more deeply ponder the mystery of God real, present, and walking down your life’s street.