“I hope this summer gives you what you’re looking for,” a supportive, albeit confused family member said to me as I prepared to set out on an unprecedented adventure.
I had the privilege of being a perpetual pilgrim, one of 30 young people who would walk with Jesus across the United States for 60 days as part of the National Eucharistic Pilgrimage.
Before we began, all of the pilgrims received formation, training and a thorough packing list. But, candidly, no one had ever done this before, processing across an entire country with the Eucharist, on foot, by car and by boat.
I’ll never forget our first two days.
Six enthusiastic and nervous twenty-somethings show up in New Haven, Connecticut, and are met by Father Roger Landry and Brother Jan Vanek, CFR. All of us have abandoned everything for two months to go on pilgrimage, and the weight of some of those choices — graduation celebrations, delayed exams, a beloved job — lays heavily upon our backs as we haul our luggage up the kindly cleared-out-for-the-weekend rectory steps.
This would be one of our longer stays, a whopping two nights.
Then we organized and packed a trailer and our 15-passenger specially-outfit van that would soon welcome the King of Kings.
Our job? To get Jesus from Connecticut to Indianapolis. Simple enough.
I went on pilgrimage knowing I would be walking with love himself. I knew he had the power to transform my heart, but I wasn’t quite sure how. I would discover that he would transform me primarily through relationships: with himself, his people and my fellow pilgrims.
Through his persistent presence in the Eucharist, God revealed to me with fresh clarity who he is and who I am. I remember a particularly early morning on the border of Pennsylvania and West Virginia when our team’s grumpiness was at an all-time high. We begrudgingly packed up, piled into our seats, and drove to the nearby church to welcome Jesus into our van. How I wish I could say everything changed when Our Eucharistic Lord entered, but, alas, I was still lamenting my lost hour of sleep. Through half-opened eyes, I brought my childish complaints to him. And Jesus, in his humility, did not rebuke me. Instead, he remained.
God with us, all the time
I learned in new ways on pilgrimage what “Emmanuel” means. When God says he wants to be with us, he means all the time. He wants to be with us when we are rejoicing at a procession well-run and when we are saying a weepy farewell to our friars after their week with us ends. He desires us when we zealously proclaim his goodness in a testimony, as well as when we genuinely repent of a rude quip to a teammate. Emmanuel truly means “God with us.”
God further revealed his desire to be with me by teaching me more about my identity as his beloved daughter. He pursues me not because of what I might do for him, but because of who I am. As a musician, I had the opportunity to lead music during processions, which is now one of the highlights of my career. There is a particular joy in giving the gifts you’ve been given by God back to God — especially while He is a mere five feet in front of you.
My performance during processions was never perfect. Unsurprisingly, playing guitar, singing, and walking, all at the same time, sometimes uphill, in downpours, or scalding heat for many hours, is not the easiest endeavor. I will never forget the chaos of trekking across the Brooklyn Bridge while attempting to read music, avoid traffic poles, harmonize with Father Malachy Napier, CFR, and not run into the sardine-packed crowd. Yet that day was one of my happiest along the pilgrimage because, during this iconic procession, we were proclaiming our risen Lord in the city I call home.
Gift of ourselves
God delights in the free gift of ourselves to him. Even more so, he delights in us because of who we are. With love ever before my eyes, my heart was transformed by his constant presence to me, his daughter.
The Lord also revealed himself to me through the individuals and multitudes we encountered along the way. We traveled through affluent cities and impoverished municipalities, through rural fields and meandering suburbs. In each place, we met numerous faithful who welcomed Jesus — and by association, us — into their communities, parishes and homes with great celebration.
I met one woman in Columbus, Ohio, during a garishly sunny two-mile procession. She was towards the back of the procession, stoutly pushing a stroller with her right arm and holding an umbrella with her left. With my broken Spanglish, I approached her, offering to relieve her of her weightier job for a while. Rejected, but unfazed, I then offered at least to carry the umbrella, and she relented, graciously handing it over.
As we finished the procession together side by side, two things struck me.
First, I was taken by the image of a mother holding an umbrella over her son. During minor Eucharistic processions, we carried a processional ombrellino to protect the Blessed Sacrament from the elements and to give honor and prominence to our beloved King. How lucky was I to be invited into this intimate moment, to hold an umbrella over this stranger’s son, a product of her love, while following behind our shared Beloved, Jesus?
This shared moment brought a second realization, which was the beauty of the universality of the Church. This mother and I had very little in common. We spoke different languages and hailed from different states. Yet, there was an ease in our new relationship. We knew whom we were following. With love before our eyes, it was a gift to walk and worship with her and with God’s people across our country.
God reveals himself through relationships
In an intimate way, God likewise revealed himself to me through my relationships with my fellow pilgrims.
While I anticipated gaining new friends, I was not expecting how closely knit together we would become and how our relationships would prompt me to love more deeply. I attribute this phenomenon to the presence of our Eucharistic Lord. How else could six young people, the most diligent priest in the world, and a handful of Franciscan friars stand each other week after week? Pushed to our physical, spiritual and emotional limits, it was only Jesus who could keep us united as a team and even more make us a family.
About halfway through the pilgrimage, our team was, to be frank, falling apart. The varnish of our shiny, never-before-done adventure was wearing off and the cracks in our relationships were alarmingly obvious. So in the basement of a Pittsburgh parish, we reconciled. Through humble tears and faltering voices, we addressed the elephants in the room and how we had allowed them to bloat. We prayed. We forgave. And God was with us.
Over our two-month journey, we experienced the rollercoaster of community life: both its pointed pains and its boisterous joys. As we stumbled along the pilgrim roads, we stumbled together, and we helped each other get up to continue the Eucharistic journey.
Stories for a lifetime
There are many more things I could say about how God touched me through relationships this summer. I could tell you about teary-eyed bishops, rambunctious sisters and holy families. I could describe the host matriarch who stayed up until 10 p.m. to serve us her delicious Indian food in New Jersey. I could recount the co-pastors in rural Indiana who have sewn their community together through a parish coffee shop and a keen focus on Jesus’ true presence. I could share about the incarcerated man who desires to be a Third Order Carmelite after meeting St. Thérèse of Lisieux on an Ohio prison exercise track. I have stories for a lifetime.
Allow me one more.
One week before the end of our journey, I experienced God’s love in a new and profound way. As I began a midday Eucharistic Holy Hour in Dearborn County, Indiana, with the mystery of the Trinity before me, I closed my eyes.
Suddenly, I was on fire. An all-consuming, all-powerful love filled me, and I was paralyzed in wonder. This grace was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was as if I had been engulfed, body and soul, completely in him. Jesus gave me for a moment what he desires for me — and each of us — forever.
This summer I learned indelibly how God desires to be close to each of us. He wants to be with us. He seeks us in his Eucharistic presence at Mass and adoration and in our relationships with those around us.
During this last year of the National Eucharistic Revival, how can we allow God to orient our lives more directly toward him? As we traverse this journey of Christian life, how can love himself be ever before our eyes?
