We have experienced a unique moment in U.S. Catholicism. For the first time in our history, or in any country’s history, we have witnessed our Eucharistic Lord in the form of a cross processed across the entire country. Let me repeat, it’s never been done before in history, until now!
Why do I bring this up? Because this is a crucial part in the Triumph of the Immaculate Heart. The Triumph is not the end in itself, but the fruit of the Triumph is the reign of the Sacred (and Eucharistic) Heart.
My son, who is a CFR, was with the pilgrimage from South Bend to Indianapolis; he described the surreal feeling when the last team processed into Indianapolis. The whole group removed their shoes a mile out and processed barefoot. As they drew closer to St. John the Baptist church, he looked at the thousands of pilgrims waiting in great anticipation. The air was charged with an electricity as everyone dropped to their knees, some openly weeping, some with foreheads pressed to the ground. The King had arrived, and he described the recognition of regality that crossed every face.
We will know the Triumph is here when we see its fruit. Oh, I certainly hope our bishops have seen the blood in the water with this Eucharistic Pilgrimage. The key is to not take your foot off the enemy’s neck—double down, aim even higher!
Yes, there is blood in the water, and for once it’s not ours. Isn’t it refreshing that the Church is in attack mode? Decades of watching the sharks tearing pieces off Christ’s Mystical Body, the Church.
It is time brothers and sisters: draw your swords! Every rosary, every moment adoring our Lord in the Eucharist, every selfless act for those in need for love of God is a knife wound to the enemy. The lethal sword thrust though comes when we take our Savior and King out into the public square and declare Him solemnly as the Son of God and King of our land.
Though Jesus on His own accord offered Himself up, we will never forget what the enemy did to our Savior. Our Blessed Mother will never forget. She saw every scourge, every blow, every defilement of her loving Son. People often think of our Blessed Mother as only a meek, mild, silent woman. But she knew the real enemy behind the malicious men. There will come a time, perhaps in our lifetime when her heal will crush the head of the enemy. And I imagine she will remember every torture and blow to her precious Son as she forcefully crushes the skull of evil. She knows what war is and that souls are at stake.
Her victory will be when we believe in and act with zeal for her Son in the Eucharist. When every diocese, every parish, and every home welcome Jesus as they did in Indianapolis this last July. That is the key! Start planning your diocesan-wide processions now. Every parish should take Jesus down every road, by every house, reclaiming, in the name of Jesus, by His Eucharistic presence, that piece of turf from the enemy.
I will never forget something beautiful a priest-friend shared with me. One of his parishioner’s was tragically killed in a gang shooting. What did this priest do? He took Jesus in the Eucharist and processed to the very location, where the blood was still fresh, and he solemnly reclaimed that spot where Satan had had his victory. It was a moment of healing for a grieving family; it was a pastor declaring war on the evil that had fed on one of his sheep.
People, we need to realize that we are at war! If we remain faithful, there will be souls in heaven because of our cooperation. (Think about this.) If we abscond from the fight, those same souls will be in hell for eternity.
The older I get, the more I realize how our salvation is not an individual thing. It is integrated, communal. We need each other; we can’t do it alone. The stakes are as high as they possibly can be, but we have God’s grace; we have God’s mercy; we have Jesus Christ’s Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity in the Holy Eucharist, and with Him we will be victorious!
This poem by Dylan Thomas is meant for all of us who have grown “old” in our faith:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Author’s Note: Steven Thomas is author of Catholic Joe: Superhero, a book that is igniting Catholics.
Photo by Thays Orrico on Unsplash
