Combining beautiful Catholic ritual with intense, high-octane live performance is a tried and tested device in music, theatre and cinema. Fictional religious processions gently immerse audiences in a sense of the sacred. Take Mascagni’s powerful Easter procession in his opera Cavalleria rusticana and its inspired use by Francis Ford Coppola in The Godfather Part III. The artistic arena offers some good advertising opportunities for our faith and its traditions – yet we all know, of course, that it’s not the real thing.
This is why the recent revival of a large-scale Corpus Christi procession through the streets of central London is such positive news. To the unbeliever, it may look purely theatrical, yet everybody coming in contact with the procession can reflect on and enjoy God’s mercy. Every stranger encountering our ceremonial march is included, not only the people of the parishes involved. It’s now more important than ever to place the Blessed Sacrament on show for the whole world to see: a powerful public witness of our veneration of Christ in the Eucharist.
Thanks to the heroic efforts of Fr Christopher Colven of St James’s, Spanish Place, huge crowds will participate in the procession this year, starting from Our Lady of the Assumption, near Piccadilly Circus, and moving on to Marylebone. Led by the Apostolic Nuncio Archbishop Antonio Mennini, we will bravely take in Regent Street, unapologetically halt the traffic when crossing Oxford Street and undoubtedly inspire curiosity from onlookers.
At a time when faith is frequently misunderstood, we cannot play safe and remain protected within the vicinity of our own parish. Instead, along this new high-profile route, we will display our love for Christ and the Eucharistic miracle in the most public way possible, encouraging wider discussion and better understanding of the centrality of the Blessed Sacrament to our faith.
It’s disappointing, however, that such inspirational outdoor devotions have all but disappeared in many parts of Ireland and the UK. Our neighbours in Austria, Poland and Spain, and devoutly Catholic regions of Germany and France, seem to make more of an effort.
I will never forget an accidental encounter with a Eucharistic procession in Vienna, surrounded by a magnificent array of people from every walk of life, proudly incorporating traditional Austrian costume and custom. As we walked through those cobbled, historic streets listening to the ancient Latin and modern German texts, echoes of St Thomas Aquinas abounded. Every place, it seems, welcomes Christ in its own way, and I too was welcomed as a stranger in town. How important it feels to hold on to this image at a time when, around the world – and even in Austria – the stranger is once more being seen as unwelcome, as a threat that must be barred entry.
As we walked towards the Stephansdom, the strong whiff of incense brought back intoxicating memories of a Catholic childhood. The Viennese pageant sported impressive cavalrymen and what seemed like the entire hierarchy of the local archdiocese in splendid vestments. In Ireland we did it differently – simpler perhaps, yet still with much in common.
My strongest memory of the feast at home in Ireland is the evocative smell of freshly cut grass and the litanies, prayers and hymns in Latin, English and, not least, Gaelic. Our long-serving rural parish priest carried the heavy, glimmering monstrance so devoutly that we understood, even as children, that something profound and moving was happening. The procession was followed by local sporting organisations, societies and charities in their finery, holding aloft colourful banners.
Heading the proceedings were the excited first Holy Communion and Confirmation classes, proudly showing off their respective white and red sacramental rosettes. Bunting hung everywhere. A brass band played. Scouts formed a guard of honour, and the army and police saluted the start and close of the procession.
Those watching from footpaths, from open doors of their homes and even from pubs dropped to their knees as the monstrance passed. Windows were festooned and altars raised at various “stations” bedecked with candles and flowers. Having carried Jesus over the roads, bogs, fields and meadows, the priest would give the final blessing from the uppermost step at the church gate.
After such a triumphal procession everyone, from the oldest to the youngest, was in festive mood. It’s probably selective memory, but it never seemed to rain on Corpus Christi.
Sadly, by my 18th birthday, the annual outdoor procession was a thing of the past. This makes me all the more ashamed to admit that when I first followed the procession to Spanish Place in 2014, I worried about being seen or scoffed at by non-believer friends. Now I don’t give it a second thought and wouldn’t miss the ritual for anything. Participation in a such public act of devotion results in many graces.
Let’s all hope that this important central London procession continues to thrive as a treasure of our faith and symbol of God’s love for all of us, no matter how unworthy of it we may feel. Adoremus in aeternum.
John Gilhooly is the artistic director of Wigmore Hall, a parishioner of St James’s, Spanish Place, and a patron of the restoration appeal at Corpus Christi, Maiden Lane. The procession of the Most Blessed Sacrament in central London, on Sunday May 29, will begin at 5:30pm at Our Lady of the Assumption and St Gregory, Warwick Street
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