Christ on the river, Christ down the street

The best ticket in the country was free, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. The chance to sail on the Steamboat Natchez with a thousand people adoring Christ on America's greatest river is nothing short of exhilarating.

From a Catholic point of view, the Fête-Dieu du Mississippi Eucharistic procession is about as awesome as it gets. The flotilla includes a crucifix boat, a boat of bells, a thurible boat likely to burn 50 pounds of incense, a specially built 14-foot monstrance, a boat dedicated to the Assumption of Mary and one carrying a large statue of St. Joseph. This event promises to be beautiful. Two days of procession and prayer are planned for the 130-mile journey from Baton Rouge to New Orleans. That will include cathedral Masses, an overnight vigil, opportunity for sacramental confession, the Liturgy of the Hours and a celebration in Jackson Square. I couldn't be more excited.

But when it comes to committing myself to making a weekly holy hour at a nearby parish chapel, I have difficulty mustering much excitement at all. Instead, I resist "locking myself in." I think about how hard it might be to get a substitute. I wonder whether Tuesdays at 9:00 really is the best time for me, and whether I'll get assigned to my first choice slot. I'm happy, of course, that the neighboring parish is trying to reestablish perpetual adoration. "Good for them," I think. But when it comes to sharing the burden of helping them do so, I'm slow to sign up. Countless excuses come rushing to mind.

I wish I could say I'm alone in that less-than-enthusiastic response. But it seems like "eventism" affects more than a few of us. We're thrilled to adore the Lord with a crowd of people in a stadium or river procession, but reticent to do so down the street. If we ever needed proof of our own fallenness, it can be found right there. Mine is staring me in the face.

God knows we all love a Catholic extravaganza -- a mountaintop experience that reignites our faith with joy and gives us a taste of heaven's glory. He inspires these opportunities and gives them to us. We ought to take full advantage of missions, conferences, retreats and special events. But we should also recognize that the depth of our discipleship is most visible and fruitful in what we do between them.

Do we seek the consolations of God, or the God of consolations? Eventually, our answer has to be God himself.

That's a hard word for Catholic junkies like me. But if we are to make genuine progress toward sanctity, we have to learn how to feed our faith and live it daily. We must rely less on the extraordinary moments we crave and more on the staples God gives us: the tabernacle closest to us, the Liturgy of the Hours, the Rosary, the works of mercy and frequent Communion. There is no difference in the spiritual value of attending a pontifical Mass with thousands and a daily parish Mass with a handful of our neighbors.

Faith grows when it is put to the test, and often the most significant tests occur in what looks like the least significant circumstances. If we are to be Eucharistic missionary disciples, we must become more intentional in our discipleship. From my perspective, "intentional" is just a less off-putting way of saying "disciplined."

God doesn't ask for part of our hearts; he wants all of them. He doesn't rush in to take everything all at once. He continually invites us to give him just a little bit more of ourselves to him. For me, that means committing to just one more thing -- every Tuesday at 9:00.

Large movements succeed only when we live them regularly and on a small scale. That will never happen if we are waiting for the next big event. When I put on my official Fête-Dieu T-shirt and board the Natchez to adore Christ on the Mississippi, I will try to remember that.
I'll give the big events all I've got, but focus more of my attention on the daily opportunities God gives me to both see Christ living and active in my life and be Christ to the people I encounter where he has placed me.