Diocese announces Mass, observances to close Eucharistic Revival
Prior to the liturgy, the faithful will have the opportunity for Eucharistic adoration beginning at 11 a.m. and continuing throughout the afternoon.
At 3 p.m., a holy hour for vocations will be prayed, and priests will celebrate the Sacrament of Reconciliation.
The Chaplet of Divine Mercy will be prayed at 4 p.m. for the intention of welcoming Catholics home to the church, and at 4:15 p.m., Bartchak will lead a Eucharistic procession inside the cathedral, leading up to the Mass.
The national Eucharistic Revival has been a three-year movement by the bishops of the United States to educate and inspire Catholics to re-ignite their personal relationship with Christ through the Holy Eucharistic.
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I met my husband in college, and we dated for five years prior to our wedding. I brought a whole host of fear-based ideas about sexuality to our marriage. Due to purity culture, which primarily targeted girls in the 1990s with a message that their sexual purity was their most prized asset, I could not help but believe a crown of stars awaited me if I stayed a virgin, possibly until death. In my all-girl Catholic high school theology class, we had learned virginity was a gift. We were told to imagine our sexual purity as a beautifully wrapped present. If we ever felt pressured to give in to the sexual advances of our male counterparts, we were to consider what it would be like to hand our future spouse a gift with tattered wrapping paper and bedraggled ribbons. As I entered college and wrestled with my faith, the book I Kissed Dating Goodbye, written by a young pastor named Joshua Harris, caused a huge splash in Christian circles. 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I started to amass my own wardrobe of lingerie. I still wore the modest suits of a professor, but underneath were the reminders that I was more than a teacher with sensible shoes. In 2018, Joshua Harris denounced I Kissed Dating Goodbye and publicly apologized for the hurt caused by it. The following year, Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber published Shameless, an indictment of the shame-laced ways the church has indoctrinated young people about sexuality. By this point, I was beginning to lose my footing in my own marriage. My husband and I had moved across the country and were navigating new jobs and life with adolescent children. Natural growing pains were surfacing: We were two people who met before our brains were fully developed — before we knew who we truly were. The strains of our life together were pulling us apart. I started to visit social media accounts about lingerie as a way to relieve stress. Learning about the materials, the construction, the history, and the style of the pieces was soothing. I also discovered the women running these accounts, like the French women I'd read about years earlier, wore their lingerie not for a partner but for themselves. They were celebrating their own sexuality. Perhaps this was Victoria's Secret: not that she used a satin chemise to attract but that she kept a ruffle-trimmed slip in her boudoir to remind her of who she was. Seventeen years after we wed, my husband and I met in a courtroom, and, with the stroke of a judge's pen, our relationship was legally dissolved. My marriage was my only significant romantic relationship, and I mourn the familiar rhythms of that life. I am left with countless existential questions about what I do now, what I want... and an expansive wardrobe of lingerie. For the first time in over two decades, I am single. 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In this new chapter, which I could never have envisioned as a young newlywed, I realize what all these lingerie-loving women I've come across know about intimate apparel: It is a symbol of their superpower. They wear pieces that allow them to simply feel good in their bodies. When we feel good in our bodies, we can talk back to the shame. We can celebrate the marvelous capacity our bodies have to experience desire and pleasure. This is a wondrous thing ― no matter one's size, shape, skin color or creed. Obviously, wearing lingerie is just one of countless ways through which a person can access that freedom, but for me (and many others), it serves as a gentle yet potent reminder of my commitment to seeking the kind of liberation that has eluded me for much too long. Recently I purchased a luxurious royal blue loungewear set. It sits in a gold cardboard box, tied with a matching royal blue ribbon. I have not decided if I will wear the set for a special occasion, like when I find true love again, or simply when I'm having a good hair day. What I do know is that the decision is not one to fear — especially because I am the one making it.
