In the humidity of a midwest July, tens of thousands of Catholics lined up in downtown Indianapolis Wednesday to enter the National Eucharistic Congress, promoted by U.S. Catholic bishops as the centerpiece of a call for the revival of a Church that has faced in recent years the demoralization of a clerical sexual abuse crisis, the disappointment of locked church doors during the Covid-19 pandemic, and the challenge of slashed budgets and closing parishes, coming amid a wave of secularization and institutional disaffiliation.
These Catholics came to Indiana, they told The Pillar, not because the pain of those realities has diminished, nor because the problems have been solved — but because they want to put their trust in Jesus Christ, whom they find present in the sacrament of the Most Holy Eucharist.
Some wore mantillas, others were in colorful parish t-shirts, there were priests in cassocks and some in polo shirts, and sisters in nearly every kind of habit.
As the day cooled, they filed into Lucas Oil Stadium, past a cast of Peyton Manning in bronze, to nearly fill the stadium, and then to kneel, as Bishop Andrew Cozzens processed with the monstrance before them, to expose the Eucharist, and to pray.
The crowd was larger than many had predicted, filling nearly three-quarters of the stadium seating, and the floor, where the Colts usually ply their trade.
Bishops, seated together high in the stands, knelt as they sang the “Tantum ergo.”
Cozzens, preaching in direct address to Jesus, asked for healing, and hope, and holiness.
Catholics closed their eyes as the stadium said aloud together: “Jesus, I trust in you.”
With spotlights and candlelight illuminating a gold monstrance blessed by Pope Francis, some pilgrims wept in their seats at solemn benediction, others mouthed silent prayers. Families held hands. Missionaries of Charity knelt prostrate, their foreheads on the ground.
After a blessing, and “Holy God, we praise thy name,” the stadium shifted from liturgy to conference. Co-hosts chatted on the stage. Apostolic nuncio Cardinal Christophe Pierre gave a lengthy speech, followed by a testimony from a member of the Sisters of Life.
For the next four days, the Eucharistic Congress in Indianapolis will be liturgies, talks, exhibitors, and choirs and concerts. Thousands of confessions will be heard. More than 5,000 ciboria will be reportedly used to distribute the Eucharist. An adoration chapel — a parish church across from the convention center — will be full nearly every hour. Thousands will process through the city.
And there will be thousands of smaller moments, of grace, of conversion, of crosses, and of friendship. The Pillar will be on the ground to capture them.
Stay tuned. And here’s some video.
‘The line’
Before the stadium event began, the story for many Congress attendees was the line — a single check-in line, which snaked through the Indiana Convention Center, out the door, at times around the building, and stretching several blocks down.
Several Congress staffers told The Pillar that at times the check-in line stretched nearly three-quarters of a mile. Some attendees waited more than two hours, mostly in the sun, to reach the check-in kiosks which would admit them to Congress events.
According to several sources inside the Congress, the problem was that a software and logistic vendor provided fewer kiosks and badge printers than were anticipated. But some sources inside the Congress added that event organizers themselves had not anticipated the glut of check-ins on Wednesday afternoon, just hours ahead of the stadium event.
The check-in kerfluffle had knock-on effects, which reportedly raised temperatures in the Congress offices, drew Congress staffers away from other organizational tasks, and which kept light and sound crews from getting into the stadium at the time they had expected.
Some Congress sources said the check-in problems could be a harbinger of other logistical problems in the days to come.
But Catholics waiting in line raised few objections to The Pillar, with many saying they were glad for the time to take in the festival atmosphere of the Congress.
Temperatures peaked at only 84 in Indianapolis, Wednesday, averting what could have been a health issue if the day had gotten hotter.
Laura, who came with a parish group for Louisiana, told The Pillar she didn’t mind the wait outside to check in for the event. Her group of 45 had begun traveling early Monday morning, stopping at the Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament in Hanceville, Alabama, on her way to the Congress.
“It’s worth it,” Laura told The Pillar, “the Holy Spirit is leading us.”
“It’s worth it because Jesus is important,” she said. “And we are having fun.”
Catholic Lego
In the exhibit hall of the Congress, Stephen Maas and his son Leopold came from St. Paul, Minnesota to share their “side hustle” — selling Catholic Lego kits, which features priest minifigs offering Mass or hearing confessions.
They make the sets through their small company, the Domestic Church Supply Company, which, with one other employee, designs and assembles Catholic Lego kits from pieces bought at retail prices from bricklink, an online marketplace where Lego pieces are sold in bulk by third party distributors.
The challenge of designing each kit, he said, is finding off-the-shelf pieces which can be repurposed to create altars, tabernacles, and other liturgical fixtures — and then redesigning the kits if some pieces are no longer available.
Maas, a Pillar reader (in a good way), told The Pillar Wednesday that when Leopold was young, he noticed that while the rest of their life was informed by Catholic culture, “that really wasn’t part of our Legoland. And so I said, ‘Well, can we change that?’”
He began designing a kit at night, after his kids went to bed — a priest, celebrating Mass. The kit took about a year to design, and then Maas had to figure out how to source the pieces, assemble kits, and put them up for sale.
That was eight years ago, in 2016. He marketed the kit, and then another he designed, on Facebook, and through a homeschool network. While he and his wife do the “lion’s share” of the work, Maas said, they added an employee — “a faithful Catholic guy in his 20s,” who has autism, Maas told The Pillar, and who is responsible for counting the right amount of each type of Lego brick included in each kit.
“He works for us about 15 hours a week. And it’s great because it’s a job he can do better than any of us can.”
The company hand assembles kits in batches of 25, Maas said, making sure not to miss any pieces in any of the kits, and measuring each one by weight. “It’s not the sort of thing you could automate,” he told The Pillar, “but you gotta get it right.”
Maas estimates that he sells 2,000 or 3,000 kits each year. Mini-figures, he said, are custom printed, using the same process Lego itself uses.
His family does the work, Maas said, because they want to see children formed through play.
“I think the ultimate hope is that one day somebody will be ordained and they'll tell me: ‘You know what? When I first got my Father Leopold Lego set, that was the beginning of my vocational journey.’ Catholicism should be a part of all our kids’ entire lives. Even their play with Lego.”
