Holy Thursday

The Last Supper
By Janine Christiano

Sharing a meal, performing an act of care, and choosing to be vulnerable are the actions that frame Holy Thursday. Tonight, many of us will attend the Mass of the Lord’s Supper. There, we will see our pastors wash the feet of some of our fellow parishioners. We will reflect on service, sacrifice, and the institution of the Eucharist as we prepare our hearts for the sorrow of Good Friday, the waiting and preparation of Holy Saturday, and the abundant joy of Easter. Absorbing today’s readings and the moments they capture is as rich an experience as savoring a luxurious, complex meal at an elegant restaurant. At first, it could seem familiar, but if we slow down and linger, surprising and profound elements emerge.

I grew up with a picture of the Last Supper hanging in my family’s dining room, some version of daVinci’s painting. It’s a tradition I’ve continued as an adult with my own family in my own way, with a more abstract, minimal piece I bought the year I came back to the Church. As a child, I imagined the Last Supper as a pleasant event, a Passover celebration with friends, transformed by Jesus giving himself to his disciples, and to us, in the form of bread and service. It seemed like the last moments of connection and comfort before the pain and despair of Gethsemane and the Crucifixion. I never entered into the nuanced sorrow of Holy Thursday. There were not many sad holiday meals for me as a child; fasting is sad, but meals, especially with loved ones, were happy. As an adult, I have experienced a few sad meals with loved ones. The meal before a friend moves away, the meal after a job is lost, the meal before heading to the hospital to say goodbye, come to mind. It’s a strange feeling to mix nourishment and satiety with the ache of loss, disappointment, or betrayal.

When I thought about Jesus washing the disciples’ feet, Peter’s turn came to mind. Peter’s initial insistence that he won’t let Jesus do it, followed by the exuberant turnaround and declaration that Peter now wants Jesus to wash his hands and head too, is what I remembered most about that story. This year, I meditated on Jesus’s time washing Judas’s feet, and His mandate after He washed everyone’s feet, that the disciples follow His model. I understood that to mean be humble, be okay with jobs that are considered lowly, but there is more there. Jesus, “knew who would betray Him” and still washed Judas’s feet. He showed the same care and love to someone who was actively trying to harm Him, as He showed to those who would be by His side at the cross. At that moment, in our era of “going no contact” and “ghosting,” Jesus asks us, what does it look like to be vulnerable, show love, and care for the people who have hurt us? He did that for Judas at the Last Supper. He did that for all of us at the cross. Jesus is rarely prescriptive. He is the light of the world, but not often a laser pointer. How we carry the crosses we are asked to bear, and care for those around us we are called to serve, will be unique to our life circumstances and discernment. What is clear, today on Holy Thursday, is Jesus’s call to let God’s love flow through us and into the world, an act which cleanses us, and the whole world.

Practice Resurrection