Thursday, April 2, 2026

Holy Thursday-Evening Mass of the Lord’s Supper

 Lectionary: 39

So when he had washed their feet
and put his garments back on and reclined at table again,
he said to them, “Do you realize what I have done for you?”

Although I was born in 1948, I remember much about the Second World War, and Korea, Vietnam, Panama, Haiti, the Balkans, Somalia, Afghanistan, and Iraq. So I am not surprised that we are now at war with Iran, have invaded Venezuela, and might send troops into Cuba. I remember something of the past, despite the biases and faults of my memory. However, I notice that when arguments are made against another military adventure, we’re told, “The past doesn’t matter. The world has changed; the army has changed; we have all new technologies. This will be altogether different.”

The ancient Greeks told the story of the merchant who demanded that his neighbor pay back the money he borrowed last year. The debtor replied that he owed him nothing since he is not the same person who borrowed the money. He was drunk at the time, and now he is sober. "I have left behind my past and moved on, and you should too!" he said.

Hearing that argument, the merchant slugged the fellow. 
“Why did you hit me?” the man asked.
The merchant replied, “I didn’t hit you. I’m not the same person who hit you. I have left the past behind me!” 

When Jesus washed his disciples' feet, he asked them, “Do you realize what I have done for you?” He wants us to remember that gesture tonight, and forever. It happened during his Last Supper, when everything he said and did had enormous significance. Details of the meal are recounted in all four gospels, and although the details are differently recorded, they are all important to us. 

He also said that evening, “Do this in memory of me.” I hear in those words the voice of a young man who knows his enemies have been making plans, and that he will die very soon. His disciples do not. They think they are celebrating the Passover, as they have done every year since anyone can remember. And as the Jews will continue to celebrate the Passover long after those disciples have died and been forgotten. We always remember the Passover; we never forget it. But should we remember Jesus of Nazareth every time we keep the Passover? 

By tomorrow evening, the Lord will have suffered his agony in Gethsemane, his arrest and trial, the scourging, and his passion and death. By this time tomorrow evening, he will be dead and buried. The disciples have no idea; but they hear him say, “You must do this in memory of me.’”

If you do nothing else; if you remember nothing else about me and my teaching, my birth in Bethlehem or childhood in Egypt and Galilee, the wonders you have seen, the healing miracles and exorcisms, the parables and predictions. If you remember nothing else, do this in memory of me – and I will be with you.

You must eat this bread; for it is not bread but my body. You must drink this wine; for it is not wine but my blood. And you must be servants and slaves of one another, washing one another’s feet. 

It doesn’t matter how many stories you tell, parables you recount, books you write, sermons you preach, movies you make, ballets you dance, or operas you sing. If you do not eat my flesh and drink my blood and wash one another’s feet, you will not remember me. You will not know me; you will have no part of me.
More than a thousand years before, Moses had warned his people, 
Take to heart these words which I command you today.
Keep repeating them to your children. Recite them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you get up.
Bind them on your arm as a sign and let them be as a pendant on your forehead.
Write them on the doorposts of your houses and on your gates.

Moses was facing the last days of his life and he knew that if the people did not take to heart these words, and repeat them to their children, and recite them at home and abroad, forever – then they might as well go back to Egypt and put their chains on again, and make bricks out of mud. The parting of the Red Sea and the destruction of the Egyptian army, and the manna they’d eaten, and the freedom: they’d been given meant nothing. 

In this 21st century we’re faced with the same challenge. We must keep this feast of Holy Thursday; the feast of our Holy Mass. We must eat his flesh and drink his blood and wash one another’s feet, and insist that our children and grandchildren do the same. Failing that, we might as well resume the life of consumers, workers, and soldiers. And we can watch our TV sports and soap operas and situation comedies; and brag about our grandchildren on social media. We can send migrants into concentration camps and fight our useless wars because nothing that Jesus did, or that our parents and grandparents did for two millennia will have made any difference. 

The Lord is with us tonight just as much and more than he was with us in the Upper Room on the night before he died. He speaks to us again, and commands us, 
You call me ‘teacher’ and ‘master,’  and rightly so, for indeed I am.
If I, therefore, the master and teacher, have washed your feet,
you ought to wash one another’s feet.
I have given you a model to follow,
so that as I have done for you, you should also do.”