Holy Thursday – Evening Mass of the Lord's Supper -- 2019

Lectionary: 39​

"This is how you are to eat it: with your loins girt, sandals on your feet and your staff in hand, you shall eat like those who are in flight.

Ordinarily, when people gather for a festive meal, they shed their coats and hats, adapting to a relaxed, comfortable environment. They're assured there will be no rush for the door after the meal, and certainly not during the meal.

So Moses' instruction for the Passover -- that everyone should be prepared for a fast exit -- must strike anyone as pretty odd, and obviously important. Has there ever been another traditional meal with such a curious custom? There must be deep significance to this practice.

The Passover is a meal like none other, and so is our Eucharist. Moses' words remind us that our religion appeared during a crisis. It began with our "Last Supper" in Egypt, before we set out for the unknown "promised land." 

We had seen God's power demonstrated but we were not yet released from bondage. We were told to be ready to move out, but had not yet heard the order. If we were an army preparing to ship out, we were burdened with wives and children and the elderly. We could not outrun the Egyptian army's chariots. At that point the Powers that Be might have been tired of our presence but they were not yet ready to send us away. That would come with the death of every first born son of every family. 

Moses' directive that we should be prepared for a fast exit reminds us that we celebrate our faith in a foreign land. Our fellow citizens have not always been hospitable. Even in the United States today, many people despise Jews and entertain themselves with memories of murder and mayhem in Jewish cemeteries, synagogues and ghettos. Catholics have usually been more welcome but that can change in the twinkling of an eye. The laws that protect us are written on paper which, like a marriage license, can be shredded. 

We are, or should be, a peculiar people, as the Bible says. We belong to the Lord and not to any particular place or time. Our memories do not begin in 1776 or 1492. They begin in the mists of prehistory with vague figures like Abraham, Sarah and Melchizedek. They become more concrete with the Exodus from Egypt, David's capture of Jerusalem, and Solomon's building the temple. We remember the Babylonian Exile and the diaspora throughout the world. 

As Catholics we remember the signal event of Jesus' birth, death and resurrection and his command to "Do this in memory of me." No matter how long our story lasts, no matter how far we get from Jerusalem, we will not forget the Lord and his command, his dying wish. 

But, as often as our peaceful spirit is welcome among the nations, so often is our reverence for human dignity suspect. We don't abort our unborn, abandon our spouses or children, or euthanize our elderly. We also welcome strangers because our ancestors were strangers in Egypt, Palestine, and North America. Our hospitality to migrants will always make the locals feel uncomfortable with us, especially to those who have forgotten the migrations of their ancestors. 

Except for the children who forget to shed their heavy coats upon entering the church, we do not retain the Mosaic practice of keeping our loins girt, our sandals on our feet and staffs in our hands. But we remember what it means. We celebrate this Holy Thursday repast remembering Moses' perpetual institution and Jesus' command, "Do this in memory of me." 

As the psalmist said, 

If I forget you, Jerusalem, may my right hand forget. May my tongue stick to my palate if I do not remember you, if I do not exalt Jerusalem beyond all my delights.