Holy Thursday (Fr. Francis)

Pass it on…

“AS I HAVE DONE, so you must do.” . . . “Every time you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the death of the Lord until he comes!” . . . . “This day shall be a memorial feast for you . . . as a perpetual institution.”

Tonight we remember three important things that the Lord has passed on to us, namely the Eucharist which is the source and summit of our Christian life, secondly the Priesthood and thirdly service with unconditional love.

Rarely does scripture gather itself so sharply around one idea: the handing on of a memory. Each reading is addressed to someone who will be reading far in the future and tells that reader—tells you and me—to hold on to something, with both hands. And forever.

We can understand this. We do it instinctively, sometimes desperately. We try to hold on to things, to people, because our lives are often fragmented if not fractured, because there seems to be less security in our world. We want to pass something on to the next generation that will ground them and hold them sure and secure as they tumble into the future that is always unknown.

And what scripture gives us are not only memories but actions: instructions for what we must do, not merely say. So Exodus gives us the Passover meal that remembers both a slaughter and an escape, blood spilled as a judgment and blood smeared as a sign of salvation. Jesus gives us the inelegant work of washing feet, setting aside our prestige and our egos like fancy dress clothes that must be put away in order to take up plain and simple service. And Saint Paul gives us the earliest biblical account of the Eucharist—a meal. We are to eat bread and share a cup, and in this eating and drinking the saving death of Jesus shall be remembered and his presence recognized in every generation to come.

This has been handed to us, which is what the word tradition means: to faithfully pass on to the future what we have reverently received from the past—not merely as a formal ritual but as a treasure that allows us to touch a timeless event so truly that we become one with it, sharing its joy and sharing its meaning. We live it now. This is what has been given to ground us here and now. This is what we give to the next generation to anchor them in faith. 

We then, tonight, are “a people in flight”—not, we hope, from fear, but because we live in a rushing world. We seem always to be in a hurry, always thinking about the next thing to do. Yet tonight, after completing the day’s tasks, we stop. We remember. We recognize that like the Hebrews in Egypt, we can stop running for a while. We recognize that even in our rushing about, God is mindful of us even if we are not always mindful of God. Our anxieties come pressing in on us, threatening to overwhelm us like the armies of Pharaoh. We remember we are a people who need to be saved—who cannot save ourselves. But tonight we remember God delivers us and the body and blood of Christ saves.

We then, tonight, are a people who are once again being given the great treasure of our faith: On the night before he died, Jesus took bread and wine, established a new covenant in his own body and blood, and said, “Do this.” And, “Remember me.” And tonight, we do it. Tonight we remember how this treasure-tradition began and what it means to a people in flight.

We then, tonight, are confronted with the stark reality of one whom we call Master and Lord, who, like a towel boy in a locker room, takes up a menial task, washing the dust from our feet. It is servant’s work, not master’s work, but Jesus makes it his work. And he hands it on as our work. “As I have done, so you must do.”
And isn’t it interesting that all these memories, all these actions, are connected with a meal? How important to a people in flight. The journey tires us; we grow hungry along the way. And Jesus invites us to come away with him to rest and be refreshed. To break bread. To recognize him.

Tonight we end our Lenten journey. Tonight we pause in our hectic life journey, covered in the dust and sweat of the day’s labors, and here we are welcome. Here there is room at the table. Here there is something for us to do for one another. Here is a matter of life and death. Here is a memory. Here is the Lord’s Supper. Come. Partake. Remember.

Let us thank the Lord for the gift of holy priesthood, which provides means of sanctification for the world. Pray for vocations to the priesthood. Amen.

Fr. A. Francis HGN