Every year it is the same thing and yet every year it is different. The liturgy of Holy Thursday is constant—it is a reminder to do all in remembrance of the One who willingly gave His life for me. Jesus gathers his friends and breaks bread with them. At this point, they are still quite uncertain as to what is going to happen.
He then surprises them by washing their feet, something a slave would do, not a rabbi or teacher. Finally, he goes with his friends to a place that they never would have gone to had they known what would unfold.
How many times have you had supper with friends and wished it would go on for hours? That kind of meal where the food is absolutely delicious, the laughter loud and spontaneous, the conversation deep and meaningful, and the bonds of friendship sealed in new ways—do you know what I mean? Have you experienced that?
How many times have you encountered “last suppers”? Have you lost people in your life with whom you at one time broke bread? Shared meaningful times? Yet never realized that you would not still be having those meals together?
Tonight I came excited but somehow my mood shifted. The current pastor remarked on his “last supper” with the former pastor, a supper of which I was part. In fact, I lounged beside Brian, having deep and meaningful conversations, as always. Actually, we even discussed how he thought only Jean Vanier could gracefully age and not be as active as he once was. Brian would have none of it.
Tonight at Eucharist, my friend Louise’s daughter and I stood face to face as we entered the communion line and it was the first time I had seen her in months. My eyes lit up with delight as I mouthed the words, “you’re pregnant!” and gave her two thumbs up. As I took two steps forward I felt the tears well up in my eyes, remembering first her son Matthew’s funeral and then the last supper I had with Louise. It was the group of four who would often get together but at that time we thought she might go into remission. We had not expected her to leave us so soon.
By the time I got back to my pew, I had memories of my friend Rob and the group who surrounded him during his illness. We always had amazing experiences of breaking bread together. In particular, I remember, (and still drool over), a lamb dish he had made for us. It was fantastic. The irony of his brief illness meant that he could no longer join us for those scrumptious meals. He too left sooner than we would have hoped.
Then my mind rested on Ginny who is gone for so long now. I had so many opportunities to break bread with her when I lived in Washington. The mass continued and I moved into the stillness and bleakness that was to come.
As I write this I cannot help but think of hosting the last supper my sister had with us. It was her birthday and we had such a great day. So many last suppers….so many blessings….so much pain. That is the journey this week. The conflicted emotions run high.
I do believe that we are called to deep relationships with people despite the cross that is dragged through the streets during times of grief. I also believe that Jesus showed us a model of building those relationships—servant leadership. The best kind of friend is the one who does not think of himself or herself first but is there in a spirit of giving and serving. That dynamic ebbs and flows in a relationship that is healthy, which is how relationships survive, I think.
My journey through these moments of grief is doable because of consistent liturgies like Holy Thursday. They teach us valuable lessons such as loss can be gain eventually, that pain can be joy again, that in the silence and bareness of bereavement, the voice of God can be heard, and that God has a plan that we can never anticipate but can trust holds hope of new life.
Come, journey this amazing path of Holy Thursday and beyond. It might change everything for you.
Peace,
Suzanne
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