Maundy Thursday

The Maundy Thursday service is one of the most impressive in the church’s liturgical book. We began in the parish hall with an explanation of Passover and the Sedar dinner, while we are already seated at tables for our own meal. Following that, we processed into the church singing a short, melodic but eternally repetitious song (which works fine for a time when people have to remember the words.) It was unaccompanied, lent itself to simple harmony, and had a solemn, prayerful sound.

After the reading of the lessons came the foot washing. Of the 50 or so people present, probably twenty came forward to have their feet washed by one of the priests. The water in the basins was pleasantly warm, and was changed frequently.

It is evidently difficult for people to allow themselves to participate. With no apparent self-awareness, they mimic Peter in the gospel lesson, who said to Jesus, “You will never wash my feet.” Once you have overcome whatever barrier holds you back, it isn’t difficult to accept the loving ministrations from someone you respect. The foot washing is a symbol of servanthood, and Jesus made two points very clear. We cannot have a relationship with him if we are not willing to accept what he offers, and we are to offer the same service to others.

My petty little whine is that I have bad circulation in my legs due to an old blood clot that would not resolve. Consequently I wear prescription compression stockings, waist to toe, and cannot take them off to have my feet washed. Out of kindness some years ago, the priest decided it would be too difficult for me to help do the washing either, so I sit it out. Try as I may to be grateful for not spending that extra time on my knees on the hard floor, I almost feel like crying. I am frequently an onlooker at life by inclination, but I hate to not be able to participate in something so rich and meaningful.

I offered a suggestion, which this year was finally accepted, that I could stand at the door of the parish hall with a large bowl of sudsy water and wash people’s hands as they came in to dinner. This was a custom from my former parish that was always well received , and it was last night too, although with a little uncertainty at first. People who chose not to have their feet washed later at least got a taste of some servant ministry.

(Actually I have a second part of my whine, and that was about the bulletin. I evidently got a draft rather than the real thing, and although mine looked just like everybody else’s on the outside, it was missing some liturgical responses before the foot washing. I couldn’t figure out what everybody else was reading, and they couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t reading too. Fortunately it wasn't a part I was supposed to lead! You can imagine, though, that this mistake set me up for feeling left out in the rite to follow.)

Anyway, the service went off without any real hitches. The altar guild and clergy stripped the sanctuary of all the hangings, vessels, books, and even emptied the tabernacle of the reserve sacrament. This was done with the lights low, following the eucharist, and ended with the tabernacle door open wide to show its emptiness, and the lights turned out. It is invariably moving.