Maundy Thurday

Today, clearly, is not Thursday at all, never mind Maundy Thursday. But I didn't blog over Holy Week (I felt lucky to eat over Holy Week), and I wanted to share with you about Maundy Thursday.

Usually, it's Good Friday that knocks me off my feet, but there I was somehow lukewarm this year. Instead, it was Last Supper Day that got under my skin.

I served the chalice for our dear rector (picture an opinionated garden gnome-- a wise one, though). He drives me out of my mind as often as not, though I love him dearly and respect him quite a lot. As I move through the process of discernment, his relationship with me has become much more instructive, and much less pastoral. While often helpful, this can be aggravating.

But Thursday evening I acolyted and served, and stood nearby as my grumpy, creaky padre washed the feet of his parishioners. Some of whom are wild about him, some of whom have had harsh words for him. He eased himself down onto achy knees, and crouched on the hard church floor. We began a rotation: bowl, pitcher, towel, bowl, pitcher, towel. He shifted and poured and dried. Only one congregant thanked him-- surprisingly, one with whom he's had a great deal of conflict.

And thus Jesus turned my vision things upside down again (as he is wont to do). Though my rector clenches his fist around his role as captain of the ship, his vunerability was present on Thursday. The sight brought a strange combination of relief and sorrow.