Holy Thursday comes like a breath of fresh air, literally and figuratively. We gather in the less hot and humid evening air and sing the gloria with me wearing an immaculate white rather than somber purple stole.
Our scripture readings this evening highlight Jesus performing two rituals marked by familiarity, affection, even intimacy. First, we recall Jesus’ last supper with his disciples, the Passover meal that celebrates Yahweh leading Israel out of slavery into freedom, and that binds them as his people. For us, this ritual meal taps beyond physical need and into all of our hunger and thirst for acceptance, community and equality. It also reminds us of the bonds that sharing a common meal creates.
Thus, with our commemoration of the lord’s last Passover, every eucharist that we celebrate sums up all of our meals at table surrounded by family, friends and guests. Moreover, every meal we share—be it complete with pancit and lechon or spare with just kanin at galungong—becomes eucharist, a sacred meal. That is why our lolas would remind us, rowdy children around the dinner table, “hoy, igalang ninyo yung pagkain!”
Second, Jesus’ washing of his disciples’ feet. This cleansing ritual by the teacher and master touches beyond the physical grime we gather along the way, and into purifying our hearts of the stains we smear each other with. It unmasks eager pretentions of fidelity like Peter’s, and reveals that Christian service is mutual, that is, “washing each other’s feet” including those of persons we euphemistically call ‘difficult.’
Apart from being intimate, even heart-warming, our holy Thursday rituals are signs that point beyond their ritual surface. With your kind permission, let me share two real stories.
I wonder how many of us, Jesuits and Cenacle Sisters included, habitually (this is the operative word) think of saving this special piece of food for someone else, itong balunbalunan sa adobong manok o yung macaroons na paborito nitong si sr. X, y o z. (no names)
[ad lib: story of husband accepting back an unfaithful wife]
I find it hard to imagine what, after the husband opened the door to his wife, each following day was like for both of them, who have since remained together.
My dear friends, beneath these holy Thursday rituals, what lies, almost hidden like Jesus’ divinity during his passion, are pure sacrifice, deprivation and even pain—in preparing, cooking and presenting food, in recognizing, accepting and welcoming at table and into our home those hungry in body and spirit for love and affection, in washing the grimy stains we have been used to, in living with the scars inflicted by others, in helping those near and far.
These rituals then are also heart shattering. I take that word from a dear friend’s text message from San Francisco yesterday, about her teenage daughter’s suicide: “all our hearts are shattered.” Our sacrifice, deprivation and pain shatter our hearts, not because they are karma inflicted on us by the wheel of fate (some gulong ng palad), but because they are an offering of self to others, freely chosen and embraced. Like the sacred heart of Jesus, our hearts have become hearts of flesh, not stone, vulnerable and fragile until the end, hanggang masaid ang lahat sa kanyang krus.
My dear friends, as we enact Jesus’ last Passover with his disciples and his washing of their feet, let us draw strength from his sacred shattered heart, offering our selves completely, as we struggle for unity in our communities, acceptance in our families and equality in our world.
Homily delivered by Fr. Mario Francisco, SJ
at the Cenacle during the Mass of the Lord’s Supper
6 April 2023