Maundy Thursday

Almighty Father, whose dear Son, on the night before he
suffered, instituted the Sacrament of his Body and Blood:
Mercifully grant that we may receive it thankfully in
remembrance of Jesus Christ our Lord, who in these holy
mysteries gives us a pledge of eternal life; and who now lives
and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever
and ever. Amen.

I did something this Holy Week that I haven't done in at least 14 year, perhaps longer. I missed a Maundy Thursday service. I have always taken the Triduum pretty seriously, even as a kid. Even in my wandering periods as a Buddhist or an agnostic, I always ended up making it to all the Triduum serivces. I have always found their elemental nature and their drama deeply affecting. But this year I got confused about dates and took a gig that night. So this year's Triduum has been all about connecting with the events of the week without the full story. It's been about managing my disappointment and taking what God has given me in gratefully. And I must say it's been really powerful.

Each of the services of Triduum have their own unique and beautiful character. The Maundy Thursday service never fails to haunt me. For one thing, I always find night time church services mysterious and beautiful. Something about the darkness outside, the lack of light through the normally brilliant stained glass, The big openness of the dark space above you as you worship, the candles flickering and sending out more light than usual on a Sunday. But besides the enchantment of a night service, Maundy Thursday has a beautiful gentleness to it...a calm before the storm. There is the footwashing, which, though it gives me a twinge of discomfort given the state of my diabetic feet, has the beautiful symbolism of serving and being served. In some churches the priests wash your feet, but in others we take turns washing each other's feet and that is particularly powerful. You get to be prayerfully attentive to an everyday task performed for a complete stranger, and then you get the same experience. 

Then there's the Eucharist itself which is soaked in beauty and a sort of aching regret. You wish that it wouldn't come to an end. There are beautiful hymns and chants for the night, including one of my favorite from Thomas Aquinas, Ubi Caritas. Everything has this really wonderful, almost family meal feel to it.

And then....the lights go dark, the altar is stripped as we sing the Pange Lingua, which is for me the single most powerful chant of all time. The candles go out and everything is removed from the altar area. Gone are the linens, the silver, the candlesticks. You are left with a bare altar that is ritually washed by the priest. The reserved sacrament is removed to a side chapel which most churches decorate with plants and flowers to stand symbolically for the Garden of Gethsemane. Finally, in total darkness, the congregation disperses, some to their homes, some to the chapel to keep vigil overnight with the sacrament. It is stunning and powerful. You realize that no...this wasn't just a simple family meal. It was something deeper and more final...it was a leave-taking.

Our collect doesn't say much about this in a theological way except for the bald facts. This was the ceremony Jesus instituted for us. It is called a sacrament, which acknowledges the catholic side of the Anglican church, but also mentions that we do this in remembrance, which acknowledges the Protestant side. The crux of the collect though is in our own reaction. We prayer for the ability to receive it both as a remembrance, and as a pledge of eternal life. The words are short and simple, but keep the experience of Eucharist open. 

I'm a Eucharistic Christian. I returned to the church because of it. I'm Anglican rather than the Congregationalist I grew up as, because of the Eucharist. To me there is something indescribable about it. It is a living mystery and probably beyond my words to describe. From the first words of the Eucharistic prayer to the final words of the Thanksgiving prayer the whole experience lies for me outside of time. For those moments I am united with all who have ever, and all who will ever take communion...united across national boundaries, boundaries of faith and boundaries of epoch. We, all of us...step outside our usual time and enter for a minute into the eternity that we hope for. 

And for me, the bread and wine in someway also step outside their normal form. They are in a mysterious way no longer bread and wine. Now, does that mean if someone did a scientific analysis of them that they would have changed molecularly? No...but that's the wrong question. A sacrament is the outward symbol of an inward and spiritual grace as the 39 Articles of the Anglican Church state, so to me the grace infused in the act is spiritual, but no less real for that. In fact maybe even more real. Like so many things in Christianity, discussions around the Real Presence in the Eucharist can devolve into quibbling over facts and minutia of belief. It's as if people are uncomfortable with the uncertainty and mystery that is at the heart of this faith and so want to nail it all down...turn faith into a legal contract. But to me that's all barking up the wrong tree. 

We meet God in paradox...in a bush that burns and is not consumed...in water that isn't water but is wine instead...in loaves and fish that mysteriously multiply themselves. These paradoxes and logical contradictions point to the way God often speaks to us in our lives. So bread that isn't just bread and wine that isn't just wine is enough. There's no need to "think" about it more. We let ourselves fully experience the mystery and are deeply grateful for the moment of grace. 

So in the end, I missed all this this year. Instead of immersing myself in this mystery, I played some wonderful music with some of the most talented musicians I know. I missed my Triduum. But as Christ is Eucharistically present in the Bread and the Wine I hold out the possibility that he was also present in the sounds we were making. After all...the Spirit blows where it will....

I just need to be attentive to it where I don't expect it.