(Note: This blog was originally posted for Lent 2011, but I am reposting it because I want to be sure I recognize again this year the impact of the Holy Thursday service. The beautiful picture that accompanies this posting is not my artwork, but hangs in the narthax of St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church in Indianapolis.)Yes, I know, I’m a day behind, but my Holy Thursday was so full that I had to take some time to fully digest my experiences. Perhaps no profound insights today, but a catalog of meaningful experiences.
First, coffee with a dear friend who came bearing an Easter gift from my godmother: a beautiful French rosary. After coffee, I made my Reconciliation before the Triduum. Father’s penance for me was so thoughtful and thought-provoking, so appropriate for my life right now, that the scope of it still hasn’t completely sunk in. No, I won’t share what it is — that’s between God and me! — but I am deeply grateful for the spiritual guidance and see I have much to do in my prayer life.
Before mass I had dinner with my daughter, who continues to amaze me with her intelligence, her insight, and her sense of purpose. The fact that she seeks out my company and trusts me means everything to me. Every day I thank the Holy Mother for Her example and ask Her guidance. I feel as though any triumph I have as a parent I share with Her.
Mass on Holy Thursday is wrenchingly beautiful as the Last Supper is remembered, and last night I had the honor of carrying the gifts to the altar. But what touched my heart most deeply was the ceremony of washing feet.
It may be done differently in different parishes. Where I worship, Father washes the feet of 12 parishoners at the front of the sanctuary. Then stations are set up at the corners of the church where the rest of the congregation lines up to continue the ceremony. Each one sits on a white folding chair as his/her feet are washed by a fellow. Then that person leaves the chair, kneels, and washes the feet of the next in line.
There is something so humbling about being barefoot in church. Feeling the soles of my feet touch the cool cement, the rough carpet, I felt as though I was communing at a very elemental level with my brothers and sisters in Christ. We were coming to each other like the poor — without protection, decoration, or pretense. As I took my seat, a little girl, no more than five years old, poured the pitcher of warm water over my feet as I held them above the basin. With her mother’s help she dried them with the towel. As I assumed my place kneeling before the chair, I held the feet of a man in his eighties. As I poured the water and applied the towel, I felt the same tenderness and loving service that I had felt bathing my daughter as an infant.
Surely this is what Christ had in mind when He washed the feet of his disciples — children, parents, elders, all coming together as base human beings to be touched by the hands of loving service.
“And if your Lord and teacher has washed your feet, you should do the same for each other. I have set the example and you should do for each other exactly what I have done for your. I tell you for certain that servants are not greater than their master, and messengers are not greater than the one who sent them. You know these things, and God will bless you if you do them.”  John 13:14-17
So much to think about, so much to pray over — so much to do!
Wishing you a space for grace in your life today,
Kate