Holy Thursday

On the third Thursday of each month, I go to a small nursing home in the area and celebrate worship with the residents there. It has always been an enlivening experience for me. It is also interesting in that I am a woman ordained in the United Church of Christ, and many of my Thursday "parishioners" are Catholic.

We do not celebrate the Eucharist. That is done for them on Sundays. But I read scripture, offer a brief meditation on the piece, and then we sing.

The joy for me is that the residents seem to look forward to my visit. I usually hang out with them for a bit afterward.

But back to Holy Thursday. As this is a once a month service, I realized I could have brought an Easter message. That would be uplifting and life-affirming. But it seemed to me that we can only come to Easter by first traveling through the Last Supper with his disciples and standing at the foot of the cross.

I read John's account of Jesus's washing the disciples' feet.

And then, I asked permission to wash the hands of the people. Most of the hands were gnarled, and affected by arthritis. But all responded with tenderness to this small thing.

It was a sacred moment. Nearly everyone closed their eyes when I washed their hands in my bowl. And everyone whispered thank you.

One of the women who works there said, "But no one has washed your hands. May I?"

Each of us met Jesus that day. For a brief moment, the Christ in each of us spoke to the heart.

What would surprise Jesus in this? I think for him, there are no surprises. Jesus knew the power of touching. And he calls us to share that with each other.

This Day of Resurrection

It was cold in the Emerson Garden adjacent to the church. A brazier was lit to bring a little warmth to those gathered there.

Regardless of the cold, I was glad to be there, gathered with the church, celebrating the miracle of the empty tomb.

Last Easter was marked by the death of my father. The second family death in about six months. I did not sing "Alleluia" but I did have confidence in the Resurrection.

The day my father was buried, a preacher stood to say that he knew that Fred had accepted Jesus. That was a surprise to me. I don't think he ever made such a confession. Of course, what might surprise those who believe that one must make a confession heard by someone "qualified" to hear such things is that it does not matter whether Fred uttered those words.

What matters is that the living God accepted Fred. That is the good news of the Gospel. We are all accepted by God as beloved children. There is no rote confession, no statement of faith worded just so. We are accepted.

This might surprise some reading this. But it won't surprise Jesus. Jesus was, after all, the one sent into the world, not to condemn the world, but to bring us to God.