Evening Mass of the Lord's Supper
Exodus 12:1-8, 11-14
Psalms 116:12-13, 15-16, 17-18
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
John 13:1-15

Passover reminds us of our deepest needs.  Freedom for captives, food for the long journey ahead.  We gather with friends to remember how God has been with us through hard times.  We repeat the promise handed down by our ancestors and sip the cup together.  If we know where we’ve come from, we know who we are. 

The quiet of the church during Holy Week quiets my noisy soul.  No corner of the human heart is a stranger to this sacred time.  What is broken, frightened, or just weary can creep out of hiding and fill the pew beside me.  We listen together and then comes the gift, the glimpse of fullness that is present, though I don’t know how.  The pew stirs with uncommon sounds: a need to give thanks.  We aren’t sure how to sing this song, but gratitude passes like warmth through stiff limbs that are suddenly able to bend.

They gathered in the upper room in the manner of their ancestors.  He realized it was time to say goodbye but how?  What do they need, these companions, so dear and so obtuse?  So full of convictions, they can barely hear. 

Lord, you gave us one more lesson of love.  You bent to wash the dusty feet of  your followers and told us to do likewise.  They didn’t understand.  We’re still trying. 
 
Lord, make me small.
Too small to lug around big bundles of fear and fantasy and false dignity. 
Make me small enough to be known and forgiven. 
To give myself away with the time I have left. 
Lord, make me small enough to squirm through all the obstacles to love.