Hard realities to remember

The birth of my second son was fast and tumultuous. Literally heart-stopping. When it was all over, his heart once again beating strongly and all the necessary medical tasks for us both tended to, the obstetrician who had delivered him filled a basin with warm water and brought me a fresh towel to wash. It was unexpected, and like Peter when Jesus knelt at his feet, I was taken aback. I’m fine. I don’t need this done, I thought. Except I did.

I’m always tempted on Holy Thursday to let my attention be seized by St. Paul’s mandate to the Corinthians to break the bread and drink the cup that is Christ’s Body and Blood in remembrance of his death and resurrection. To focus on the incredible gift of the Eucharist that we enact daily on altars around the world. This once-a-year washing of the feet, towels piled on the altar and the choir singing meditatively, can feel like something extra, an embellishment for the Triduum. It’s nice, but not needed. Except it is.

For here is the one moment in the liturgical year when the two dimensions of the Eucharist come crashing together in the same space. The Eucharist is not just the summit of our lives as Christians; it is the font as well. Here, with literal water poured out on the steps of the altar where we will shortly literally encounter Christ, we show each other what we are about, what it means to be Christ. The aching feet I have been standing on to teach, then to rehearse, and now to celebrate will be soothed in the warm water. What I will eat and drink will in truth feed a body that has missed lunch and dinner as much as it will feed my soul. These are not metaphors we are playing out here, but hard realities, the water as much as the bread and the wine. We wash each other, feed each other. We do these things, and so we remember. We remember, and so we do.

How often do I respond to an offer of assistance with a quick, “Thanks, but I am fine.” Too often. I don’t want to think that I need any help, or maybe I think that it would be nice, but really, I could manage. Yet these days I cannot always manage. Yet if we are Christ for each other, why would I reject God’s tender care and help? God knows.

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A version of this reflection appeared in Not By Bread Alone in 2020.