I’ve always been terrible at recognizing Holy Week as, well, a holy week. Maybe it is because I grew up in churches that were either (a) More interested in the big party–get loud and dance it out, brothers and sisters!–on Resurrection Sunday than the quiet reflection of the Week, or, (b) were mostly focused on the big, important week to “get more people in the doors of the church to Jesus-blast-em'” that I’ve been confused/ambivalent. Maybe it’s also just because I’m averse to things that have become popularized in any way.
But I can’t blame anyone. The reality is I’ve never really taught myself how to be “observant” during this season. I don’t have a liturgical bone in my body. I remember “Spirit Week” from my four years at La Plata High School far more vividly than any Holy Week. Maybe because it was way more fun.
Can’t we make this week more fun, please? A little more laughter, a little more high-fiving and hugs in our communities?
Today is Maundy Thursday. You might think of it as be-sad-Thursday. Or, as, get-your-feet-washed-in-some-weird-but-kinda-beautiful-ritual Thursday. Maybe you’re like me, and you’re still trying to see the point of today. Simple as it may seem, I think the point was supposed to be Love.
“Maundy” comes from the Latin for “command” (the same derivative of our word “mandate”). It is supposed to be a reminder of the day when Jesus had his last meal with this friends, and how he gave them a new command: Love each other.
I want to do that better today, in some small way. But loving takes creative movement and space, along with a remembering of how Jesus has loved me. I’m no good at foot-washing, but I’ll high five all that.
Yesterday I helped sweet Wanda set up for Maundy Thursday and we made a remembrance wall for people to write reminders of God’s faithfulness. She called earlier today to tell me the paper was already full (30 ft x 8 ft) with the overflow of hearts. And in the midst of my perceived crazy day-I had barely acknowledged Maundy Thursday.
But she loved me enough to stop during her busiest season to make the call to tell me of the glorious site of God’s people remembering. Creative movement. I get it.