Tucked among the processions of Palm Sunday, the solemnity of Good Friday, and the joy of Easter morning, Maundy Thursday may be the least widely observed of the days of Holy Week. Yet, it may be the one day of the Christian cycle when we can come closest to understanding the kingdom of God that Jesus proclaimed and experiencing that message as the disciples themselves might have heard it.
That message, I believe, was one of inclusion, something that resonates with all of us who have been exposed to the Universalist hope for the “final harmony of all souls with God.” Sharing a meal, often with outcasts, was one of the great distinguishing activities of Jesus’ ministry. As Marcus Borg explains in Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time, “the meals of Jesus embodied his alternative vision of an inclusive community.” Sitting down with “tax collectors and sinners” -- not to mention women -- was a radical act, challenging the Jewish purity system and proclaiming a higher “ethos of compassion,” as Borg puts it. These meals might have invoked the great messianic banquet of Isaiah 25:6, when, “On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wine strained clear.”
For me, there is no greater embodiment of our Universalist heritage and hope than the invitation that all are welcome to participate in communion. When we say “all,” we really mean “all.” It is God’s table that we set, not a table devised by human hands. We lay the table and extend the invitation, but God writes the guest list. You don’t have to be a member of our church to partake of communion. You don’t have to consider yourself a Christian. You don’t need a certain set of beliefs about God or Jesus or the grape juice (occasionally wine) and bread that we share. Just participate – as you are – accepting the hospitality given in the spirit of Revelation 22:17:
The Spirit and the bride say, ‘Come.’
And let everyone who hears say, ‘Come.’
And let everyone who is thirsty come.
Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.
Two things make Maundy Thursday different in our church from the other three or four communion services during the year: We act out the story in some way, and we share a substantial potluck meal afterwards.
Traditionally, the Last Supper has been visualized as a Passover seder, a meal of great significance in Jesus’ Jewish culture, although that isn’t the only interpretation. One school of thought suggests that the event sequence in John’s gospel makes more sense if the meal occurred just before Passover. In fact, I know of one church that celebrates “Maundy Tuesday” instead of Maundy Thursday. Regardless, the Passover commemoration of the liberation of the Jewish people from bondage certainly would have been on everyone’s mind, and yet it was also a meal shared by friends from a variety of backgrounds who had been through some amazing experiences together. Over the years, we’ve told that story in various ways in our Maundy Thursday services, and it always seems to clarify the amazing experiences that we share as a spiritual community. Having my feet washed one year was unforgettable and unsettling, knowing that the same Peter whose feet Jesus washed would turn his back and deny his friend and teacher before the cock crowed.
Eating together after the communion service makes it easy to reflect on what it must have been like to sit at table – or, more likely, recline banquet-style – as Jesus patiently explained in parables how it was possible to experience the “kingdom of God,” a relationship beyond earthly ties. We feast as friends, with open hearts.
Something else that makes Maundy Thursday special is that we usually have children present as full participants, acting out various parts of the story. Our observance is intentionally “family-friendly” and so presents an ideal opportunity for a child to take part in communion for the first time. After hearing the story at home, the youngster can be “in the story” at church.
You can step into the story as an adult as well. If you want to taste the bread and the “fruit of the vine” for the first time, just take it when it’s offered. You don’t have to tell anyone in advance – or afterward. How you experience communion is a private matter between you and God (or whatever you choose to call that which draws you beyond yourself and into our spiritual community). You can tell others about the experience or contemplate it privately in your heart.
Regardless of where you see yourself in this tale of Jesus’ journey to the cross, I offer the invitation again: Let anyone who wishes take of the bread and wine, whether for the first time or the thousandth. Let everyone who is thirsty come.