Maundy Thursday: Come to the Table!

A pilgrims guide to Triduum, sharing love, song and communion.

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Dear fellow pilgrim,

One of my daughter’s favorite stories is the one where Jesus washes his friends’ feet.

Since she could walk, she’s carried bowls and towels to the table, often before we were ready—eager to pour water, to kneel, to wash. Her delight was so simple, so instinctive. “This is my favorite part,” she’d say, her little hands already at work.

I think of her this Maundy Thursday, as the Triduum begins tonight—the three days at the heart of the liturgical calendar drawing us into shared love, sorrow, waiting, and hope.

Maundy Thursday often starts with the ritual of washing feet during the Mass of the Lord's Supper, reminding us of Divine love bending deep into our human existence - giving itself fully without ever exhausting itself.

The word Maundy comes from mandatum—“commandment.” This night remembers the last supper, when Jesus knelt to wash his disciples’ feet, broke bread with them, and gave his final command:

“Love one another, as I have loved you.”

It’s a night of tenderness and trembling—love on its knees, love on the brink of loss before the great transformation.

So today, at the beginning of Triduum, I want to offer you three things: an invitation to the table, a lilting Bach aria to set the tune, and a guided structure through the next days.

Come to the Table!

I came across a

Diana Butler Bass

piece on Maundy Thursday in which she ponders whether the communion around the table, the last supper, could be the most important event in the Passion story, or even in the history of God’s presence among us:

What if Maundy Thursday was that? The Last Supper of the Old World. The last meal under Rome, the last meal under any empire. And it is the First Feast of the Kingdom That Has Come. The first meal of the new age, the world of mutual service, reciprocity, equality, abundance, generosity, and unending thanksgiving.

Pass the cup, keep it going, hand to hand, filled and refilled, time after time. This night is the final night of dominion, the end of slavery; and this night is the first night of communion, the beginning of true freedom: “I will no longer call you servants but friends.”

Isn’t this a beautiful image, dear friend? These momentous events often pass us by, until we remember them and see that they are the pivot, the turning point in the story.

What if Holy Thursday is the beginning of healing, dear friend?

So, imagine, pulling up a chair, and sitting down at our supper table together sharing food and wine, stories and communion.

Photo by Nils Stahl on Unsplash

And while I am pouring you a glass, let me ask:

How have you been doing, dear fellow pilgrim?

Some of you may have started out walking the walk, going through the motions, and some of you might have felt the power of resistance which wants us to turn to other “more important” things.

So let’s remind ourselves, dear fellow pilgrims, what we have been setting out to do:

In our passion journey we are following the movement of our soul from passion to compassion and from lament to the hope of mercy and new life. Layer for layer we come closer to love eternal who wants to dwell in our heart.

One fellow traveler has written that this peeling of self feels like snow melting - very slowly. What an intimate picture, indeed.

For our music today I have chosen a lighter piece, which comes almost like a dance. The Aria “I will give you my heart” is Bach’s interpretation of the love command and sets the tune for this moment. It reminds us that our heart is the gift we bring to the table. It also offers a light-hearted tune to carry us through these days.

And it invites us into communion, to come as we are and to share grace.

So come as you are, dear friend, with your longings, your resistance, your hope and your grief, your stumbling and unbelief. Bring your open heart to the table of compassion.

Join our communion of pilgrims in our cloistered space.

What will you bring to the table, dear one?