Holy Thursday 2020

“You don’t know what you’ve got ’till it’s gone.” For weeks now I’ve been humming those words from a 70s hit by the Canadian singer Joni Mitchell, and several parishioners my age told me they were doing the same.

Joni Mitchell’s song is a lament for what’s been lost – she sings “they paved paradise and put up a parking lot.” But that’s not where the story ends for us, deprived for a time of the joy of gathering for Mass and the blessing of receiving Jesus in Holy Communion. Not even close.

Because, of course, the Eucharist isn’t gone. Here and now the sacrifice of Christ is still being celebrated for the salvation of the world. Its life-giving effect is not limited by physical distance or absence. And even our current circumstances are guaranteed to come to an end.

However, it’s still true: sometimes we don’t know what we’ve got until it’s gone. By thinking about what we have lost, even for a time, we discover truths we have missed, maybe for all our lives.

Tonight, as we recall the institution of the Eucharist, we are challenged to go to the very heart of the mystery that we may have taken for granted.

Just from a practical point, I can speak for a little longer than I would normally dare, since the beautiful rite of the washing of feet and the solemn procession of the Blessed Sacrament to the Altar of Repose must be omitted. So let us replace what we’ve lost by reflecting together on the wonders of that first Last Supper which are again present at this altar tonight.

There’s so much to think about on Holy Thursday that I don’t often begin with the story of the Jewish Passover that we heard in our first reading. Yet it gives us not only the context of the meal our Lord was celebrating with his disciples, but also reminds us that the Eucharist, like the Exodus, delivers us from our oppressors.

The account of the Passover that we have just heard emphasizes the protection that the blood of the Passover lamb provides to the homes of the Israelites. How can we not, amid the current pandemic, fail to ask that the Blood of Christ, whom St. Paul calls “our Passover Lamb” (see 1 Corinthians 5:7) offer protection to our homes? We do not mark our doorways with his blood but rather allow it to purify our hearts and minds.

One of the things that I envy my Jewish friends is their ability to make their homes their ‘churches’. Although you will hear about the importance of synagogues to the Jewish people, all a Jewish family really needs to express their faith in its fullness is a dinner table. Even their most solemn celebrations, including the Seder (the Passover meal), can be held at home. It’s hard not to think of this tonight.

My friend Father Raymond de Souza has pointed me to a wonderful verse in St. Matthew’s Gospel, where Jesus says to someone, “I will keep the Passover at your house with my disciples” (see Matthew 26:18). Tonight, Jesus says those words to each and every one of you! He will keep the Passover at your house, with you, with your fellow disciples in our parish. I think that’s just a wonderful thought, even though, obviously, things are not normal.

Still, I think Jesus means what he says in those words. Will you let him keep the Passover at your house? Will we make our homes Upper Rooms, cenacles, where he can be truly present this evening – not in the sacrament itself, but as he promised when he said “where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them” (Matthew 18:20).

After the Old Testament drama of the Passover, our second reading from St. Paul seems rather tame. But it’s worth unpacking. He brings us the earliest written account of the Eucharist, slightly older than those in the Gospels. Paul is telling us that the Lord intended us to continue celebrating his sacrificial meal, “just as the Passover of the Jews was celebrated regularly to recall the great saving events” of their deliverance from the Egyptians (George T. Montague, First Corinthians, pg. 196).

Catholic Christians have gathered to celebrate Mass since the time of Jesus and will continue until the end of the world, because that is precisely what the Lord planned. Just as the Jewish people have faithfully obeyed the commandment God gave to Moses and Aaron, so has the Church faithfully obeyed Christ’s command “Do this in remembrance of me”.

Numerous Catholics, especially young ones, have stopped going to Mass in recent decades. I admit that I don’t know why. But one reason surely is that we have not adequately conveyed how magnificent it is to be part of the unbroken chain of faithfulness to which Jesus invites each baptized person.

When I was young, going to Mass each week was known as the Sunday obligation. And to tell the truth, I understood it more as a rule than anything else. Yet tonight, the One who gave himself up on the cross offers us a covenant – the new and final covenant in his Blood. He tells us that every time we receive his Body and Blood we proclaim his death.

If we understood that, even in an imperfect way, the most popular reason for staying at home on Sunday – Mass is boring – would sound weak, to say the least.

I don’t want this homily to be boring, and even in the comfort of your homes you can only listen for so long! So let me briefly speak of the Gospel, which of course is St. John’s famous account of the washing of the feet.

As you know, it’s all St. John writes to describe the Last Supper. He says nothing about bread and wine, or the words of Jesus. Surely that means we must take very seriously what his Gospel says about the connection between the Eucharist and our service of others.

In the coming weeks, I hope we will have Deacon Richard Conlin assisting us at Mass, unless the Archbishop has other plans for him. It’s important to have a deacon at the altar whenever possible, because deacons were the ministers of charity in the early Church. The fellow who was coordinating help for the poor stood right beside the priest as a living reminder of the unbreakable bond between the Eucharist and our love for others, especially those most in need.

In the coming weeks and months, our parish family will need to live out ever more fully this connection between worship and service. We are already a generous Christian community: we have sponsored three refugee families, we visit prisons, comfort the sick, and feed the hungry. But there will be new demands, new needs, in the face of physical and financial hardship arising from the pandemic.  

It’s too early to say what these needs will be. But we know they are coming, and we know that our faith invites us to follow the example of Christ, to do to others as he has done to us, whatever the cost.

One of the reasons we must remain united as a parish is so that our worship can strengthen us to meet not only our own challenges, but those of our brothers and sisters too– both within and outside the parish community.

These live-streamed Masses, which after Easter will continue every Sunday, along with the other spiritual and social contacts made possible through video, are not optional extras: they gather us in faith, hope, and charity around the altar of the Lord so that we will be strengthened to share his love, especially with those most in need.

Although the tune will probably continue to go through my head, it’s not true that we don’t know what we’ve got ’til it’s gone. But this is certainly a time to think about what the Lord has given us in the saving sacrament we celebrate tonight.

To alter Joni Mitchell's lyric, he has paved our way to Paradise.