a reflection on maundy thursday



I’ve been to enough Maundy Thursday services in my life (although, since I didn’t grow up in a liturgical tradition, I remember how odd the first service I attended seemed). This year was the second Maundy Thursday service I’ve done at Trinity.
This year, though, was the first time the service was moving for me.

As we stripped the altar, everything was orderly. Everyone knew where to be, when. 
The gentleman reading Psalm 22 as we stripped the altar was someone who had been estranged from the congregation.
As he read the psalm crying over a broken relationship, his words dripped. 

That wasn’t the only reason this service was so meaningful this year, though…

At this point I’ve been at Trinity for nearly two years.

As I walked to the back of the sanctuary, once the stripping was complete I turned just as the gentleman reading Psalm 22 finished.

As I turned I saw the altar where we’ve all shared the Eucharist stripped, I sensed the deep pathos wound up in these Great Three Days, the pathos between the tragedy and the triumph.

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