Holy Thursday
For Lent 2021, members of CTA’s Anti-Racism Team are sharing weekly reflections. As they are published, their pieces will be posted here.
“He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, ‘Lord, are you going to wash my feet?’ Jesus answered, ‘You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.’”
—John 13:6-7 (NRSV)
I love April Fool’s Day. When I was a kid, I used to stay up late to plan pranks on friends and family members: whoopie cushions under chairs, alarm clocks set hours earlier, and water cups rigged to spill when you opened a cabinet.
I also love that Holy Thursday 2021 falls on April Fool’s Day, because Holy Thursday is a ridiculous commemoration. All over the world, Christians gather to remember when a ragtag group of poor Jewish workers ate a Passover meal with their leader, who washed their feet and proclaimed that the bread they ate and wine they drank was his body and blood, broken and poured out for the forgiveness of sins. All the while, the occupying military threat of the Roman Empire loomed large, as they knew that their leader would soon be executed.
But they believed something revolutionary was happening in their meal and in their midst. Hopefully, and foolishly, they believed that God was charting a way of life and love beyond the threat of colonization and empire.
In many ways, Holy Thursday is still a ridiculous, foolish kind of celebration. I’ll never forget when I brought Quinn, my nonreligious girlfriend (who is now my spouse) to her first Holy Thursday foot-washing service at my intentional Eucharistic community. When someone brought out the bowl and pitcher, she turned to me, shocked, and asked:
“Am I going to have to wash someone’s feet?”
In some ways, she sounded a lot like Simon Peter asks in the Holy Thursday Gospel reading:
“Lord, are you going to wash my feet?”
I can hear Simon Peter’s tone of voice when I read his question. It sounds a lot like Quinn’s question, dripping with incredulity and confusion. Simon Peter is nothing short of baffled by his friend and rabbi’s behavior. If he were using a 21st-century vocabulary, a few “WTFs” would have likely escaped his lips.
Perhaps that’s because revolutionary love, love grounded in service, is always baffling. Acts of service, solidarity, and justice make no sense in a world grounded in white supremacy, sexism, and economic exploitation. But that’s exactly why they matter.
When I think of holy foolishness that justly cuts against the unjust norms of our world, I think of how I was overcome with emotion the first time I saw a Roman Catholic woman priest preside at the Eucharistic table. I think of the outrage from the Catholic right when Pope Francis broke the Holy Thursday rules and washed the feet of Muslims and women who were incarcerated. I think of the union organizers and activists with the global movement for Black liberation who are building a world of freedom for all of us. I think of those fighting for gender justice, LGBTQ+ justice, economic justice, environmental justice, racial justice, disability justice, and reproductive justice in our own Catholic tradition.
And, in my own life, I think of one more recent example:
Just a few weeks ago, I gathered with a handful of activists outside the mayor of Des Moines’ house for a nighttime noise demonstration. After a Zoom city council meeting where the mayor and city council had once again targeted Black women and prevented young organizers from the Black Liberation Movement from speaking up about racism and injustice in the city, we joined together to make our voice heard.
Our ragtag group of socially-distanced communists, anarchists, community leaders, and Black liberationists gathered with pots and pans, clanging and banging and yelling and speaking out. If the mayor wouldn’t listen to his constituents, we were going to make damn sure that he heard us. We sang and chanted and screamed and clanged and banged and chalked his sidewalk with calls for defunding and abolishing the Des Moines police department so we could fund schools and healthcare.
These actions, to some, may have seemed foolish. But they built power. They gave the marginalized and oppressed a chance to raise their voice. As we clanged and banged, others at the action called the City Manager and demanded real change in policy. Sharing on social media brought those who couldn’t attend into our circle of transformative change. And no one left the action without committing to taking action or coming to the next organizing meeting.
Like the ragtag group of Jewish peasants who came 2000 years before us, we gathered to chart a better future for our city and our world. We did it in the shadow of Empire, but we did it all the same. I am grateful for the holy fools who took action that day, and for all of the holy fools who take action for justice every day.
