From priests to priests

Over the past number of years, as this writer took some time for personal reflection and prayer following the completion of the Holy Thursday Mass of the Lord's Supper, I have been prompted to write a reflection about priesthood.  The normal course of events is that this reflection is shared with other priests in the hope that these few thoughts might help us all to grow in our understanding that the ministry we exercise is not our own.  Rather, it is a gift which has been given to us, a gift that must be cherished and shared.

Here is this year's offering, penned last night in the darkened church.  May it bring peace to the hearts that need it, and encouragement to the souls that are searching.

HOLY THURSDAY
Letter to priests

April 5, 2012

Dear brothers,

Like you, I have by now completed the celebration of the Mass of the Lord’s Supper, and am taking a moment or two to sit before the Lord, present in the Blessed Sacrament.  The beauty of flickering candles and flowers which surround the altar of reposition draw my eye and my heart to remember the gentle love of Jesus whose disciples we are.  In contrast to this gentle presence, quietly radiating love, the rest of the sanctuary, now stripped bare of its habitual ornamentation, seems stark, cold and even harsh.  I find myself praying for courage this night. I pray for the courage which is the gift of the Spirit.  I pray for the courage that we all need in our time so that we can listen for His voice against the din of so many other voices.  I pray for the courage that will help us to allow Him to form our hearts evermore deeply by teaching us the lessons of mercy and forgiveness so that we can be capable of teaching these lessons to others who seek Him.

I can only imagine that on that fateful night, after Jesus had shared the supper with his disciples, he also prayed for courage.  The words of tender love spoken in the Upper Room, and even the gestures of kindness and compassion extended in the mandatum show that he was (and is) always the teacher, setting an example for the rest of us.  Yet, what doubts and fears he must have known as he looked into the eyes of his disciples!  He knew about Judas’ plan; he knew of the feeble faith of others there that night too.  He knew of Peter’s temper, and of John’s uncertainty, yet he believed in them and did what he could to inspire them and encourage them to believe in themselves.

Every year, I find myself drawn deeper and deeper into the mysterious example of the foot washing that takes place on this night.  It is such a simple gesture, yet so profound.  The act of baring a foot in front of someone we love is already an act of trust.  When done in front of a complete stranger, it instantly creates a bond, somewhat like friendship but curiously more intimate, more trusting.  On the giving end of the foot washing, this simple gesture of removing shoes and socks is already an act of trust, not unlike the trust with which so many of God’s people look to us for guidance.  As I go about the task of washing feet, I wonder whether I have always valued this gift of trust.  Unfortunately, some of us have misused or abused this trust and are now having to live with consequences we never imagined possible.  How many in such circumstances now long for an opportunity to wash the feet of those who have had to suffer?

For the past number of years, I have invited various parishioners to take part in the mandatum.  Among the participants tonight, there were couples who are preparing for marriage.  They sat alongside some elderly parishioners: long-time stalwarts of the Christian community, and four other priests who were also present.  As I approached the first of these, and poured water over his feet, I also paused to look him in the eye.  There, I had a momentary glimpse (much too fleetingly passed) of hopes and dreams for his forthcoming wedding and for his life together with his betrothed.  There was a sense for me that this connection was far too quickly gone, even as it gave me a glimpse into this man’s life.  I wonder: was this what it was like for Jesus and the disciples in the Upper Room?  Did they experience the same intense but fleeting connections?  Was this passing glance into another’s reality also present atop Mount Tabor during the Transfiguration?  Was this the reason for Peter’s question: ‘Shall we build three tents?’

The life to which we are called is summed up in the gestures of the mandatum.  Ours is the task of unwrapping sore, tired and wounded feet, of holding them gently in our hands, of examining them carefully and of tending to their needs.  Some of the soles (and souls) entrusted to our care are perfectly manicured, but many are twisted, mangled and pocked with bunions and other varieties of sores.  Each one is different.  Each one is precious.  Each one deserves our attention, for Christ has given us an example, which we must now follow.

Pray for me dear brothers, and know that there is a special place in my prayer for you too.  With Mary to help us, let us be courageous witnesses of tender love for our world today.

Happy Easter.