The church I now pastor is an entirely different church than the one I pastored ten years ago, even though it is the same church.
On Maundy Thursday the building would have been empty. Then at the time of service, the sanctuary would have filled up moderately with worshippers ready for confession and forgiveness, communion, and the stripping of the altars.
Tonight when I got to church the place was hopping. A group of Albious’s nieces were at the entrance hanging out. “Iakwe” was/is our greeting.
Inside Amare was sorting supplies for the Transition Closet, a member of the May Day crew was cleaning the kitchen after the meal they served downtown, Trans Equality Network was setting up for their meeting, Albious was sorting school supplies with the principal of the public high school in the Marshall Islands to send back to the island, and our worship band was practicing in the sanctuary.
Slowly folks gathered for the a Maundy Thursday liturgy. Not a large group, but the right group. We sat around some tables in the Fellowship Hall, room lit by lamps. In place of the sermon, I invited everyone to reflect on the story from John of Mary anointing Jesus’s feet with costly nard and her hair, and the richness of that group discussion surpassed any sermon I’ve heard on the text.
We washed feet, shared the meal, offered collective prayers, in a liturgical format open for conversation and community.
There was not a space in the church not in use even while the service was happening. It was kind of a remarkable night given the theme of Maundy Thursday: the mandate to serve one another.