Year after year I have tried to say something worth thinking about on Maundy Thursday. This year I have only an image and a single thought. The image is from a twelfth century English manuscript, with a text added later in the fifteenth century. It shows the Beloved Disciple crumpled in sorrow and distress on Jesus’ breast.
It is the poignancy of that image which strikes me. Tonight there will be many fine homilies on the three major themes of the Maundy Thursday liturgy. There will probably be a nod or two in the direction of the Leaders’ Debate on TV and the irony of discussing human greatness when the words and actions of Jesus are entirely about humility and service. But, for all the brilliance of our preachers and all the loveliness of the liturgy we celebrate, we come back to those essential elements: the self-giving of Christ, and the pain of those who love him and would spare him suffering if they could. Yet again we are faced with an extraordinary and life-giving paradox: God’s ways are indeed not our ways, but only in him can we find life and peace and balm for our souls.