Read

---

Lissa
Smith

 Maundy
Thursday,
Year
B
 April
5,
2012
 St.
Augustine’s
Chapel,
Nashville
 
 
 The
journey
of
Lent
begins
and
ends
with
an
act
of
remembrance.

And
 yet,
in
all
of
the
busyness
of
life,
many
of
us
forget
how
we
started
and
 where
we
are
supposed
to
end.
 
 We
have
forgotten
that
on
Ash
Wednesday,
we
were
reminded
of
our
 humanity,
as
we
took
the
ashes
on
our
foreheads
with
the
words,
 “Remember
that
you
are
dust,
and
to
dust
you
shall
return.”
We
have
 forgotten
that
in
doing
so,
we
were
marked
and
remembered
by
God.
 
 Even
in
these
last
40
days,
as
we
have
renewed
commitments
and
 reformed
our
lives
and
confessed
our
misdoings,
we
have
forgotten,
 what
we
were
supposed
to
do,
how
we
were
supposed
to
act,
who
we
 were
supposed
to
imitate.

 
 So
now,
as
we
come
to
the
end
of
Lent
and
the
beginning
of
the
Easter
 Tridiuum,
the
three
holy
days,
we
are
called
to
move
deeper
into
the
act
 of
remembrance,
that
we
might
never
forget
that
our
story
is
wrapped
 up
in
God’s
story,
and
our
deliverance
wrapped
up
in
Christ’s.
 
 “This
shall
be
a
day
of
remembrance
for
you.”

 
 We
remember
so
that
we
know
where
we
have
been.
 We
remember
so
that
we
know
what
we
are
to
become.

 We
remember
so
that
we
move
into
salvation.
 
 By
acting
out
this
liturgy,
this
single
three
day
service
that
begins
with
 Maundy
Thursday
Footwashing
and
doesn’t
end
until
the
Easter
 alleluias
ring
out,
we
remember
the
life,
and
death
and
life
again
of
the
 one
who
came
to
demonstrate
love.
We
are
drawn
into
the
story,
 assaulted
by
the
truth
that
lies
within
it,
and
moved
to
live
it
out
in
our
 own
stories.
By
the
simple
act
of
remembering,
we
are
put
back
 together,
literally
re‐membered—our
bodies
to
our
selves,
ourselves
to
 each
other,
our
lives
to
God’s
life.



 That
is
why
we
come
to
this
church
on
this
Holy
Thursday,
to
celebrate
 the
events
of
the
last
supper,
the
foot
washing
of
the
disciples,
and
the
 institution
of
the
Eucharist,
so
that
we
might
remember
the
defining
 redemptive
moments
of
Israel’s
history,
the
means
by
which
we
are
 called
to
live
in
love
and
service
in
light
of
the
story
of
Jesus.
We
come
 together
to
hope
for
the
fullness
of
God’s
promises
in
our
own
time.

 
 That
is
why
we
wash
each
other’s
feet—to
be
reminded
of
Christ’s
 greatest
of
love
for
his
friends,
so
that
it
might
propel
us
to
act
in
love
to
 our
friends.

 
 That
is
why
we
read
Exodus.
So
that
we
connect
the
redemption
of
 Israel
to
our
own
redemption,
their
hope
and
our
hope.

 
 That
is
why
we
recite
what
we
call
“the
institution
narrative,”
the
story
 of
the
disciples
gathered
around
Jesus
at
the
last
supper,
to
imitate
the
 fellowship
that
draws
us
deeper
into
community.

 
 That
is
why
we
always
read
the
gospel
mandate,
from
which
we
get
the
 word
Maundy,
mantatum,
to
love
one
another
as
Christ
has
loved
us.
 Because
this
is
the
first
and
greatest
commandment
and
we
must
 always
be
reminded
that
this
is
the
starting
point
for
all
of
the
Christian
 life.

 
 We
do
it
because
it
reminds
us
that
God
is
a
God
who
longs
to
save
us.

 We
do
it
because
it
reminds
us
that
salvation
doesn’t
exclude
betrayal
 and
denial.
We
do
it
because
it
reminds
us
of
what
we
long
for,
of
what
 tomorrow
might
bring,
even
in
the
midst
of
tragedy.
 
 We
do
it
because,
it
is
part
of
our
ancient
story,
but
also
because
it
tells
a
 modern
tale
in
which
we
all
have
a
part.
Not
just
as
bystanders
in
the
 drama.
Not
just
as
faithful
psalmists
who
sing
a
song
of
thanksgiving.
 Not
just
as
inheritors
of
the
memory…but
as
people
called
to
act
on
our
 memories,
to
rebuild
a
church,
to
live
out
the
gospel,
to
let
the
light
of
 Christ
shine
even
in
the
darkness
that
lies
between
us
and
the
kingdom
 come.

 
 We
do
it
primarily
because
it
does
something
to
us.




 We
come
here
tonight
because
we
know
what
the
faithful
readers
of
 Exodus
knew…that
remembering
is
not
a
mere
passive
activity
or
a
 sentimental
act
of
nostalgia.
It
is
an
action
that
we,
as
a
community
take,
 to
make
more
dynamic
the
past
events
so
that
they
might
bring
 significance
to
today.

 
 As
Mark
Gignilliat
says
in
his
commentary
on
today’s
reading,
the
 results
of
such
active
participation
are
two
fold.
One—active
 remembering
produces
contemporary
action.
And
two,
participatory
 remembering
yields
future
hope.

 
 Remembering
begets
action
and
that
action
begets
hope.

 That
is
why
we
are
here.
 
 When
we
remember
our
deliverance
in
Egypt,
and
our
redemption
in
 Jerusalem,
we
are
propelled
to
action,
to
motivate
and
encourage
acts
of
 love
and
mercy,
we
are
thrust
in
hope
towards
our
own
rising
from
our
 own
various
tombs.
 
 We
retell
the
stories
of
our
ancestors
and
remember
who
we
are
called
 to
be.
We
get
caught
up
in
the
divine
mystery
of
God,
so
that
as
even
as
 we
walk
through
these
horrifying
hours,
and
our
own
sometimes
 horrifying
days,
we
are
reminded
that
the
character
of
God
is
not
one
 that
is
deterred
by
rejection
and
betrayal,
not
diminished
by
death
at
all.

 
 That
is
why
we
gather
together
at
the
altar
to
celebrate
the
Eucharist,
 this
night
and
every
week,
with
the
concrete,
fragrant,
material
 reminder
of
what
Jesus
did,
and
does,
in
sour
dough
and
honey
and
 wine.
We
take
it
in
so
that
we
are
reminded
of
why
we
are
to
live
in
 community.
We
let
it
change
our
very
constitution
in
hopes
of
making
 this
past
event
our
present
reality.

We
celebrate
the
memorial
of
our
 redemption.
We
remember
his
death
and
resurrection,
and
we
respond
 by
offering
gifts.
And
we
are
changed
by
our
remembrance,
we
go
out
 sanctified,
to
serve
God
in
unity,
constancy
and
peace,
fully
reconciled
to
 the
whole
world.

 
 That
is
what
meals
do….family
ones,
Passover
ones,
Eucharistic
ones.

 They
remind
us.
And
just
as
the
Passover
meal
as
it
was
practiced
then


and
even
as
it
is
practiced
today,
marks
the
defining
redemptive
 moment
of
Israel’s
history,
so
this
celebration
for
us
is
a
sweet
and
 simple
meal
that
is
anticipatory
of
the
redemptive
work
that
is
the
 character
of
God.

 
 That
is
why
we
strip
the
altar,
remove
the
adornments,
make
our
chapel
 like
a
tomb
and
extinguish
the
light.
That
is
why
we
sit
vigil
with
the
 body
of
Christ.
 
 Because
it
reminds
us
that
being
chosen
doesn’t
mean
you
are
relieved
 from
pain
and
suffering.
It
reminds
us
that
salvation
doesn’t
skirt
death.
 It
reminds
us
that
even
in
the
middle
of
the
night,
there
is
grace
that
 waits
for
us
in
the
darkness.
It
reminds
to
stay
awake
to
suffering
even
 in
the
darkest
moments
of
our
transitory
lives.

It
reminds
us
that
we
 must
not
avert
our
eyes,
but
stare
love
in
the
face,
even
as
it
passing
 away.

 
 And
as
we
bear
witness
to
the
life
that
was
lived,
we
cannot
forget
to
 give
thanks
for
the
ways
it
has
changed
ours.
As
we
bear
witness
to
the
 injustices
of
the
one
who
suffered
for
us,
we
cannot
forget
to
be
merciful
 and
just.

As
we
remember
with
awe
and
gratitude
the
life
and
ministry
 of
Christ,
we
cannot
forget
how
to
live
and
minister
to
others.

 
 And
so
we
leave
here
without
a
dismissal,
to
remember
the
unitive
 nature
of
the
next
three
days,
the
whole
of
our
paschal
celebration‐‐ Tonight
it’s
a
meal,
tomorrow
a
death,
and
by
Sunday
an
empty
tomb
 they
cannot
be
separated.

 
 And
we
come
back
tomorrow,
to
consume
what
is
left
of
the
body
of
 Christ
and
extinguish
the
final
candle.
To
sit
together
with
nothing,
 nothing
but
our
collective
memories.
Memories
which
we
will
use
to
 rebuild
a
church,
re‐member
ourselves,
resurrect
love,
by
Easter
 morning.