I love Vanita Hampton Wright- she's a great write and editor and she's a gifted teacher. I was honored to attend a one day workshop with her when I first began to write and had no idea what a source of wisdom and experience she was! And she still is - now I follow her lovely, contemplative blog.
In a recent blog, Vanita suggests some personal questions to center yourself in the Passion Week.
She says, "There’s only so much one heart can hold and feel and comprehend.
So listen to your own heart and allow it to land in a specific place this week—an event or one aspect of an event that takes place in Jesus’ life during Holy Week. St. Ignatius encourages us to have conversational prayer with Jesus, walking alongside Jesus as a friend while he goes through his great Passion.
Imagine watching something horrific happening to a person you know and love. Some of us don’t have to imagine—we have experienced this. Allow Jesus’ experience of the Passion to be as close and human as the suffering you have witnessed in your life or another’s. Take the time to consider details such as:
- Sharing with friends what you know will be a last meal."
I stopped right there. I had a last meal, a last supper. It was breakfast.
Cherry blossoms drifted through the air blessing a gentle spring. The airy blanket of pale cherry blossoms always means a new season has come to Washington, DC.
A new season, it's spring again. Life.
A new season, it's spring again. Life.
That particular spring day, we were in the middle of suburban life as usual. A son and daughter were off at college, another one needed a ride to the airport. The youngest was in high school. Normal family life. We took the son to the airport and had time to kill before the doctor appointment. Time for breakfast together.
I love breakfast. I love poached eggs and veggie omelets; rich pastries and chewy bagels. He loved Eggs Benedict. I teased him for always ordering the same thing but he said it was his favorite and he didn't enjoy it nearly often enough. Quiche Lorraine was the closest thing on the menu that day.
It was breakfast at cozy Le Madeline's French Cafe with its dark wood, sturdy bricks and beams. Our heavy wooden chairs slide on shiny floors. Food came warm on heavy white earthenware. We lingered over a second cup. We had time. Time to spend. It was our last breakfast, our last innocent meal. It was the last time we ate together without cancer as the unwanted guest at our table. The topic of unspoken conversation. The cause of ruined taste buds. The reason for the feeding tube and blended meals, the meals that refused to stay down. The bitter pill to swallow. It was our last supper.
Did Jesus know exactly what was ahead of Him?
Was He able to enjoy the bread and wine they shared or
did He choke it down with the foreknowledge of the bitter pill to come?
Did he gently joke with his friends?
We think of Judas leaving to betray his Teacher,
Peter swearing his faithfulness, John's earnestness to be close to his loved Master.
It all feels so solemn and tragic, a portend to the great agony ahead.
That spring day we didn't know the agony ahead of us. But we also didn't know we would have moments of pure joy. Moments of bliss and tender closeness. Standing hand and hand to soak in the beauty of a tree in golden afternoon light or walking hand in hand the halls of hospitals, our marriage became as good as marriage gets. We expressed our love in the best ways we knew and received enough from each other. He was secure, I was needed. We loved well. We laughed. We lived.
In Luke Jesus says.“I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer". What did he know? Did he see past the agony to the joy of the victory? His obedience was price He was willing to pay to bring God's kingdom into our lives. Did He really love us that much?
I think about how Jesus lived on earth. Did He remember without regret and anticipate without anxiety, unlike the rest of us? We know he suffered later that very night in the garden. But could He truly live in the present? Experience each moment as it presented itself. Enjoy one last supper with his friends. That must be a true mark of His divinity, to be truly present as each hour comes.
He tenderly washed His disciples feet. He showed them how to serve. He was humility.
He prepared them for their greatest failings. He was compassion.
He broke bread, passed wine and taught them to remember. He was wisdom.
He knew what was ahead of Him and He chose to eat the traditional Passover meal and be with his disciples. Be in that moment. And He transformed that moment into a celebration- a celebration we continue at our Communion tables. He knew his disciples would betray, deny and scatter in His moment of greatest need. He walked willingly into the night to Gethsemane and into the arms of Judas.
His Last Supper was the fortification for the agony ahead.
His Last Supper was the final preparation for the joys that lay beyond the cross.
His Last Supper was the meal that ended in Resurrection and joyful restoration.
There will continue to be last suppers in our lives.
Quiet moments before our greatest trials
May they be a step toward our resurrection, our transformation.
Our joy.
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