What Is Maundy Thursday?

Maundy Thursday -- a strange sounding name.  What does it mean?

Maundy Thursday, or Holy Thursday, is a day on which Christians choose to gather to commemorate Jesus' final meal with his disciples, and the beginning of our sacrament, the Lord's Supper. 

The word Maundy comes from the Latin mandatum, which means "commandment." At the Last Supper, Jesus gave the disciples a new commandment to love one another as he had loved them (John 13:34). 

Prior to breaking the bread with the disciples, Jesus washed their feet. And He said to them:

If I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should

wash each other's feet. I did this as an example so that you should do as

I have done for you. I tell you the truth, a servant is not greater

than his master. A messenger is not greater than the one who sent him.

If you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them. 

John 13:14-17 

Tonight many will gather to observe Holy Communion, and in some traditions a washing of feet.  An observance long honored by Christians around the world, in whatever chosen manner, we all gather to remember Jesus' last meal.

And when he had given thanks, he broke it, and said,

“This is my body which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.”

In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying,

“This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever

you drink it, in remembrance of me.”

For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup,

you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes.

I Corinthians 11:24-26 

Where are you in this time of remembrance?

With Joan today over at Grace Cafe

 
Photo credits:

Home and Family 

Leonardo DaVinci's Mural, The Last Supper, Wikipedia

 

A Treasured Easter Memory

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Funny how things pop into your mind and you really don't know why.  The memory is jogged in a most unexpected way.

A few days ago we had about two inches of snow fall in Portland.  And yes, our hyacinths had bloomed early.  Only to find themselves blanketed in a cloak of white.

Several days latter torrential rains came and although the hyacinths had perked up their heads, the rain battered them right back down again.

As I thought about their battle for supremacy in their world of plants and springtime showiness, I was reminded of an Easter in my childhood when it snowed.  Not a normal occurrence in Nashville, the snow surprised us on Easter morning.

I must have been around five years old.  Just old enough to be smitten with the new dress, gloves, hat and black patent leather Mary Janes that were waiting to be donned for church.

When mama saw the snow, I heard her say to daddy, "We'll just put on one of her other Sunday dresses and an older pair of shoes.  It will be OK.  She can wear the new things next Sunday."

I'm sorry but I was having nothing to do with that.  I had new clothes, something that didn't happen often in our home, and I was going to wear them!

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It was a struggle to reach the dress mama had rehung in the closet.  With the help of my little desk chair, I managed to fetch it and the hat.  The lace-trimmed socks and gloves were back in their drawer ready to nap their way through Easter.  And those shoes -- shiny and black -- were easy enough to reach.  They sat at attention on the closet floor.

Mama was busy, so I went about dressing myself.  Oh, was she livid when she found me ready to go in my new garb!

The neighbors probably heard her screaming to me, "Take those clothes and shoes off this instant, young lady!  You're not wearing those today in the snow."

About that time, daddy appeared in the doorway.  Usually he didn't interfere with mama's mandates but this time he did.

"Let her wear the new clothes.  And to make sure nothing happens to the shoes or anything else, I'll carry Sherrey from the front door of the house to the car and at the church from the car to the entrance.  It's going to be OK."

I breathed a sigh of relief.  My hero had come to my rescue just like a princess waiting in the tower for her knight.

And daddy did just as he said -- he carried me to the car and then from the car to the church.  Not a flake of snow touched me that morning.

I hold many memories of my dad close to my heart, but this is one of my favorite, perhaps because it is associated with Easter.

After all, Easter is a time when we hopefully stop and think about the love and compassion God showed for each of us when He gave us the gift of His Son Jesus.  I've always liked to think of my Heavenly Father in the image of my own father, whose caring and love extended far beyond an Easter Sunday morning.

* * * *

Linking up with Darlene at

Heart Full of Thanks -- Counting One Thousand Gifts (400-413)

And so it begins . . . with Palm Sunday.

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A week some call Holy Week.

Seven days beginning with joy and jubilation.  Shouts of hosanna!

Palm branches waving.  A man riding a donkey.

Not just any man.

Jesus.

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A week filled with agony and deceit.

Failure on the part of those He trusted to watch.

Agony in the Garden of Gethsemane praying,

He knew God's plan for Him.

And Jesus trusted God.

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And then the long, agonizing walk

Bearing His own cross, but not His alone.

Jesus bore our crosses and our sins.

He gave His life, according to God's plan,

to give us the hope of new life ever after.

"This is how much God loved the world: He gave his Son, his one
and only Son.  And this is why: so that no one need be destroyed;

by believing in him, anyone can have a whole and lasting life."
John 3:16 (MSG)

***

Continuing to count the blessings and gifts in my life:

400.  Abundant spring rains.

401.  The safety of people living near rising streams and rivers.

402.  Good news from my husband's brother and his wife.

403.  Prayers answered for our grandson.

404.  The prayers of many for our family.

405.  Joy of another new mom at my Mothers of Preschoolers table.

406.  Gift of writing and music.

407.  Online, cyber-connected blogging friends.

408.  Marriages that last and even those that don't as there was hope there too.

409.  The joy of Palm Sunday as our children came into God's house waving palm branches and leading a donkey with Jesus walking alongside.

410.  The beauty of combined choirs singing praises to His name.

411.  Friends from out of town.

412.  The promise of Holy Week.

413.  John 3:16.

Won't you drop in at Ann Voskamp's site, A Holy Experience, and join a community of folks counting gifts each and every day and then sharing them on Mondays?  We'd love to see you there!

 And sharing with Laura Bogess at:  

Palm Sunday Meditation

Meditation

Jesus, King of the universe,

ride on in humble majesty:

Lord, this Palm Sunday may I recognize in you
the Lord who comes to his world, and join with
full heart in the children’s ‘hosanna’.

Ride on, through conflict and debate,

ride on through sweaty prayer and betrayal of friends:

Lord, this Palm Sunday forgive me my evasions of truth, my carelessness
of your honour; my weakness which leaves me sleeping even while
in others you suffer and are anguished; my cowardice that does not risk
the consequences of publicly acknowledging you as Lord.

Ride on to the empty tomb and your rising in triumph,

Ride on to raise up your Church, a new body for your service;

Ride on, King Jesus, to renew the whole earth in your image,

in compassion come to help us.

Source unknown (India)

***

"So they took branches of palm trees and went out to meet him,

crying out, 'Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the

name of the Lord, even the King of Israel!'"

John 12:13 (ESV) 

 

Linking up with my friend, Barbie, at Freshly Brewed Sundays 

 

 Photo credits:

Top:   Turn Back to God

Bottom:  Faith Clip Art

 

Book Review: Lunch in Paris -- A Love Story with Recipes by Elizabeth Bard (Copyright 2010) (Back Bay Books / Little Brown and Company, 2010)

Paris.  Paris, France.  Who hasn't dreamed of traveling to Paris?  Ever dreamed of taking up life there on a permanent basis?

Always the sound of Paris in name alone fills us with thoughts of intriguing personalities, gastronomic delights and markets filled with fresh produce and breads and trinkets.  Never having traveled to Paris and likely won't in the near term, I opted to read Elizabeth Bard's memoir, Lunch in Paris -- A Love Story, with Recipes.

The first sentence of Chapter 1 caught my attention:

"I slept with my French husband
halfway through our first date."

Wild horses could not have kept me from diving into this highly entertaining and delightfully written story of Emily Bard's experiences as she makes the transition from America to France.  

The abundance of open air markets fills our protagonist's head with lofty ideas of cooking French meals as though she were a practiced chef.  Some of the best tips she received came from her soon-to-be-husband, Gwendal, cooking or later the two of them cooking together.

Fortunately for her readers, Bard has sprinkled throughout the book incredibly tempting recipes, most of which do not sound extremely difficult to prepare.  The taste buds are tempted at almost every page turn.

As much as this memoir is about Emily's experience transitioning between two cultures, it is also about Emily and Gwendal's relationship and the blending of lifestyles.  European with American.  The French laissez faire attitude toward life and how it impacts others vs. the traditional schedule keeping, budget maintaining, let's talk it over before we do it attitude of a lot of American types.  This latter includes our sweet Emily.

In my own humble opinion, this was one of the lightest and most delightful travel memoirs I've read.  The structure, characterization, and simple transition from chapter to chapter made this an easy read while feeling as if the reader had been transported to Paris.  I have no hesitation in recommending it to others.