An evening like any other, but not quite

Holy Thursday begins in a discreet room, around a table. Nothing spectacular. A meal. Just friends. A simple, almost everyday moment. And yet what happens that evening is immense. It was not a solemn word that marked the day, but a gesture. Jesus got up, took off his cloak, took a towel, poured some water and began to wash his disciples' feet. He bends down. He touches. He stoops.

In the world of the time, this gesture was reserved for servants. It was a humiliating task. And Jesus, the Master, chose to do it gently, without theatrics. He didn't talk about love. He lives it. He doesn't theorise about service. He gives himself.

Love does not seek to shine

Holy Thursday teaches us that true love makes no noise. It does not need to be seen. It does not seek recognition. It expresses itself in the concrete, in the everyday, in the simplest gestures. Jesus, by washing feet, reminds us that God does not stand far away, above, but close by, on his knees before humanity.

That evening, he could have performed a dazzling miracle. He chose a gesture of humility. He could have risen. He lowers himself. He could have spoken of glory. He speaks of service. He could have condemned the one who is about to betray him. He washes his feet.

God's love does not judge. It does not shrink from dirt, weakness, betrayal. It stays. It kneels. It touches. He blesses.

A gesture that becomes a sacrament

That same evening, Jesus takes the bread, breaks it, gives it. He takes the cup, blesses it, shares it. Here again, there is no grandiloquent speech. He simply says: "This is my body", "This is my blood". He keeps nothing for himself. He makes himself food. Presence. Offering.

This is the evening of the Eucharist. The moment when love becomes shared bread. When life is given without measure. Where heaven slips into our hands.

Holy Thursday is a day of institution: that of service, that of total self-giving, that of the real presence. Jesus gives everything. And he asks his disciples to do the same: "Do this in memory of me." It's not just a word to be repeated. It is a life to be imitated.

When love makes itself vulnerable

We must also remember that, on that evening, Jesus knows. He knows that Judas is going to betray him. He knows that Peter will deny him. He knows that they will all flee. And yet he loves them. He serves them. He gives them his body, his blood, his trust.

That evening, love is not just service. It is vulnerability. It gives itself to those who will abandon it. It gives itself without guarantee. It takes the risk of injury. But it does so freely, fully, to the very end.

It is in this fragility that love becomes pure. It does not protect itself. It gives itself. That's what Jesus did that evening. And that is what he invites us to live, each in our own way, in our relationships, in our families, in our commitments.

A call for today

Holy Thursday is not a fixed memory. It is a living invitation. To love concretely. To serve humbly. To give without calculation. It's not about doing great things. It's about letting ourselves be touched by Christ's love, and letting it pass through us.

In a world often focused on appearance, on power, on success, this day reminds us of another way. That of gentleness. Of presence. Of reaching out. Of silent listening. Of life offered.

Conclusion

Holy Thursday places us at the heart of the Christian mystery. A God who makes himself a servant. A King who bends down. A Master who kneels. A Saviour who gives himself as food. It is in this gesture of service that everything begins. It is there that love becomes incarnate, becomes close, becomes simple.

That evening, Jesus gave everything. He kept nothing for himself. He loved to the end. And he continues to do so, even today, in the silence of the Eucharist, in discreet gestures of love, in every service lived in truth.