07.04.2026
Saint Francis
Pastor Christian Jennert, Bridge Pastor
Maundy Thursday, April 2, 2026
“Mummy, I am hungry,” the little girl whispers to her mother in the pew.
“Sssh, we’ll get something later,” her mother replies.
“But I am hungry now.
”
“Sweetheart, I didn’t bring any food. After the service, you can choose a place to eat.”
“But Mommy, I don’t want restaurant food – I want this.” And she points to the bread and the cup of Holy Communion.
Children sometimes understand before we adults do. Without pretense, they name their hunger. They know what they long for – even if they cannot fully explain it. And perhaps the deeper question for us tonight is this: Do we still know what we are hungry for?
In Holy Communion, we meet Christ – in bread and wine. This meal is more than eating and drinking. It is where we are gathered and given what we cannot give ourselves: forgiveness, healing, and hope.
Where there is forgiveness, there is life and salvation.
Children are drawn to this meal. They understand trust. They understand belonging. And maybe tonight, we are invited to learn from them again – to come not as those who already understand, but as those willing to be fed.
Tonight, we are in the upper room. We can almost see it: the table, the bread, the wine. We can feel the tension in the air. And then unexpectedly, Jesus rises, takes a towel, kneels, and begins to wash feet. Dusty feet. Tired feet. Even Peter’s resistant feet. Even Judas’ feet. There is no exclusion here. No hierarchy. Just love – made visible.
If we are honest, this kind of love unsettles us. Because it does not fit the world we know. Even now, in 2026, we are shaped by speed, performance, and quiet forms of comparison. We measure, we curate, we evaluate – even in our relationships. But Jesus steps outside of all of that. He does not measure. He does not perform. He simply loves. And then he says:
“As I have loved you, you also should love one another.”
And we wonder: How is that possible? We cannot love exactly as Jesus loves. We cannot manufacture that kind of love. Perhaps that is not what Jesus is asking. Perhaps tonight we are invited not to produce love, but to receive it. To witness how Christ lives, and to let that love take root in us. The Christ who meets us here is the Christ who lives in us.
As twilight falls, we hear that tender image: Christ like a mother hen, gathering her brood under her wings. Not with force. Not with demand. But with a quiet, persistent love that draws us close. And there, under those wings, we are not only sheltered, we are taught. Here is where we learn what love looks like. Here is where Christ forms us to love as he loves, not by striving, but by staying close.
Tonight is a threshold moment. And here, at the table, everything else falls away – status, performance, pretense. Here, we come as we are. With hunger. With longing. And it is good to be hungry, hungry for the bread that gives life. Hungry for the love that truly satisfies. For here, Christ meets us and makes us whole. Here there is healing; here there is salvation.
And perhaps the children are still leading us, teaching us that faith is not first about understanding, but about coming forward, hands open, ready to receive.
So tonight, come hungry. Come as you are. Receive the love that is already being given. And then, as you are able, in ways small and real – love one another as Christ has loved you.
Amen.
