Holy Thursday always holds this quiet kind of weight.
It doesn’t come with the fanfare of Palm Sunday or the heartbreak of Good Friday. It sits quietly in the middle — tender, sacred, and often overlooked in its profound simplicity.
There’s no service at West tonight, so instead, I’m heading to Newland.
My boss, Katie – her phenomenal right hand, and I (along with Chick-fil-A — obviously!!!) are going to serve lunch as part of the ongoing meal initiative in Avery County.
For the past six months, this team at Newland UMC has been showing up. Rain or shine. Holiday or not. Just showing up. And serving. Embodying what theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer reminds us: “The Church is the Church only when it exists for others.”
Now, the meals are scaling back. Just Thursdays for the next couple of months, as they phase out this particular rhythm and look toward what’s next.
I volunteered to take the “thank yous” — small tokens from our steering team, little notes of appreciation for the volunteers who’ve led this thing on the ground. The ones who made it happen when it was messy, when it was hard, when it was exhausting.
A few weeks ago, when I first mentioned the idea, one of the team members teared up. She was so grateful to be seen!
But then last week, I had the same conversation with someone else coordinating on-site. And their response?
“Don’t do anything. They don’t need anything.”
And maybe that’s technically true. Maybe they don’t need anything.
But I’ve seen them give up their lunches so the guests could eat first. I’ve watched them carry packs of sodas, take out trash, smile through fatigue. I’ve seen them serve, day after day, without a spotlight.
And that cannot go unacknowledged.
So today, our steering team will offer small acts of appreciation.
It’s not about the stuff — it’s about the gesture. The pause. The you matter. It’s my act of worship this Holy Thursday.
Because today and tonight, we remember how Jesus got up from the table, wrapped a towel around His waist, and washed feet. Even Judas’. Even Peter’s. Even the ones who wouldn’t understand until much later.
And then He said, “As I have done for you, do for one another.”
This isn’t just about bread and wine and ancient tradition. It’s about showing up with a towel. A meal. A word of gratitude.
So maybe today/tonight, worship doesn’t happen in a sanctuary.
Maybe it happens in other unique places. Other unique ways.
That’s what I’m holding today. And it feels sacred.
And what about you? Where might your Holy Thursday worship take place?
Perhaps it’s setting an extra place at your dinner table for someone who would otherwise eat alone. Maybe it’s sending that text of appreciation to someone whose service often goes unnoticed. It could be washing dishes without being asked, or finally writing that thank-you note you’ve been meaning to send.
The table is set. The towel is ready. The opportunity to serve awaits.
How will you remember Him tonight?
Grace and Peace, Andrea