Thursday, April 2, 2026

Holy Thursday (2026-04-02)

Holy Thursday 7 pm NIGHT

Tonight, we remember something very simple… and very profound.

We remember a meal.

The Last Supper.

But not just a meal from the past.

Something that continues.


Sometimes we measure important moments by how they begin.

A wedding day.
A baptism.
A milestone birthday.

We put a lot of effort into getting the moment just right.

I remember when we were planning a surprise party for my mother’s 70th birthday. Everything had to be carefully arranged, and we worked hard to keep it a secret right up to the last moment.

At one point, my father needed an excuse to leave the house to check the restaurant, so he told my mother he and my sister and brother-in-law were going out to shop and look at golf clubs—which wasn’t true. And he was nervous the whole time that he had given something away. My mother took no notice and was just glad everyone was doing what they needed to do.

In the end, the surprise worked. My sister at the party reminded everyone that this “anxiousness by my father” was also an example of my father’s precision, service and honesty

But what we were celebrating wasn’t just her life in the past.

We were celebrating her life still being lived…
and the life still to come.


And that’s what tonight is about.

The Last Supper is not just something that happened once.

It is something that continues.


At that meal, Jesus does something astonishing.

He takes bread and says:

“This is my body, given for you.”

He takes the cup:

“This is my blood, poured out for you.”

And then He says:

“Do this in memory of me.”

That moment did not end in that upper room.

It continues every time we come to Mass.


The Eucharist is not just a symbol.
It is not just a reminder.
And it is not just a meal.

In an ordinary meal, we eat food that is no longer alive in order to sustain the life that is already in us.

But in the Eucharist, something very different is happening.

We receive the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ—who is alive.

And instead of the food sustaining our life,
He gives us His life.

He comes to dwell within us.

And that is what a sacrament is:

An outward sign that makes present an inward reality.

What we see is bread and wine.
But what we receive is Jesus Himself—
His Body, His Blood, His life.


But Holy Thursday is not only about the Eucharist.

It is also about how we are called to live because of it.

Because right after giving us the Eucharist…

Jesus kneels down
and washes the feet of His disciples.

The Master becomes the servant.

And then He says:

“As I have done for you, so you must do for one another.”


So tonight, Jesus gives us two things:

The gift of Himself.
And the example of how to live.


There is a line from the Gospel that Bishop Barron once reflected on—he said it was printed on a newly ordained priest’s ordination prayer card:

“The Master has need of it.”

At first, it sounds like a small detail.

But it reveals something important.

The Lord chooses to rely on others.

He chooses to work through ordinary people.

And that includes all of us.


The Master has need of you.

As a husband.
As a wife.
As a parent.
As a friend.
As a disciple.


Years ago, before I ever thought seriously about the priesthood, I had an experience that didn’t seem important at the time.

I was on a plane coming back from Washington, D.C., and sitting next to me was my hometown pastor.

We started talking, and he shared that he was going through a major change—leaving his parish for a new assignment.

And I listened.

But honestly, I didn’t really understand what he was going through. I didn’t understand priestly life or the diocese. If you asked him, he’d probably tell you how clueless I was.

But I was trying to listen.


Looking back, I see that moment differently.

What seemed like a coincidence…
was actually a small moment of grace.

I was being invited to listen.
To care.
To enter into someone else’s experience.


And that is exactly what Jesus does for us.

The Letter to the Hebrews says:

“We do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weakness.”

Jesus understands us.

He enters into our lives.

He walks with us in our struggles.


And tonight, He asks us to do the same.

To listen.
To be present.
To serve.


Because the Eucharist is not just something we receive.

It is something we are meant to become.

When Jesus says,

“This is my body, given for you,”

those are not just words for the priest.

They are words for all of us.


They are the words of a parent for a child:

“This is my body, given for you.”

The words of spouses:

“This is my life, given for you.”

The words of someone caring for a loved one:

“This is my time, my patience, my love, given for you.”


So the question tonight is simple:

Are we living those words?


The people in our lives don’t need us to be perfect.

They need us to show up.
To listen.
To forgive.
To love.


And the good news is this:

God does not choose us because we are strong.

He chooses us because He loves us.

And He is faithful.


So tonight, as we receive the Eucharist,

we don’t just remember what Jesus did.

We receive who He is.

And we are sent to live like Him.


Because the Master still has need of you.

 


Holy Thursday Midday Prayer (priests, 11 am)

Holy Thursday Morning Reflection for Priests 

On this Holy Thursday morning, the Church gives us a moment to pause before we enter the Triduum and remember who we are as priests.

Today is not only about what Christ did.

It is about what He entrusted:

The Eucharist.
The priesthood.
And the command to love as He has loved.


We tend to measure important moments by how they begin.

A wedding day.
A baptism.
A milestone birthday.
Ordination day.

We remember the planning, the details, the celebration.

But what really gives those moments meaning is not how they begin…
but what follows.


I remember advice from a brother priest, Jim Moran, now gone home to God. And today is a good day to remember and pray for the priests who formed us.

He said:

“Don’t worry too much about the details of your ordination or your first Mass. People may enjoy all of that… but that’s not why they came.

They came to see you. To see you as a priest.”

At the time, I thought—surely they came because of their faith. And that’s true.

But he was right.

They came to see you.

Or better— they came to see Christ in you.


That is what Holy Thursday brings us back to.

Not simply the memory of ordination…
but the reality of what we are still called to be.

Because priesthood is not something we look back on.

It is something we live.


At the Last Supper, Jesus gives Himself:

“This is my body, given for you.”
“This is my blood, poured out for you.”
“Do this in memory of me.”

That moment did not end that night.

It continues every time we stand at the altar.

So today is not only about remembering that we were ordained.

It is about asking:

Are we still living what we were ordained for?

We say, “This is my body, given for you.”

Are our lives becoming that?


There is a line from the Gospel that Bishop Barron once reflected on—he said it was printed on a newly ordained priest’s ordination prayer card:

“The Master has need of it.”

The Lord chooses to rely on others.
He chooses to work through what is ordinary and limited.

The Master has need of you, brothers.


I was thinking recently about something that happened to me years before I entered the seminary.

At the time, it didn’t seem important.

I was coming back from Washington, D.C., sitting on a plane, just living my life, not seriously thinking about priesthood.

And next to me was my hometown pastor, Monsignor Tom McDade.

We started talking.

He told me he had just accepted a new assignment in Washington, working for the U.S. bishops—and that I was the first person he was telling.

He spoke about the change, the uncertainty, the weight of leaving his parish.

And I listened.

But honestly, I didn’t really understand what he was going through. I didn’t understand priestly life or “the diocese ”. If you ask Tom McDade himself, he will probably tell you how clueless I was.

But I was trying to listen….


Looking back now, I see that moment differently.

What felt like a coincidence…
was actually an invitation.

I was being given a glimpse into the life of a priest.

I was being drawn into sympathy with someone carrying a burden I didn’t yet understand.


The Letter to the Hebrews says:

“We do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weakness…”

Before we are priests who act,
we are men who are called to sympathize.

To listen.
To stand with people.
To enter into their experience.

Even when we don’t fully understand it.


That moment on the plane was, in its own quiet way, an experience of mercy.

Christ was already at work, forming something in me that I didn’t yet recognize.

And that is often how He works.

Not in dramatic ways,
but in small encounters that shape us over time.


The people entrusted to us come in moments of joy—but more often in moments of need.

They come in confusion, in sin, in grief.

And whether they can say it or not, they come for one reason:

They need Christ.

And somehow, in His mercy,
He has chosen to make Himself present through us.


Our priesthood is not measured by visible success.

It is measured by fidelity.

Fidelity to the Eucharist.
Fidelity to our people.
Fidelity to Christ.


So today, brothers, we look forward.

Not back to ordination,
but toward the priest we are still being called to become.

Are we still men of the Eucharist?
Men of prayer?
Available when the Master has need of us?


The people do not need perfect priests.

They need faithful ones.

Priests who show up.
Who listen.
Who forgive.
Who offer the Sacrifice.


As Deuteronomy reminds us:

The Lord chose us not because of our strength,
but because He loves us—
and because He is faithful.

That is our story.


So as we enter these sacred days, let us renew our yes.

Not a perfect yes.
But a faithful one.


Lord Jesus Christ,
you have called us to share in your priesthood
and entrusted to us your people and your mercy.

Renew in us the grace of our ordination.
Make us faithful stewards of your mysteries.
Teach us to be close to your people
and to share in their weakness.

And remind us, when we forget:
that you still have need of us.