Field Notes: What Lucia Preached

The Maundy Thursday service at Saint Andrew’s began with our usual band of stalwart regulars. As the service started, a visitor slipped quietly into the back pew. The church was lit by candles, but I could make out his thin frame and a head of unruly hair that framed eyes that were eager but guarded — asking, is it okay to be here?

Our priest quietly went back to welcome him. He moved closer as the ritual foot washing began, bringing with him the smells of a life lived without shelter. The question still on his face: Am I welcome here? Even me — with my stained clothes, oversized, held together by a ragged strip of cloth?

Our people greeted him with smiles.

It was his turn. He moved forward tentatively, shyly removing worn sneakers to reveal feet that told the full story of his life outdoors — calloused, bruised, black toenails carrying every mile.

Lucia was waiting with a basin of warm water and a broad smile. She knelt before him.

She did not splash water perfunctorily over his feet and move on. She washed them with gentle thoroughness — working away the accumulated weight of days without shelter, without care, without anyone bending toward him like this. His body slowly relaxed into her hands.

She did not hurry.

As the service drew to a close, Lucia motioned for him to follow her. She took him to the kitchen and made him a simple meal.

Earlier that evening I had preached about exactly this.

I preached. But Lucia carried the real message of Maundy Thursday.

Blessed to be part of this community.

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