This is not a gesture ... It is a blueprint.
- Fr. William Wainio
- Apr 18
- 3 min read
Updated: Apr 21
The following was a homily that Fr. Wainio preached on Holy Thursday (April 17, 2025) at St. Patrick Church in Kent.
Tonight, we stand at the threshold of the holiest days of our faith. The sacred Triduum begins—not with thunder or fanfare—but with a meal. A simple supper. Bread. Wine. A basin. A towel. Silence. Service.
It is here, in the upper room, that Jesus reveals the full depth of His love—not just in words, but in action. We celebrate the institution of the Eucharist, the sacred priesthood, and the commandment to love one another as He has loved us. But tonight is not merely a remembrance—it is an invitation.
“Do this in memory of me.”
We hear those words every time we gather around the altar. But what does it truly mean to do this in His memory?
Yes, it means celebrating the Eucharist. But it also means allowing our lives to be broken and poured out for others. It means becoming living sacraments of Christ’s love—especially to the forgotten, the hurting, the poor, and the unloved.
And this is where the washing of feet becomes so startling.
The King of Kings bends low. The Creator of the cosmos kneels before the dust of His own creation. The Master becomes the servant. He takes the dirty, calloused feet of His disciples—one of whom would betray Him, another who would deny Him—and He washes them with tenderness. With humility. With love.
This is not a gesture. It is a blueprint.
Jesus is showing us what love looks like. It is not sentimental. It is sacrificial. It is not always easy. Often, it is messy. It calls us to vulnerability, to discomfort, and to placing others before ourselves.
“As I have done for you, you should also do.”
So I ask you tonight—whose feet are we called to wash?
Maybe it's the feet of a family member we’ve had difficulty forgiving.
Maybe it's the single mother who walks through life exhausted and unseen.
Possible it’s the teenager searching for meaning, or the elderly man in the nursing home who’s been forgotten.
Could it be the feet of a politician who calls himself a Christian, yet, stands in front of
prisoners giving two thumbs up after these poor people have been separated from their families and jailed without explanation or due process? NO Christian stands and mocks those who are in prison, even those incarcerated justly!
Maybe it's the stranger, the poor, the immigrant, the prisoner, the addict, the outcast. The gay, the filthy rich, the unloved, those who are different, those who don’t believe the same things you do.
Whose feet are we willing to touch with our love?
On this night, Jesus gives us His Body and Blood, not merely to receive—but to become. The Eucharist is not just what we celebrate, it is what we are called to be: bread broken for the life of the world.
And for those of us who share in the gift of the priesthood, tonight reminds us: we are not called to be served, but to serve. The priesthood is not about power—it is about presence. A priest is one who stands at the altar and at the door of the poor. One who breaks the bread and binds the wounds. One who kneels, washes, listens, and loves.
My friends, tonight we are drawn into a mystery that began in an upper room and will reach its climax on the Cross. But before the agony, before the abandonment, before the tomb—Jesus gives us everything. He gives us Himself.
Let us receive Him tonight with hearts ready to be changed. Let us imitate Him with lives ready to be poured out. And let us love one another, not in word or speech alone, but in truth and in action.
For the world is aching to see Christ again—and He has no hands now but ours.
Peace & Happy Holy Week,
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