The Secret of Holy Thursday

The following reflection is from François Mauriac, who won the Nobel Prize in literature and is acknowledged as one of the greatest Roman Catholic writers of the 20th century.

Twelve frightened men who feel that death is hovering near crowd around the Son of Man, whose hand is lifted over a piece of bread and over a cup. Of what value is this gesture, of what use can it be? How futile it seems when already a mob is arming itself with clubs, when in a few hours Jesus will be delivered to the courts, ranked among scoundrels, tortured, disfigured, laughed at by his enemies, pitiable to those who love him, and shown to be powerless before all. However, this Man condemned to death does not offer any defense; he does nothing but bless the bread and the wine and, with eyes raised, pronounce a few words.

It seems that, after [twenty] centuries of extraordinary glorification, the small Host for which so many cathedrals have sprung up, the small Host that has rested in millions of breasts and that has found a tabernacle and worshipers even in the desert, remains as unknown, as secret as when it appeared for the first time in a room in Jerusalem. Light is in the world as in the
days of Saint John the Baptist, and the world does not know it…. The secret of Holy Thursday is spread over the whole world, but nevertheless, it remains impenetrable to those outside. One must be of it; one must be incorporated in it; one must be part of the vine; one must be among the branches.

Mystery of joy! We shall be able to persuade you of what is evident to us only after you have entered. Do you believe it is impossible to escape this circle? No, for it is for you to seek the light. God disposes the hearts of those who search for him. He who seeks him finds him. The door opens to him who knocks. But how many refuse to search for light, look purposely in the wrong direction, and willfully divert their thoughts from the quest for truth!

O mystery of Holy Thursday, defenseless as love is ever defenseless! O mystery, ever prepared to deliver itself, to unfold itself, to be enclosed again in each soul which even halfheartedly welcomes it! Only to human indifference does it remain impenetrable.