Maundy Thursday-Psalm 116: 1-2, 12-19
For the ones who break bread and barriers alike.
Blessed are the ones who live loud, love real, and lean into justice with calloused hands and ever-growing hearts.
They are not afraid to name the systems,
to disrupt the silence,
to kneel and wash feet,
to love in ways that heal wounds
and shatter chains.
Their descendants—blood or chosen—
will carry legacy like fire in their bones,
revolution in their veins,
courage in their breath.
Abundance isn’t what they own—
it’s who they are.
Rich in kindness, in fierce love,
in sacred defiance.
And in the darkest night—
the night of betrayal, of breaking, of undoing—
they shine.
Stars wrapped in skin,
truth wrapped in tenderness,
unshaken by the coming storm
because they have already become the storm.
Justice is their anthem.
Not performance, but pulse.
A rhythm of care,
compassion,
and calling out harm
without losing tenderness.
They will not be moved.
Not by hatred,
not by laws,
not by pulpits that call their love sin,
not by the weight of a world
that crucifies what it cannot control.
Their hearts?
Anchored in freedom.
Their eyes?
Wide with hope.
Their feet?
Dancing toward liberation
with every step.
They lend without fear.
Give love without measuring.
Hold space for those still finding their voice.
Their names are written
in every act of quiet rebellion,
every moment of holy care,
every hand held in the dark.
And the wicked—
the ones who hoard power,
who turn away from suffering,
who twist love into a weapon—
they tremble.
Because light like this—
fierce light, Maundy light,
light that bends low to serve
and rises high to overturn tables—
cannot be snuffed out.
It exposes.
It uplifts.
It liberates.
And this light?
It blesses everything it touches.
Including you.
Including now.