The genius of symbolic action is that it clarifies reality by first confusing it. A "sym-bol" literally throws things together. Through a unique collaboration of words, signs, gestures, and meanings, a significance erupts that could not otherwise be communicated. Symbolism is the instrument of possibility.

If this sounds pedantic or abstract, we ought to recognize that symbolical action is directly opposed to dia-bolical action--the devil and his legion do not seek unity and integration but disunity and discord.
So, while the kaleidoscopic light of God's symbolic action is certainly intended to be beautiful, it is always in the turning hands of a world that prefers darkness to light.

But we need not fear. What God has brought together can never be torn apart: for one cannot overcome what he does not fully understand. As the works of God and not of men, the Church's liturgical symbols defend us and strengthen us. They are the signs of the mysteries of salvation; principal among these are the Church's Sacraments, which effectively and perfectly communicate the reality they signify. But even the Sacraments are surrounded by a wealth of other signs and symbols, and it is this symbolical largesse that collects us into a common vision.

Out of all the symbolic actions during this Triduum, the Washing of Feet may seem the easiest to understand: A leader who wants to demonstrate his love washes the feet of his followers. But here, the incomprehension of Peter should direct us to the mystery that is before us. Peter does not, not get it because he is obtuse, or because he doesn't yet know all the basic facts of Christian doctrine, or even because the Christian notion of God as a servant overturns ancient notions of God as a warrior and king. ur Lord tells Peter, "you do not understand what I am doing now, but you will understand later." To be sure, on one level, Peter will only understand after the Cross and Resurrection. But John the Evangelist never speaks on just one level. What, then, is the nature of this "later?"

As a man who decided to become a religious seminarian in 2002, who was ordained in the 33rd year of his life-the last year of Christ's own life-and who returned home during grey New York times to engage in full-time ministry, I would humbly suggest the following: What Peter did not understand when he saw his master at his feet was the kind of work to which he was being called - the work of a crucified Lord as glorious. What Peter did not get was the way the glory of his unique call was to be drawn into the suffering heart of the divine Savior as servant. Think about it. There is only one instance in the Bible where Jesus seems to call a disciple, or anyone for that matter, "Satan." And it is Peter, not Judas, who is the occasion-precisely when the Lord foretells the necessity of his Passion (See Matt 16.23, Mk 8.33).

You see, it's not simply the fact of the Cross that Peter does not understand but the work of the Cross. Once he sees the Cross and witnesses the risen Christ, once the Pentecost Spirit of the Father and Son is poured into him, he finally understands that he does not understand. He finally understands that the love of God is a pure and unmerited gift, and that his life is to be poured out as a gift in the administration of God's ultimate gift of the Son. He who has received without cost is now without cost to give. This is the work for which Christ ordained as priests the men whose feet he first washed-to love to the end with the very love and signs of love that he himself loved.

There's been a lot of talk about priests over the past couple of years. Of course, we must do our best to make sure we have both doctrine and data correct. But ultimately, the real subject of the story is Christ-about the love that suffers all kinds of persecution and betrayal, both within and without. Christ is the ultimate fact that one either gets or doesn't get. Christus, qui incarnatus est... et homo factus est. In a world that barrages us with senseless and always changing information, Christ remains the fact who makes sense of everything and lives forever. In a scientific world where progress is determined by technology's obtaining and manipulating of data, Christ remains the ultimate datum, the ultimate reality given... or offered, and offered up. And this fact cannot be manipulated-only crucified.

This, finally, is the scandal: We do not justify ourselves. If we try, it leads to the death of God. Instead, we are saved by a gift-the gift of God Himself. God's self-gift to men is ipso facto always in the context of betrayal. But we have nothing to fear, Christ has conquered all. The very first Passover was celebrated on an evening of judgment. But we are covered with the blood of Christ. We need only remember that we have no lasting inheritance in this world. We are still to eat like those in flight. But now, with the true Passover lamb, our lives are not so much a running away as a running toward. The ultimate destiny of our life's ultimate gift is one and the same-the everlasting God Himself. The one fact leads to the one work, which leads to the one rest.

That which is beyond all comprehension is that on this and every night of the Last Supper, God gives himself to us with his own hands. In supremae nocte coenae... se dat sui manibus (Pange lingua). In order to perpetuate Christ's Eucharistic gift according to his own design, the Church ordains men to feed the Good Shepherd's flock-that is, to hand on Christ's own body with Christ's own hands. All of us, then, are fed with the bread of the Savior, so that we might love with the love that conquers the world.

God himself draws all the various facts of our lives-especially those that we cannot understand-into the one fact on which the history of the world is established-the fact of His Son, who is our gift. We do not gather ourselves, but are gathered by God, to partake of God. We become part of God's own symbolic work in the world, which sundry kinds of diabolism would try to throw apart. It is the fact of Christ and his work that brings us together. Let us eat his body and drink his blood until he comes (1 Cor 11.26).

[Reprinted with permission from Connect! Liturgical Publications Inc, 2011]