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Office Of Readings | Thursday Of Holy Week | Maundy Thursday | A Reading From The Homily Of Saint Melito Of Sardis On The Pasch
‘The Lamb that was slain has delivered us from death and given us life.’
On Holy Thursday, the Church gathers to remember the Last Supper—the evening when Jesus, in a quiet upper room, gave his friends the gift of the Eucharist, and with it, a new covenant sealed in his blood. The reading from Saint Melito of Sardis, a bishop from the second century, helps us understand the deeper meaning of what took place that night and how it connects to the cross and the resurrection that followed.
Melito begins with a striking statement: ‘There was much proclaimed by the prophets about the mystery of the Passover: that mystery is Christ.’ From the outset, he makes it clear that the entire story of the Exodus—the liberation of Israel from slavery in Egypt—is not only a historical event but also a foreshadowing of something greater. The lamb whose blood protected the Israelites on the night of their deliverance points us toward Jesus, the true Passover Lamb, who frees all people from the slavery of sin and death.
Melito’s language is rich with echoes of Scripture. He describes Christ as the one who ‘came down from heaven to earth,’ who ‘clothed himself in humanity’ in the womb of the Virgin Mary. Here we see the heart of the Christian faith: God became human not out of curiosity or obligation, but ‘for the sake of suffering humanity.’ Jesus took on our nature so that he could fully enter into our condition—even our pain and death—and then redeem it from the inside out.
Melito emphasizes that Jesus had a body capable of suffering, and he used that body to confront the consequences of the Fall: not only physical illness but the deeper wound of spiritual death. Christ’s death, however, was unlike any other. He ‘dealt man’s destroyer, death, a fatal blow’—not by avoiding suffering, but by enduring it and transforming it. In the words of the early Church, Jesus trampled down death by death.
What follows is a beautiful reflection on the parallels between Christ and the story of the Exodus. Just as the Israelites were saved from Pharaoh, we are saved from the grip of sin. Just as the blood of the lamb marked their doors, the blood of Christ marks the hearts of believers. Just as Israel passed from slavery into freedom, we pass from death into life. Christ is not just like the Passover lamb—he is the Passover, the one true Lamb whose sacrifice brings salvation to the world.
Melito deepens this theme by drawing on the lives of Old Testament figures. He sees Christ prefigured in Abel, who was slain; in Isaac, who was bound; in Joseph, who was sold; in Moses, who was left to die. Each of these moments becomes a lens through which we can see Jesus more clearly—not only as the fulfillment of prophecy but as the center of history. In their suffering, we see a reflection of his. And in his suffering, we find redemption.
Toward the end of the reading, Melito presents us with the stark reality of Christ’s Passion: he was ‘dragged off to be slaughtered, sacrificed in the evening, and buried at night.’ This language intentionally recalls the Passover rituals, where the lamb was sacrificed at twilight and consumed that same night. The detail that ‘no bone of his was broken’ echoes Exodus 12:46 and John 19:36, underscoring Jesus’ identity as the true Paschal Lamb.
Yet this death is not the end. Melito concludes with a note of triumph: ‘He is the one who rose from the dead, and who raised man from the depths of the tomb.’ The one who was silent like a lamb before his shearers now speaks with power. The one who was buried has risen. The one who suffered has brought life.
This is the message of Holy Thursday. The cross looms on the horizon, but already we see its meaning taking shape. The Eucharist, which Jesus instituted at the Last Supper, is not just a ritual meal—it is the living memorial of his sacrifice, the ongoing participation in his death and resurrection. Each time we receive the Body and Blood of Christ, we are brought into the heart of this mystery.
Saint Melito’s words remind us that what happened in Jerusalem nearly two thousand years ago is not simply a past event. It is a reality we are invited to enter into here and now. The Lamb who was slain still gives life. The blood that was poured out still sets us free. And the One who rose from the dead still calls us to share in his victory.
Let us approach Holy Thursday, then, not as observers of a sacred story but as participants in it. Let us receive the Lamb with gratitude, and let us allow his sacrifice to shape our lives, so that we too may pass over—from sin to grace, from death to life, from fear to freedom.
A Reading From The Book Of Saint Basil On The Holy Spirit
There was much proclaimed by the prophets about the mystery of the Passover: that mystery is Christ, and to him be glory for ever and ever. Amen.
For the sake of suffering humanity he came down from heaven to earth, clothed himself in that humanity in the Virgin’s womb, and was born a man. Having then a body capable of suffering, he took the pain of fallen man upon himself; he triumphed over the diseases of soul and body that were its cause, and by his Spirit, which was incapable of dying, he dealt man’s destroyer, death, a fatal blow.
He was led forth like a lamb; he was slaughtered like a sheep. He ransomed us from our servitude to the world, as he had ransomed Israel from the hand of Egypt; he freed us from our slavery to the devil, as he had freed Israel from the hand of Pharaoh. He sealed our souls with his own Spirit, and the members of our body with his own blood.
He is the One who covered death with shame and cast the devil into mourning, as Moses cast Pharaoh into mourning. He is the One who smote sin and robbed iniquity of offspring, as Moses robbed the Egyptians of their offspring. He is the One who brought us out of slavery into freedom, out of darkness into light, out of death into life, out of tyranny into an eternal kingdom; who made us a new priesthood, a people chosen to be his own for ever. He is the Passover that is our salvation.
It is he who endured every kind of suffering in all those who foreshadowed him. In Abel he was slain, in Isaac bound, in Jacob exiled, in Joseph sold, in Moses exposed to die. He was sacrificed in the Passover lamb, persecuted in David, dishonoured in the prophets.
It is he who was made man of the Virgin, he who was hung on the tree; it is he who was buried in the earth, raised from the dead, and taken up to the heights of heaven. He is the mute lamb, the slain lamb, the lamb born of Mary, the fair ewe. He was seized from the flock, dragged off to be slaughtered, sacrificed in the evening, and buried at night. On the tree no bone of his was broken; in the earth his body knew no decay. He is the One who rose from the dead, and who raised man from the depths of the tomb.
Sometimes, when I read my Bible, I pause in the reading and say to myself: ‘This bit’s real.’ It would be fair to say, I have issues with Mary, because, contrary to what we are taught to say, Mary isn’t my mother. Rather: Mum is. One bit of the Bible-text says this: And when his family heard it, they went out to seize him, for people were saying, “He is beside himself.” … And his mother and his brothers came; and standing outside they sent to him and called him. And a crowd was sitting about him; and they said to him, “Your mother and your brothers are outside, asking for you.” And he replied, “Who are my mother and my brothers?” And looking around on those who sat about him, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother, and sister, and mother.” (Mark 3: 21; 31-35.) Here she comes. She is in considerable distress. I can imagine that. I can relate to that. To save her boy from whatever he’s got himself into this time. And you’re not telling me there isn’t something inside that. Her boy is beside himself. Radical. Radicalized. Radicalizing. A misunderstood word. /ˈradɪk(ə)l/ adjective & noun. 1 Forming the root, basis, or foundation; original, primary. 2a Inherent in the nature of a thing or person; fundamental. b Of action, change, an idea: going to the root or origin; far-reaching, thorough. c Advocating thorough or far-reaching change. d Characterized by departure from tradition; progressive; unorthodox. ‘He has a demon! And he is mad!’ – thus ‘the Jews’. (e.g. John 10: 20.) Come home! It’s all she wants. His family want him back now. But it is an exclusive cult: there is an inside and there is an outside; and on the outside, they are not meant to understand, lest they be converted. He has defined himself as different from anything she was. Only at the end does Jesus say to his Mum – and with savage, bitter irony: ‘Woman, behold your son.’ And then he dies. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. We ask that we might find Mary in our hearts as a Yes! place for Jesus. It is also recommended that we pray to Jesus that we may be further in oneness with Mary. It is self-emptying, such that we only exist insofar as we are responsive to God’s Word. * Last term, and put-out to pasture, the old Archbishop Emeritus came over to stay for a few days and did the odd class with us. He spoke of Yes! as the meaning of Mary’s virginity. And we were not very nice about him. One or two took umbrage. One or two got the hump. In a sense, his Grace, the Arch, basically wanted to move anyone he’d ever known from a high-place – a mountain – received theological ‘truth’ – to an imminent, human plane. Earthing the spiritual. Recalibrating metrics of life’s believability toward a spiritual sense of things. He might have asked the impermissible question: what happened? His Grace described it. God’s love as a cloud. This descended upon Mary – and subsumed her. Within the cloud, Mary capitulated utterly. She became only and purely a response to God’s love. As he spoke, the Arch cradled her. He carried her in his lap – in his hands. His Grace was a consecrated bishop. He was faith. He sat squat, a rounded man, hands cupped and ankles crossed, fingers interlocked, with parted thighs. Rumpled, washed, speckled. A lifetime’s skin… There could be no doubt His Grace spoke through long-term personal relationship with Mary. It was Julian went for him: ‘So are you saying Mary was a Virgin? Or are you not saying Mary was a Virgin?’ Nasty. No, it wasn’t pretty. Julian twisting his silver ring. For a moment, what Julian had said to the Arch simply failed to communicate. No, for a moment, that dumped on the air meant nothing. Then His Grace said: ‘There is a range of possible meanings we may understand in the question of Mary’s virginity. For example, there are understandings of the word virginity entailed in the action of giving birth.’ Julian said: ‘Duh! So had she had sex or hadn’t she?’ Trigger words. No, it wasn’t pretty. On that went for a little while. At length, Julian’s point seemed reluctantly conceded. Then the Arch told us a new story, an additionally human event, the more to baffle us. Controversially, he told us that Mary could not have been Joseph’s first wife, for this would not have been the way of things in the society of that time. His belief was that Joseph must have taken Mary into his household through pity. That would be normal, he said, for Joseph to bring a young, vulnerable girl, who is about to have a baby, within his protection, not meaning to enjoy with her marital relations, but through kindness. ‘And this story of the inn and stable,’ the Archbishop said, ‘it can’t have been like that really. Joseph has travelled with Mary to stay with his family, at home in Bethlehem, and they don’t want Mary in their house, for reasons which I am sure we can understand. It must have been there was considerable resistance to Mary. But Mary gives birth, and who can resist a baby? That’s what happened. It must have been. ‘I’m convinced that must have been how it happened really.’ Later that term, toward the beginning of Advent, we met boys who had been here before, in Valladolid, and now were in regular seminary. They had heard and recited verbatim all the Archbishop had said to them. Their spot-on impressions of each of the fathers were scathing. […]
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