Holy Thursday – 2 April 2026
In these days, when the shadow of conflict weighs heavily upon our world, and when grim economic forecasts unsettle households and nations alike, we know too well the climate of uncertainty, anxiety, and the quiet fear of what may yet unfold.
It is into such moments that literature—and faith—speak with renewed clarity. In several of the Harry Potter novels by J. K. Rowling, there comes, at the end of the story, a striking insight into human nature. Such is the case in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. After all the turmoil and danger, Harry comes to a troubling realisation: that something of the darkness he opposes—something of Lord Voldemort—is also within him. In conversation with the wise Albus Dumbledore, Harry fears what this might mean. Should he, then, belong among the dark? Should he be defined by what lies within him? Dumbledore’s response cuts through the confusion with a truth that feels especially urgent for our own time: It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”
In our own days, we are discovering how fragile our world can be. The threat of war, the strain of rising costs, the uncertainty about the future—all these awaken something within us. Fear, certainly. Perhaps also suspicion, defensiveness, even the temptation to withdraw into ourselves. Like Harry, we glimpse capacities within us we would rather not claim. And yet, like Harry, we are not defined by what we fear within ourselves, nor by the forces that swirl around us. We are defined by what we choose.
This is why, in these sacred days, we remember Jesus himself not for what he could do, but for what he chose to do. And the choice we recall tonight is his choice to love—precisely in the face of fear.
He too lived under the shadow of violence, political instability, and the threat of suffering. He knew what it was to feel the tightening grip of fear. And yet, rather than retreat into self-protection, he chose to move outward. He chose to serve. He chose to love. In the simple, almost disarming act of washing his disciples’ feet, he reveals who he truly is. Not one who is governed by fear, but one who is free enough to love in spite of it. Not one who grasps for control, but one who gives himself away.
Fear closes us in. It narrows our vision. It tempts us to protect, to hoard, to suspect, to withdraw. In a time of war and economic uncertainty, these instincts intensify. We can feel ourselves becoming smaller, more guarded, more anxious about what we might lose. Jesus knows this terrain. Yet he shows another way.
He shows that fear is not overcome by force, nor by denial, but by love enacted – love as a deliberate choice. Love that steps outward when every instinct says to step back. Love that serves when it would be easier to secure oneself. Love that remains open when the world feels increasingly closed.
This is not grand heroism as the world measures it. It is quieter, more hidden. It takes place in ordinary decisions: patience instead of anger, generosity instead of fear, attentiveness instead of indifference. Yet it is precisely in these choices that our true identity is revealed.
We cannot underestimate how difficult this is. The pressures upon us are real. The anxieties are not imagined. Jesus himself did not find it easy to move beyond fear. But he shows us that it is possible—and that it is transformative. For when we choose to love, even in the face of fear, something shifts. The darkness does not have the final word. Fear loosens its grip. Isolation gives way to solidarity. And even in a world overshadowed by conflict and uncertainty, the first light of salvation begins to dawn. “It is our choices,” Dumbledore reminds us, “that show what we truly are.” And in these days, perhaps more than ever, the world waits to see what we will choose.
