Risdon Prison – Easter Masses 2026
This is my second visit to your place. It may not be a place of choice. But it is your home. And I am a guest in your home. And I thank you for having me with you to pray this Mass.
Fr Anthony said that we will pray the Mass of Holy Thursday—so like the Lord we gather in a particular room. When Jesus gathered with his disciples for the Last Supper he was about to be arrested and tried.
So, you and I gather to pray not in an upper room but a room where people are gathered, aware of what has been done, aware of what cannot be undone, aware of what lies ahead.
And into this room—can I say our room? Jesus comes.
The Gospel tells us: “Jesus knew that his hour had come… He had always loved those who were his in the world, but now he showed how perfect his love was.”
And what does he do?
He kneels.
He takes a towel and begins to wash feet.
He does not accuse. He does not shame. He does not rehearse/go over their failures—even though he knows them all. He kneels before each one. Even Judas. He kneels even before Peter who would deny him.
He kneels.
That tells us something we must never forget:
God does not stand over us. God comes close to us.
And in your place, that matters.
Because you know what it is to carry things—memories, regrets, decisions that cannot be taken back. You know what it is to live within limits, to feel the weight of the past.
This afternoon, however, is not about the past.
Today is about what God does now.
In the first reading, the people of Israel were still in Egypt, still in bondage, and yet God begins something new before everything is fixed.
And Jesus does the same.
He takes bread: “This is my body, given for you.”
He takes the cup: “This is my blood, poured out for you.”
Not for perfect people. For those who would fail him within hours.
The Eucharist is not a reward for getting life right.
It is food for those who are still finding their way.
It is God saying: I am not finished with you.
Jesus also says: “If I have washed your feet, you also must wash one another’s feet.”
You are not only your past.
You are still capable of love.
You are capable of goodness.
Here in your home. What difference can you make? With:
A word of kindness.
A moment of patience.
A refusal to answer anger with anger.
These may seem small acts—but they are not small to God.
They are the beginning of something new.
So, as the shortest bishop in Tasmania for seventy years let me say this clearly this afternoon:
Christ kneels before you.
Not in judgment—but in love.
Not to condemn—but to lift you, to begin again.
You may not be free to walk through the doors or out the gates.
But your heart is not beyond His (Jesus’) reach.
And where Christ is welcomed—even quietly—
hope begins again.
Holy Thursday and Good Friday recall when Jesus gives himself completely.
And you, each one of you are included, the ones for whom he gave his life. He loves you today.
Most Rev. Anthony J. Ireland
Archbishop of Hobart
26 March 2026