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Student Reflection: Holy Thursday
Dominic Tortorello '25 provided the student reflection before the Fenwick community prayed the Stations of the Cross on Thursday, April 17, 2025.
My name is Dominic Tortorello, and I’m a member of the Class of 2025. On behalf of myself and the rest of the Fenwick Preaching Team, I want to welcome you to this special Stations of the Cross prayer service.
Today, we gather to walk alongside Jesus on His journey to the cross; a path marked by unimaginable suffering, yes, but also by an unshakable love. A love that chose pain for our peace. A love that endured betrayal, humiliation, and death — so that we, broken as we are, might have the chance to be made whole. The Passion of Christ isn’t just some obscure story from 2,000 years ago… it’s the heartbeat of our faith. And it asks something of us.
The part of Jesus’ Passion that’s impacted me most isn’t traditionally part of the 14 stations we are about to do. It comes from Luke 23:39–43, during those final, agonizing moments of His crucifixion. As Jesus hangs on the cross, bleeding and gasping for air, one of the criminals beside Him mocks Him, stating:
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Today, we gather to walk alongside Jesus on His journey to the cross; a path marked by unimaginable suffering, yes, but also by an unshakable love. A love that chose pain for our peace. A love that endured betrayal, humiliation, and death — so that we, broken as we are, might have the chance to be made whole. The Passion of Christ isn’t just some obscure story from 2,000 years ago… it’s the heartbeat of our faith. And it asks something of us.
The part of Jesus’ Passion that’s impacted me most isn’t traditionally part of the 14 stations we are about to do. It comes from Luke 23:39–43, during those final, agonizing moments of His crucifixion. As Jesus hangs on the cross, bleeding and gasping for air, one of the criminals beside Him mocks Him, stating:
“Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!”
But the other, the one we now call St. Dismas, responds with honesty and humility: “We are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he proceeds to say something so incredibly simple: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And Jesus, in the midst of His own suffering, replies: “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
That moment is redemption in its purest form. It’s never too late. No matter what you’ve done, mercy is still offered. But here’s the key: you have to choose it.
This scene reminds me of so countless times in my life where I’ve had to face my own shortcomings — times I’ve pushed off responsibilities, let people down, or failed to follow through on what I promised. Case in point: I was supposed to have this reflection done by last Friday. I turned it in at 3 a.m. on Monday. Sorry, Mrs. May.
But I know I’m not alone in this. Maybe it’s skipping that one assignment. Not going to Sunday Mass with your family. Ignoring that text. Putting off a conversation you know you need to have. Telling yourself, “I’ll get around to it eventually.” Maybe it’s breaking someone’s trust. Or lying to yourself about what really matters.
Sin isn’t always loud — a lot of the time it’s subtle. It is in our daily choice to do nothing. To delay. To disconnect. And when that list of “to-dos” piles up, so does the weight of it. So what do we do to solve this? We have to respond to Jesus’ invitation.
Redemption isn’t forced on us. It’s a gift. But a gift has to be received. Like the penitent thief, we have to look inward and admit when we’ve fallen short. We have to stop making excuses. As the Roman writer Pubilius Syrus once said, “Every vice has its excuse ready.” But we’re not called to excuses. We’re called to repent, we are called to say, “Yeah, I messed up… but I want to be better.” That honesty is the beginning of our transformation.
So Friars, as we enter into this time of prayer, walking the road Jesus walked bearing our sins, I challenge you to think about which thief you want to be. Not just today, but every day.
Are you going to keep pushing people away, blaming others, and avoiding the hard work of growth? Or are you going to turn toward the cross, admit your faults, and ask Christ to walk with you through it? Because He already has. And He’s eagerly waiting to say to all of you “Today you will be with me in Paradise.”
As we pray together, I ask that you take this time seriously. If your mind starts to wander, pause and think of the people in your life you want to pray for. If you’re not personally moved, please remember that this may be meaningful to someone sitting near you, so please make room for grace to move. And when this is over, don’t let it stay here. Be honest with yourself about where you fall short. Be bold enough to change. And be brave enough to reach out to the One who’s never stopped reaching for you — even from the cross.
But the other, the one we now call St. Dismas, responds with honesty and humility: “We are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he proceeds to say something so incredibly simple: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And Jesus, in the midst of His own suffering, replies: “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
That moment is redemption in its purest form. It’s never too late. No matter what you’ve done, mercy is still offered. But here’s the key: you have to choose it.
This scene reminds me of so countless times in my life where I’ve had to face my own shortcomings — times I’ve pushed off responsibilities, let people down, or failed to follow through on what I promised. Case in point: I was supposed to have this reflection done by last Friday. I turned it in at 3 a.m. on Monday. Sorry, Mrs. May.
But I know I’m not alone in this. Maybe it’s skipping that one assignment. Not going to Sunday Mass with your family. Ignoring that text. Putting off a conversation you know you need to have. Telling yourself, “I’ll get around to it eventually.” Maybe it’s breaking someone’s trust. Or lying to yourself about what really matters.
Sin isn’t always loud — a lot of the time it’s subtle. It is in our daily choice to do nothing. To delay. To disconnect. And when that list of “to-dos” piles up, so does the weight of it. So what do we do to solve this? We have to respond to Jesus’ invitation.
Redemption isn’t forced on us. It’s a gift. But a gift has to be received. Like the penitent thief, we have to look inward and admit when we’ve fallen short. We have to stop making excuses. As the Roman writer Pubilius Syrus once said, “Every vice has its excuse ready.” But we’re not called to excuses. We’re called to repent, we are called to say, “Yeah, I messed up… but I want to be better.” That honesty is the beginning of our transformation.
So Friars, as we enter into this time of prayer, walking the road Jesus walked bearing our sins, I challenge you to think about which thief you want to be. Not just today, but every day.
Are you going to keep pushing people away, blaming others, and avoiding the hard work of growth? Or are you going to turn toward the cross, admit your faults, and ask Christ to walk with you through it? Because He already has. And He’s eagerly waiting to say to all of you “Today you will be with me in Paradise.”
As we pray together, I ask that you take this time seriously. If your mind starts to wander, pause and think of the people in your life you want to pray for. If you’re not personally moved, please remember that this may be meaningful to someone sitting near you, so please make room for grace to move. And when this is over, don’t let it stay here. Be honest with yourself about where you fall short. Be bold enough to change. And be brave enough to reach out to the One who’s never stopped reaching for you — even from the cross.
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