The Easter Season at Passion

Reflecting on the Palm Sundays of my youth, I remember walking out of church with a cross-shaped leaf in hand. I remember waving a branch bigger than me. I remember singing songs with a word (hosanna?) that I never once used in an English literature class. I remember a preacher mentioning a man, a donkey, and some redneck-ish red carpet made of old coats. I remember… being confused.  Why the religious luau? Why the palm branches? Why the donkey? Why coats on the ground instead of on shoulders? Why hosanna? Why Palm Sunday? Why is this moment so significant that all four Gospel writers include it? To see the significance, we must slowly survey the scene. We must meditate on the pictures of Palm Sunday.  — A King Palm Sunday has a special setting. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John each ensure their reader knows Jesus is en route to Jerusalem for Passover. In perfect timing, the person of power enters this place of power. New Testament scholar, N.T. Wright comments on a peculiar coincidence unfolding: “Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor… would come up to Jerusalem [at Passover] to prevent trouble. He would arrive, from the west, on a military horse with an armed escort.” As that empirical tyrant makes his way from the West, rumors of another ‘king’ coming in from the East emerge. The scene narrows in on Jesus.  The next day the large crowd that had come to the feast heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem. John 12:12 Now when they drew near to Jerusalem and came to Bethphage, to the Mount of Olives, then Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village in front of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her. Untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, you shall say, ‘The Lord needs them,’ and he will send them at once.” Matthew 21:1–3 He gears up for his entry. Thus far, Jesus has kept a hard rule of hushing any public comments that he was some sort of “king,” but now his guard is down. Matthew, Mark, and Luke each make sure to mention his commanding arrangements for his entrance. In other words, he is not accidentally stumbling upon a parade entrance; he is planning one. The Uber has been called in advance. The campaign texts have been sent out to all. The King is coming on his own command. He leaves no middle ground. As Tim Keller once coined, “You either kill Him or crown Him.” Meditation: Jesus, you are more than a mere man, leader, teacher, or example. You are the King. Forgive me for the moments I’ve come to you for options to consider, not commands to obey.   — A Donkey “Get off your high horse!” The metaphor brings to mind the mighty. The high and proud have always been a combo deal with the big beasts. In antiquity, kings triumphed into town on their large horses, chariots, and camels, accompanied by large armies. The higher the king, the higher the horse, the louder the entrance.  This took place to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet, saying, “Say to the daughter of Zion, ‘Behold, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden.’ ”  Matthew 21:4-5 In stark contrast to the stallion, Jesus journeys into Jerusalem with irony. Palm Sunday is taking place to fulfill what God promised his people all along: a mighty King will come on a donkey. There is nothing impressive about a donkey. If the President of the United States rode one, we would await the memes. Leaders do not show up looking lowly. Kings show up in bling—with convoys of Cadillacs. The powerful would never show up on such a poor creature. Not this King. He is the great paradox. Powerful, yet peaceful. Divine, yet meek. His heart is made of tender mercy, not calloused pride. Palm Sunday is King Jesus’ announcement of his purpose and character to the world: He is the King, He has come, and he is humble.   Meditation: Jesus, you are the humble King. You are mighty and meek. Teach me how to walk in the trail you have blazed: godliness and humility. Take me off my high horse and hitch me onto yourself.  — A Palm Branch & A Plea Two centuries before Jesus’ Palm Sunday, there was another Palm Sunday. A man named Simon was famous for driving opposing forces out of Jerusalem. Simon was welcomed into the city with songs, chants, and… yes, palm branches. Decades after Jesus’ death, palm branches were engraved on Jewish currency as an emblem of rebellion against Rome. It is safe to say the palm branch was a symbol of national hope.  Most of the crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. And the crowds that went before him and that followed him were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!” Matthew 21:8-9 As Jesus marches in, the crowds wave palm branches and lay cloak-carpets. A single hope is on their mind: freedom from political oppression. “Hosanna!” they plead, full of emotion. The term literally means “Save us, now!” Do they realize what they are requesting? In their eyes, Jesus is the candidate who can bring that freedom right now. He is the one who can take down Rome. He is the national hope. In his eyes, the crowds’ dreams are too dainty. Their hope—too near-sighted. Their aspirations—too narrow. Jesus will not be just another elected official who patches oppression up with a bandaid. His objective is far greater than releasing the grip of Rome. He has come to conquer what no party, politician, or policy could ever touch: death.  Meditation: Jesus, you are the humble King and Savior of the world. I await your return and repeat with the crowd: Hosanna — save us! Bring to mind not just the palm branches waving on this day but the trees themselves clapping on the day you return in glory.  — A Rejection Haters always find a way to crash a party. While Jesus marches into Jerusalem on a donkey to the sounds of the chanting crowds, an opposing party rises to the surface. Anger boils up in the blood of the Pharisees: So the Pharisees said to one another, “You see that you are gaining nothing. Look, the world has gone after him.”John 12:19 And some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.”  Luke 19:39 The Pharisees see the whole scene as pointless and futile. The people gain nothing from praising a man on a donkey. Though the world follows him, the Pharisees will not make that stupid fault. They will not join the crowd’s chants that Jesus is King. “Jesus, do you not think this is getting out of hand? Your disciples need a chill pill.” It is as if Jesus replied, “If humanity had no mouths, you would still hear stones singing that I am King.” Creation bows to this King. The Pharisees do not. They miss it all. God passed them on a donkey, and they were busy scrolling through their own self-centeredness. Did he catch your eye? Do you see the picture of Palm Sunday? Behold! The King who rides in humility. The King who restores stoney hearts. The King who substitutes himself for sinners. The King who bleeds on behalf of the guilty. The King that turns the worst day of humanity into a “Good” Friday. The King that robs the grave. The King that defeats death. Behold! The King who enters from the East. Meditation: Jesus, thank you for the picture of Palm Sunday. Your triumphal entry led you to a cross to take away my sin. Before I could chant or clean up, you died for me. Like the rocks, I will cry out for all to hear: amazing grace!

Unless we’re talking about our favorite true crime podcast or courtroom drama, we don’t often use the word “witness” in our everyday vernacular. It may feel a bit antiquated or like a word only evangelists use when they are encouraging us to share our faith. However, Eugene Peterson says “a witness is never the center but only the person who points to or names what is going on at the center…” And Paul tells us in Colossians 1:15-17 that, “the Son is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.” With this information, one could say that not only are we all witnesses, but it’s why we were created — to give praise and honor and glory to the only one worthy of all of it, Jesus Christ. Witness implies presence. It means we can find God in our own story — His faithfulness, His goodness, His love, His forgiveness, His presence. And on the days, weeks, months or years when it’s difficult to remember, we do what the people of God have done for centuries— we sing. We sing to remind our souls of the character of the One we worship and to help resuscitate a faith in desperate need of hope. And as those who are not without hope, we testify to what we have seen and heard. We tell our stories. The language of story is powerful and often conveys a truth that could not be conveyed in another way. Paul is telling the story of his encounter with Jesus when he says this in Acts 22:14-16, “Then he said: ‘The God of our ancestors has chosen you to know his will and to see the Righteous One and to hear words from his mouth. You will be his witness to all people of what you have seen and heard. And now what are you waiting for? Get up, be baptized and wash your sins away, calling on his name’.” When you discover the cure, when you find the answer, when you uncover hope and the way to life you don’t just keep it to yourself. You want everyone to know – you become a witness to He who is at the center! Let these truths illuminate memories of God’s faithfulness in your story that have been hiding in the shadows, let them put words of hope in your mouth on your darkest days, and encourage you to testify of the hope you’ve found to those desperately looking for home. His name is Jesus.

He entered the temple and began to drive out those who sold and those who bought in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the money-changers and the seats of those who sold pigeons. (Mark 11:15) This particular Monday may have felt like the proverbial Monday morning in the modern Western world — a time to reengage the grind and get back to work. Jesus, indeed, walked into Jerusalem to take care of business. The meek and mild Jesus of progressive “tolerance” that so many of our contemporaries have come to prefer was nowhere to be found when he made a mess of the money-changers. There was nothing soft and tender on display when Jesus, in Jeremiah-like fashion, pronounced a resounding judgment on Israel. In no uncertain terms, his rebuke fell on their worship. The Christian tradition in which I was raised regularly had visiting musical groups play concerts. As you can imagine, these groups would have their albums and other merchandise to promote on the circuit, but at our local church, they weren’t allowed to sell them — at least not in the church foyer where most attenders entered. The rationale came from Mark 11:15–19 when Jesus cleansed the temple. Jesus clearly didn’t like it when folks hawked their wares around the temple, and therefore we shouldn’t sell stuff around the sanctuary. To be sure, the place of worship in first-century Judaism and the auditorium of a rural Baptist church in America don’t exactly correspond, but true to Jesus’s words, my home church didn’t want the place of worship to be co-opted as a place of commerce. And that much is right. So this is one temple problem going on in Jesus’s day. If you can imagine, the city would have been packed with pilgrims because of Passover. They would have come to the temple to offer sacrifices and, seizing an opportunity, pigeon-vendors set up shop. It might not have been too different from a sporting event today when sweaty salesmen walk the aisles and herald their popcorn — except these were sacrificial birds, their motive was sinister, and the prices were probably jacked even higher. “Pigeons! Get your pigeons!” they would have hollered. Without doubt, this is a far cry from what the place of worship should have been, and Jesus wouldn’t have it. Turning heads by his claim of authority, Jesus spoke for God and turned over tables. And central to it all was what he quoted from the Old Testament, from Isaiah and Jeremiah: “Is it not written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations’? [Isaiah 56:7–8] But you have made it a den of robbers [Jeremiah 7:11].” The co-op for commerce was a problem, but that wasn’t the only thing, or even the main thing, that Jesus was addressing. The real fiasco was how out of sync Israel’s worship was with the great end-times vision Isaiah had prophesied — the new age that Jesus had come to inaugurate. Jesus quotes a portion of that vision from Isaiah 56: “My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations.” The context of Isaiah 56 tells us more. According to Isaiah’s vision, eunuchs would keep God’s covenant (Isaiah 56:4), and foreigners would join themselves to him (Isaiah 56:6), and the outcasts would be gathered with his people (Isaiah 56:8). But Jesus approached a temple pulsing with buying and selling. The court of the Gentiles, the place designed all along for foreigners to congregate, for the nations to seek the Lord, was overrun with opportunists trying to turn a profit. And the Jewish leaders had let this happen. Their economic drive, and their false security in the temple as an emblem of blessing (Jeremiah 7:3–11), had crowded out space for the nations to draw near, and therefore Jesus was driving them out. The great sadness of this scene wasn’t so much the rows of product and price-gouging, but that all this left no room for the Gentiles and outcasts to come to God. This place of worship should have prefigured the hope of God’s restored creation — a day when “all the nations shall flow to it, and many peoples shall come, and say: ‘Come, let us go to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob’” (Isaiah 2:2–3). In other words, the ultimate vision of God’s people in God’s place would look a little more motley than it did when Jesus stepped foot into Jerusalem. And because their worship was so far removed from this vision, Jesus had enough. The worship of God’s people was so out of line with God’s purposes that zeal consumed God’s messiah. It had to stop. And here is the lesson for us on this Monday of Holy Week, or really, here is the question. How well does our worship prefigure the prophetic vision of the new creation? Do our relational investments and our corporate gatherings reflect, even in a small way, the heart of a God who gathers the outcasts? This question is no more relevant than on Easter, when our churches try especially to look their finest. When we assemble for worship this weekend, no one will set up tables to exchange currency. No one will lead in their oxen in hopes of getting rich. No one will tote a cage of high-priced pigeons. But our decorations may be elaborate. Our attire may be elegant. Our music may be worldclass. We may put exuberant energy into these things, and make it an impressive spectacle, but if Jesus were to come, if he were to step into our churches this Sunday, he’d be looking for the rabble. Where are the misfits, the socially marginalized, the outcasts? There is plenty of life in the veins of Easter to propel us beyond our comforts, our cliques, and our Sunday best, and send us powerfully out in the pursuit of the least. This article was originally published on desiringGod.org on March 30, 2015 by Jonathan Parnell, lead pastor of Cities Church in Minneapolis-St.Paul. Special thank you to desiringGod for contributing this piece to our Holy Week journey.

You called my name, and I ran out of that grave! We, as followers of Jesus can proclaim this because of who He is and what He has done. Sin doesn’t just make us bad; it makes us dead. We were all in desperate need of a Savior. Not only did Jesus die for our sin, but he was raised to everlasting life! He was the first to run out of that grave, and when we trust him with our lives we are right there with him in glory—eternal life both now and forever. In John 11, Jesus raises a dead man to life, crying out at his tomb: “Lazarus, come out!” He says the same to you and to me: “_________, come out!” He knows your name, and calls you out of your grave. Get up! Unwind the grave clothes of sin and shame, you have been set free, raised to glorious life because of Jesus’ resurrection. All the chains of your past and the worries for your future have been swallowed up forever in victory. Scripture says that the very same Spirit who raised Christ from the dead is living in each of us who follow Jesus. This is a reality for you today. You can therefore declare confidently that God has called your name, and Jesus has defeated whatever threatens to entangle, discourage, or thwart you from this promise today. Jesus, because of you, I have a future, and my eyes are open. Thank you for calling my name! I worship you and give you glory. Let me not be taken down by apathy, entangled by old sins, or paralyzed by fear and discouragement. I believe chains break at the weight of your glory. Help me remember who you are, whose I am, and live a life that brings you glory. In your name, Amen.

How intentional would you be with your time if you knew you only had a few days left to live? How purposeful would you be with your words? Who you spent time with? What activities or experiences you do? The thought of an impending loss naturally heightens the importance of the minutes and moments that come before. That’s why most of us who have lost someone can still recall, likely in vivid detail, a last conversation or a last experience; loss tends to imprint memories in the deepest part of our souls. Knowing this, I want to challenge us not to skip over Holy Tuesday as we’re often prone to do. In our effort to get to the intimacy of the Passover meal, the utter chaos and despondency of the Crucifixion, the tension of Saturday, and the celebration of Easter Sunday, we often leave very little room to sit and reflect on what happened between the Triumphant Entry on Sunday and the Last Supper on Thursday. But it’s here, in these oft-forgotten moments, where Jesus shared some of his last words before He was crucified. Make no mistake, he knew the timeline perfectly. He knew that the triumphant entry into Jerusalem would be one of his last rides into the city, that while his miracles and power were reaching a critical mass of influence (he had just raised Lazarus from the dead with nothing but the power of his voice, leading to a fervor of praise and worship that we call Palm Sunday), that even at the seeming height of his earthly ministry, it would all come to a head by the end of the week. He knew the stakes, that a devastating betrayal was coming, that the torture and agony and unfathomable pain was drawing closer. He knew it all, and what did he choose to do on those last days before his crucifixion? He did what he’d been doing for years. He taught. He loved. He ministered, answered questions, and asked some of his own. He didn’t demand an audience or clamor for a platform. He spoke to the people who wanted to listen, and he didn’t hold back any punches. After all, how could he? These were his last days, his last words. They were intentionally selected to fall in these early days of Holy Week, weighty and important messages, and if we’re willing to see them as such, we’ll likely have a new appreciation for these parables and truths. If you go back and look at all four gospels, you’ll realize a startling truth: 29 of the 89 chapters (nearly one-third of the recorded life and journey of Jesus) take place during the Holy Week or the days leading up to his resurrection. In particular, if you look at the gospel of Matthew, we note that Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem is recorded in chapter 21, and his resurrection ends the book in chapter 28. The Passover meal is eaten in Matthew 26, so that means it’s likely that everything that happens from Matthew 21:12 all the way to Matthew 26:5 happens between Monday and Wednesday of this special week, with Holy Tuesday being the center of that timing. In these days between Palm Sunday and Maundy Thursday, Jesus taught on the parable of the two sons, the parable of the tenants, and the parable of the wedding feast. He shared his well-known response to the question of paying taxes to Rome when he said, “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and give to God what is God’s.” He talked with the Sadducees about the resurrection and the Pharisees about the Greatest Commandment. He exposited on Psalm 110, warned the Jewish leaders of the consequences of their wrongful actions, lamented over Jerusalem, foretold the destruction of the temple (both his body and the physical temple), and spoke about the end of the age and the times to come. He spoke about preparedness in that no one knows the day nor the hour of his returning and second coming, and he backed up his teaching with a parable of the ten virgins, five of whom carried extra oil for their lamps and therefore were ready when the bridegroom came. He told a stunning story about four servants whose master gave them each talents and a responsibility to be good stewards. It’s this parable from which we draw the often-spoken words: “Well done my good and faithful servant.” He talked about the final judgment and how it’s not just the outward perception of our faith and Christianity that saves us. True and saving faith moves in action towards the least, the last, and the lost. All of this and more took place somewhere between Monday and Wednesday of Holy Week. These were the last public teachings of Jesus before his crucifixion (the gospel of John records what is known as the Upper Room Discourse from John 13-17, but that was a private teaching made to the select few disciples with him, not public teaching). We don’t actually know exactly which parables or teachings fell on which days, which is actually pretty beautiful in its own way. In the absence of the exact timing of the teachings, the gospel writers are letting us know that the location or the day wasn’t what was most important; the words and the messages were the main points. If there is one main takeaway from Holy Tuesday, it’s that Jesus is faithful to the work of shepherding the people whom God had entrusted him, even as the more dire of circumstances threatened to crash into his life. Knowing his days were limited, he chose to equip. To steer hearts once again to the love and generosity of the Father and to the responsibility and invitation of the saints to obey, eagerly working and waiting for the ultimate victory over every expression of darkness. His actions on Holy Tuesday should give you great confidence that no matter what is on your horizon, no matter what circumstances may come up tomorrow, Jesus isn’t backing down from loving and leading you. He isn’t hiding or simply looking out for his best interests. In fact, had he “laid low” during Holy Week, the vitriol and malice of the religious elite may have never crescendoed into crucifixion. He is faithful, steady, sure, and true. He is the model of obedience, putting his Father’s words and plans before whatever human temptations arose in the face of his impending death. As such, he can strengthen our resolve to be likewise obedient no matter the cost because, as we now know the full story, we believe that if we live like him on Tuesday, we will eventually be raised with him in victory on that last and final Sunday.

What is the cost of your devotion?  What is the price for your betrayal?  Holy Week should call us to reflection. It is a chance to pause and to feel ourselves all at once swept along by the echoes of church history and purely present in our current state. While the world around us rushes by, hurried and hurtled through another day, another week, another year, we are invited to momentarily stop time in that way that only happens when we are in the presence of the one who holds it.  Will you?  And if you do, will you weep? Will you shed a tear as you consider this man of sorrows (Isaiah 53:3)? Will you grieve and mourn your own sin for which He paid the price (James 4:8-9)?  I wonder, would you even weep for his betrayer, Judas?  Judas, a man like any other. Judas, who walked with Jesus. Judas, who must have witnessed miracle after miracle, who had to have felt the calloused hands of the Savior as they embraced, who surely cracked a smile or laughed alongside the Son of Man over dinner. Judas, who was paid a paltry fee (the same fee due to the owner of a slave in the instance they were accidentally killed by an ox (Exodus 21:32)) to lead the King who came not to be served but to serve, to slaughter.  Would you weep for this Judas? In the grand context of Holy Week, it is easy to dismiss the suffering of the guilty while celebrating the suffering of the innocent. But for a second, consider your own life. Even for those of us who walk with Jesus, who have given our lives over to him in adoration and obedience, have you not traded His love, his purposes, his plans away for even less? This week is a week to focus on Jesus, but in doing so, how can one fully embrace the sweetness of the sacrifice without acknowledging the severity of the separation that it solved? Judge not Judas lest you for even a moment consider yourself above the same betrayal. Then, in realizing your sin, pour out your praise upon Jesus even more graciously, for he has saved you from it. The grace you know and are tempted daily to take for granted Judas never knew. The relationship with the Father you ebb and flow to and fro from was never felt by him. In his omnipotence God used the pride of Judas, but that does not mean he was absolved from the consequences.  Make no mistake, Jesus was not fooled by Judas. He was not snookered at the last moments of his life into a trap he never saw coming. No, fully aware of what he would do, Jesus chose Judas as one of the twelve (John 6:70-71) and invited him in. Perhaps that is our merciful message to walk in today. The King is not threatened by your sin, nor is He casting you out of the city walls because of it. Instead, he calls you even closer, inviting your questions and confessions. Judas cast his coins at the feet of the high priests; you are invited to cast yours at the feet of the one who holds the authority over Heaven and Hell. He is not demanding your perfection. His is enough.  Sit with his presence today, and thank him for his mercy. Ask to be conformed to his image, made daily more and more like the savior. In these quiet moments, consider where you have sold your affection for pennies on the dollar and what you are willing to walk away from on the altar of devotion. Then turn your eyes once again to Jesus, and in a whisper, if need be, thank him while you yet have breath to do so for Judas does not.

What do you think is one of the most repeated commands in Scripture? There are the famous Ten Commandments, a plethora of additional commands the Israelites were supposed to obey in the Old Testament, and of course the greatest commandment: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind’… And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.'” (Matthew 22:37,39) But the command we are given more often than most throughout Scripture may surprise you. It is not a warning or a “thou shalt not.” It is simply this— give thanks! The Hebrew word for “thanks” is used forty-seven times in the Psalms alone. If we look at each occurrence, we notice it is often accompanied by a specific reason for giving thanks. The psalmists learned general thanks is valuable, but there is power in naming what God has done in our lives! Psalm 9:1 says, “I will give thanks to the Lord with my whole heart; I will recount all of your wonderful deeds.” Wherever we find ourselves today, there is always room for giving thanks. There is always space to recount the faithfulness of God in our lives. In the harvest— give thanks.In the desert— give thanks.In the pain of heartbreak— give thanks.In the disappointment of dreams lost— give thanks. In the face of uncertainty— give thanks.In the grief of death— give thanks.In the celebration— give thanks! And there, in the middle of our gratitude, is right where we find God! Because His command to give thanks is an invitation to enjoy Him! It is in our rehearsing, retelling, and recounting of what God has done that we see once again His grace, mercy, love, and kindness toward us. When we remember what He’s done— that Jesus, for the joy set before Him, endured the cross, emptied Himself, humbled Himself to the point of death so that we who believe in Him could be made alive with Him, that we should not perish but have everlasting life, we realize thankfulness is an act of praise! Our gratitude is worship! And we see once again Jesus is worthy to receive all the worship we can bring!

As a parent of two children under two years old, I am well acquainted with the task of dealing with the filth of another. For the first few decades of my life, I only had to worry about my own cleanliness, but the role of dad has imparted to me the duty of helping maintain the hygiene of our two wonderful and messy daughters. Daily life now includes a constant rhythm of diaper changes, wiping snotty noses, and scrubbing those unexplainably sticky hands.  Being human is messy (literally and figuratively), and sometimes we cannot care for ourselves—requiring someone to perform the humbling task of caring for us. These new responsibilities in my life have given me an increased appreciation for the deeply symbolic moment when Jesus washed his disciples’ feet at the Last Supper, mere hours before Judas betrayed Him and handed Him over to the high priests. The Gospel of John presents this story vividly, capturing the rising tension as Jesus knowingly and willingly marches toward his crucifixion.  It was just before the Passover Festival. Jesus knew that the hour had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The evening meal was in progress, and the devil had already prompted Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot, to betray Jesus. Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him.John 13:1-5 Immediately, Jesus is met with opposition from Peter and the rest of the disciples. In a cultural context, it’s easy to understand why. Everything about this task would have been seen as demeaning: His seemingly random outfit change was an intentional adoption of a slave’s attire, the act of foot-washing was a job often reserved for the lowest of servants, and the concept of a superior washing their inferior’s feet was completely unheard of., Why in the world was this great man, their teacher, leader, and messiah, engaging in such an embarrassing undertaking?  After completing the degrading task, Jesus paused to partially explain that He modeled how they were now meant to live. It is one thing to tell people to serve; it’s another to show it in the messiest way possible. Jesus didn’t offer up hollow words about service without first showing it in action.  His challenge for his followers was relatively simple: if Jesus, the King of kings and the Lord of Lords, would stoop low to wash their dirty feet, they should follow his example to wash one another’s feet.  Later in the evening, Jesus emphasizes His point by giving them blunt directions for how they are meant to live. “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”John 13:34-35 This statement is the basis for what we now call “Maundy Thursday,” a title derived from the Latin word for “mandate.” Maundy Thursday commemorates this powerful evening and how Jesus demonstrated what it looks like to serve one another through his actions and words.  Within this mandate to love one another as Jesus loves us, God forms the foundation for what His church should look like: sacrificial love. Throughout the New Testament scriptures, the Apostle Paul and others will continue to expand on this idea by revealing what Christian love looks like in application, mirroring Jesus’ language in John 13 with the phrase “one another.”  We are meant to love one another, honor one another, live in harmony with one another, forgive one another, bear with one another, comfort one another, pray for one another, encourage one another, and so much more. The timing of this new commandment cannot be understated. Unlike his oblivious disciples, Jesus knew in this holy moment that he was only hours away from being violently taken away from them and put to death. So at this final meal in the Upper Room, Jesus intentionally takes time to showcase the values of his coming kingdom for his followers to model after he is gone—traits like humility, longsuffering, meekness, and love. Values that would fundamentally run counter to the virtues the world elevates.  What are followers of Jesus called to look like? Sacrificial servants. Humble supporters. Washers of feet. However, on Holy Week in particular, we would be woefully misguided to diminish Jesus’ role on earth as merely an example to follow. As is the case for many of Jesus’ intentionally vague parables and actions, there was something far deeper happening at this moment than his followers could initially comprehend. In his exchange with Peter, he promised they would one day understand the symbolism of what he was doing. Now, two thousand years later, we understand that through this act of service, Jesus was hinting at a bigger picture of what he came to earth to do. Just as he took on the garments of a servant and stooped low to serve, he humbly stepped down to earth and took on the likeness of a human.  Just as he obediently condescended himself to the dirty work of foot-washing, he obediently subjected himself to death on the Cross, permanently washing away the sins of those who put their faith in Him. And just as he rose up and resumed his rightful place at the table, he conquered death and rose from the grave, returning to his rightful place beside the Father. The commandment from Jesus to love one another is not a love without explanation or precedence.  Our love is called to reflect the sacrificial love of a savior who stepped into our mess to cleanse the hearts of the undeserving and unworthy on the day we call Good Friday. Now, our paradigm for service has shifted. When my wife and I clean our daughters, subjecting ourselves to another’s mess, it doesn’t come from self-seeking motivations. It is born out of love. The same is true for all who have put their faith in Jesus. We no longer live lives of self-gratification and pain avoidance, seeking recognition or a reward for our deeds.  Instead, we serve one another in humility and love, modeling ourselves after the servant and savior who stooped low for you and me.

A liturgy on Christ’s suffering, sacrifice, and resurrection that calls us to remembrance, gratitude, and a life transformed by His boundless love.

Strongholds bowing to the SaviorResurrection power, over every circumstance…-It is Finished A lie is anything that leads us to believe the opposite of what God says about us. And a lie, over time, can become a stronghold — a battle that feels impossible to overcome. You’re not alone if you’ve ever felt imprisoned by a desire, a grief, a guilt, or bitterness. However, we were not designed to live a life of captivity. There is freedom for every one of us in the finished work of Jesus: His death and resurrection. Have you ever considered what Scripture means when it talks about resurrection power? It says that Jesus holds all authority over death and the same power that raised Jesus from the grave is available to us today. Think about that! Don’t move by it too fast. Resurrection power breathed life into Jesus’ dead bones. It took a body that was dead and began pumping blood through its veins once again. That unrivaled strength did what no man could ever do: it brought life from death, hope from hopelessness. We can live in that power today. Though each of us will face unforeseen circumstances and undesired hardships, those things do not define us and we are not enslaved to them. What seems impossible becomes possible when there is resurrection power involved. Hurts can be healed. Offenses can be forgiven. Dead things can come to life. Wherever you find yourself today, remember this: every stronghold must bow to the authority of Jesus. Today we claim not just any power over our circumstances, but the greatest of them all: resurrection power. “If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit who dwells in you.”Romans 8:11

In all of Holy Week, Saturday may be the day about which the least is written but from which we can draw some of the greatest encouragement and hope. On this day, everything pauses after a week of dramatic and suspenseful events—from Jesus’ triumphal entry on Palm Sunday to His clearing of the temple on Monday to His initiation of communion on Maundy Thursday to His arrest, trial, and crucifixion on Good Friday.  But on Saturday, we wait.  As readers, it’s as though the first half of the drama has come to a close—a literally earth-shaking close at that (Matthew 27:51)—and we’re sitting in a dark theater during intermission feeling shock, confusion, and angst over how this story will end and how it could possibly be made right. Did we get all the foreshadowing wrong? Will good still triumph in the end? Why did God let all of this happen? Often, our circumstances in life feel like a bleak intermission after tragedy. A relationship ends. An application is denied. A pregnancy is lost. An opportunity is withheld. A diagnosis is made. A life is ended. But these circumstances are just that—an intermission in the full story of God’s good purposes in which we must grapple with grief, but we have not yet seen how God will take even what the enemy meant for evil and use it for good (Genesis 50:20).  In the darkest circumstances, when all feels lost, evil seems to have won, and nothing makes sense, we can trust that God is working as we wait, and our faith can hold both sorrow and hope.  On the Friday of Holy Week, as sundown approached (the start of Saturday according to the Jewish calendar), Joseph of Arimathea asked Pilate for Jesus’ body. He wrapped it in a clean linen cloth before placing it in his own tomb and rolling a large stone over the entrance (Matthew 27:57-60). This is where Jesus’ body remained through all of Holy Saturday—the only day in history on which the body of the Son of God has or will lie dead in a tomb.  Where was everyone else? The disciples who scattered when Jesus was arrested were likely now gathered in hiding together, trying to process a swirl of heavy emotions (John 20:19). They may have felt shock over their Lord’s death, confusion over all they believed, grief over the loss of their friend, anger over their fellow disciple Judas’ betrayal, uncertainty in how to proceed, and fear over the possibility that they could be arrested too.  From these disciples, we remember how dark it would be to face any “Saturday” without faith in Jesus’ promise that the last enemy to be destroyed will be death (1 Corinthians 15:26), that all authority on heaven and earth has been given to Him (Matthew 18:18), that the enemy has no claim on Him (John 14:30), and that He is always working all things for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28).  Even as we wait in the intermission of our own “Saturday,” we cling to the hope—not that God will work out our circumstances on earth exactly as we want—but that all His promises are trustworthy and true, secured by their yes and amen in Christ (2 Corinthians 1:20).  The religious leaders, who remembered Jesus’ claim to rise on the third day, asked Pilate for permission to make the tomb secure, lest Jesus’ disciples steal His body and deceive people into thinking He had risen. Pilate told them to “go, make the tomb as secure as you know how.” (Matthew 27:65) Apparently, their know-how was not sufficient for the task. They certainly didn’t need to worry about the disciples stealing Jesus’ body—those disciples, nearly all of whom were eventually killed for their faith in Jesus, would not have been willing to suffer to death over a body-stealing hoax that they knew made their faith a sham. The religious leaders were preoccupied with trying to keep people from coming into the tomb and overlooked their greater threat: they couldn’t stop Jesus from coming out.  They tried to keep people from coming for Jesus, but nothing could keep Jesus from coming for His people.  These religious leaders remind us that no work of evil, earthly scheme, or human cunning can hold back God’s will and work in our lives. Even if the enemy seems to have control in the darkness of Saturday, the God of peace will soon crush that same enemy under our feet (Romans 16:20).  The women from Galilee watched to see where Jesus’ body was placed on Friday, then returned home to prepare spices and ointments for His anointing, a work they did not finish until the start of the Sabbath, on which the Jewish law commanded them to rest (Luke 23:55). Their obedience to that command aligned God’s perfect timing for their role in His story. It meant they had to wait to visit Jesus’ tomb until Sunday morning, when they would be the first to learn that He had risen.  From the women, we remember that in our obedience, even when that obedience requires waiting, God is working—orchestrating people, circumstances, and timelines in ways we cannot fathom, just as He orchestrated all of the Old Testament to be fulfilled in Jesus. On the Sabbath day, God commanded His people to rest in Exodus, and Jesus Himself rested in the tomb. He spent three days and three nights in the heart of the earth, just as Jonah spent three days and three nights in the belly of a fish (Matthew 12:40).  He fulfilled every prophecy, such as Isaiah’s declaration that He would be pierced for our transgressions and crushed for our iniquities; upon Him would be the chastisement that brought us peace, and by His wounds, we would be healed (Isaiah 53:5, 1 Corinthians 15:3-4).  How bleak this world would be (and how hopeless our lives would be) if we didn’t have the hope that even in the midst of our “Saturdays”—those periods of grief, confusion, and loss in which we don’t yet see how a specific story will end—we know how the grand story will ultimately end. God can do all things and always has a plan, and no purposes of His can be thwarted (Job 42:2).  One day, His dwelling place will be among us, and He will dwell with us. We will be His people, and God Himself will be with us and will be our God. He will wipe every tear from our eyes, and there will be no more death, mourning, crying, or pain because the old order of things will pass away. He will make everything new (Revelation 21:3-5).  Until that day, we wait with hope. Today may be Saturday, marked by a deafening silence between the crucifixion and Easter morning.  But Sunday is coming. And in this, we hope.

These gatherings have been ingrained in our minds and hearts as being crucial to the story of faith; everything we believe is built around the recognition that Jesus died on a Friday and was raised three days later on a Sunday. But in our traditional approach to Easter, we often skip over Saturday. We mourn on Good Friday. We rejoice on Easter Sunday. But what about Saturday? What does the Scripture say about this most Holy Saturday?   To understand this Holy Saturday, we need to look at what was happening both outside and inside the tomb. Matthew 27:62-63 tells us that the “next day” (which Matthew then clarifies after the day of preparation), the chief priests and the Pharisees went to Pilate with a specific request. The day of preparation would have been Friday (John 10:38-42). That means that the Jewish leaders would be gathering before Pilate on Saturday, which was their Sabbath day. These leaders are breaking their own laws and rules that they consistently tried to condemn Jesus with in order to try to disprove his claim of Godship. They had accomplished their goal: Jesus Christ was dead. He was buried. Now, they just needed to stop the claim of his impending resurrection. Whenever you see the word “therefore” in Scripture, you should be prodded to look back and see what two ideas the author is trying to connect. In this case, Matthew wants us to see that because Jesus claimed resurrection, the Pharisees wanted to secure the tomb at least until the third day. Like when they killed Jesus, the religious leaders went to Pilate, the Roman ruler, to seek the means and authority to execute their plans. While Jesus was defeating the powers of darkness (1 Corinthians 15:54-55) and claiming the keys of Death and Hell (Revelation 1:18), the religious leaders were doing what they could to stop this salvation work of God. They were afraid that the disciples would steal Jesus away, not knowing that Jesus was actively robbing the grave of its power and grip on humanity. So, how does this translate for you and me? As we said, many of us have grown up around Good Friday and Easter Sunday. We know to feel remorseful for our sins, the fact that our depravity and brokenness sent Jesus to the cross. And we know to feel exuberant and gleeful at the potential of the empty tomb—the reality of grace and freedom and redemption that becomes available with that rolled stone.  And yet, when we skip over Holy Saturday, we miss an important part of the journey. It was our sin and God’s plan that led Jesus to the cross, and it was his power and his authority that ruptured the darkness and resurrected Him to everlasting life. But on Saturday, we must pause and reflect on this question: “How are we working to secure the tomb and keep the power of resurrection inside?” At first glance, that might seem hard. Of course, we want new life. Of course, we want new hope. But for many of us, the reality of the resurrection calls into clear focus those areas of our lives that need to be repented, corrected, and submitted to the Lord. You see, if Jesus did rise from the dead, then the Pharisees were wrong. And they wanted to do everything in their limited power to avoid that possibility. Pilate gave them what they wanted. A guard of soldiers. They went away, singularly focused on this goal: secure the tomb.  I’m always struck by how often I try to secure things God is actively working to loosen. Through his resurrection, he has secured me an eternal weight of glory. He has secured for me a blessed inheritance and a life-altering power. I couldn’t do it alone; that’s why we celebrate Good Friday. Despite my efforts to the contrary, he has taken away the sting of death by conquering death, hell, and the grave. Here’s the biggest takeaway of Holy Saturday: nothing will stop God’s salvation and resurrection. You can seal the tomb. You can stand a guard outside. You can leverage the full might of Rome and the world’s power. But what God is doing in the darkness, He will bring into the light, and when he does, you and I will have reason to celebrate.  Easter Sunday is coming, and with it, every promise, every ounce of love and redemption and hope for those who believe. Scripture says that “at the right time, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:6). I like to think that at the right time, he rose for us.  Even though we tried to keep him in, he broke through and changed everything for you and me. That is Holy Saturday.