The road is familiar. I have walked it before.
Palm branches once lined the path, waving in the air, tossed to the ground. Hosanna rang out in voices eager for a king—one who would overthrow, who would establish, who would fix. But their cries faded. Their expectations crumbled. And soon, the voices of praise turned into shouts of accusation.
I have preached this before. I have written this before. I have walked toward Easter many times.
But what have I missed?
The echoes of that week remain. The sounds of conversation at the table—disciples arguing over greatness while Jesus knelt to wash their feet. The hush of the room as He broke the bread, lifted the cup, spoke of His body, His blood. Did they understand? Do I?
The garden scene replays in my mind. Jesus, alone in anguish, pleading in prayer. His closest friends nearby, but distant in their drowsiness. The betrayer approaches, the soldiers seize Him, and the friend with the sword swings in fear.
I walk further into the week, standing near the fire as Peter swears he does not know Him. I see the trial, the crowd, the lashes, the thorns. The cross. The agony. The silence.
I pause here. Have I lingered long enough in the weight of it? Have I stood beneath the cross, really seeing?
I have preached this before. I have written this before.
But what have I missed?
The tomb, sealed shut, becomes the stopping place for hope. But only for a moment. Then, a new sound—the shuffle of feet running, the heavy breathing of those who had lost everything, now hearing rumors of life. The voice calling her name—“Mary”—and recognition dawns.
Jesus, alive. Speaking, walking, eating, reminding, sending.
I have heard it all, told it all, believed it all.
But have I been changed?
This year, as I walk toward Resurrection Day again, I do not want to rush ahead, moving too quickly to the resurrection. I want to sit at the table with Jesus, letting His words sink in. I want to watch in the garden, staying awake in prayer. I want to stand at the cross, letting His sacrifice reshape me. And when I reach the empty tomb, I want to run—not just as one who has heard, but as one who has been made new.
I walk toward Easter, toward Resurrection Day, toward Jesus.
And Jesus walks toward me.
Americans’ focus on political turmoil and chaos have blinded many of us from seeing what is critically important — the risen Christ. I pray we walk with Him this week through His agony to get a glimpse of what is truly the most consequential event in the history of the world.
This is a beautiful reflection.
Thank you, friend.
I think this is a great reminder to pause and really reflect on the weight of Jesus’ sacrifice and the price He paid for our freedom. It is so easy to get caught up in all of the busyness and formality of the Easter season that, while remembering His resurrection, I forget the heaviness of the cross and the suffering that He endured.
This is beautiful. I really liked this part: “The garden scene replays in my mind. Jesus, alone in anguish, pleading in prayer. His closest friends nearby, but distant in their drowsiness”. When I read this I was reminded of one of our class discussion, and it was a helpful reminder.
Wow. What a great reminder to not only think of the cross, burial, and resurrection, but all the parts leading up to it as well as all the in-betweens. I have caught myself going through the motions at times- hearing the story and not truly lingering in it. Not truly pausing. Not truly understanding. I think the words you have said are so important. We should always ask ourself the question of, “How have I been changed by this?”
Thank you for this reminder.
The line, “I do not want to rush ahead, moving too quickly to the resurrection,” hits home. In a culture that often skips straight to the joy of Easter, it’s powerful to be invited to sit with the sorrow and truly contemplate the cost of redemption.
This is a great reminder of what Easter is about. I think oftentime, we forget about the true significance of Jesus’ sacrifice and the pain it cost. Just being able to remind ourselves of what Jesus went through for our salvation shows us just how much he loves us.
“Have I lingered long enough in the weight of it?”
This line was very convicting. I do not know if it is possible to linger on the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus to the extent that it deserves, but we can try. We can spend more time, even outside of the Easter season, to really consider and take in what Jesus did for humanity.
“But have I been changed?” you asked, that should be our question to ourselves constantly, or rather, have I allowed the work of Christ to change me? Without these questions, our faith can become nothing more than just a religious routine. This was a great reminder to sink into the words and actions of Jesus from the beginning at his birth, to the end in glory.
This is a great reflection
Sitting in reflection is often more important than whatever we are reflecting upon I have found, we can find more within ourselves reflecting than we can find analyzing something to find its lesson.
I loved how he talked about not rushing to Easter but actually walking toward it—slowing down, sitting in the moments, really paying attention to what this season means. It made me realize how easy it is to just jump to the celebration and skip over everything that leads up to it—the sacrifice, the pain, the quiet in-between. It reminded me that there’s something powerful about taking it all in, not just the ending.