Many pastors try to keep pace with the days leading to Easter.
Palm branches are waved.
Tables are set on Maundy Thursday.
Sanctuaries grow dark on Good Friday.
And before we know it, the lilies arrive and trumpets sound.
But somewhere in the movement of the season, we risk arriving at Easter without fully understanding what happened on the way.
For the next fourteen weekdays, we will walk step by step through the final moments of Jesus’ earthly life. Christians across centuries have reflected on these moments in what are often called the “Stations of the Cross.” While Methodists do not formally observe the Via Dolorosa as some of our Anglican and Catholic brothers and sisters do, we share the same Lord, the same Scriptures, and the same saving cross.
Quite frankly, I am excited to write this so I can learn about the stations right along with all of you. I wish I had written this before I went to Jerusalem last month.
Palm Sunday is not merely a parade. In Luke’s Gospel, as Jesus approaches Jerusalem, He weeps over the city (Luke 19:41). The cheers of “Hosanna” are real — but so are the tears. The One who enters to shouts of praise knows that the road ahead leads not to a throne, but to a cross.
Maundy Thursday recalls the final meal — the bread broken, the cup shared, the command to love one another (John 13:34). It is intimate, tender, and heavy with what is coming.
And then comes Good Friday.
I confess that I have always struggled with that name. There was nothing pleasant about that day. Nothing light. Nothing easy. The suffering of Christ was real — physical, public, humiliating.
And yet… we call it Good Friday because of what God accomplished through it. The cross is terrible in its cost, but glorious in its grace. On that day, the Son of God bore what we could not bear so that we might live.
This year, rather than rushing from palm branches to empty tomb, I want us to slow down.
Our purpose is not ritual.
It is remembrance.
Each day we will pause at one moment along the road to Calvary. We will look carefully at the Scripture. I am taking the events of that Friday when the dakness descends - and telling the story in 14 parts - the stations of the cross.
We will listen for the echoes of the Old Testament. We will consider the historical setting — what Jerusalem looked like under Roman rule, where these events likely unfolded, and where pilgrims pause today. And then we will ask why it matters for us as we prepare to gather for our Service of Shadows on Good Friday.
In teh Sanctuary on Good Friday (April 3rd) we will be conducting the Service of Darkness – Tenebrae on Good Friday. It is a musical recounting of the last days.
Tenebrae means “darkness.”
In that service, light will gradually fade. Candles will be extinguished. Scripture will carry us deeper into the story. We do not end with resurrection that night. We end in silence.
But silence is not despair.
It is waiting.
So beginning tomorrow, we take the first step.
Not to reenact.
Not to dramatize.
But to understand.
Let us walk slowly.
Let us pay attention.
Let us prepare our hearts historically, theologically, and emotionally for the weight of the cross.
Follow along here and the Tenebrae will come alive for you! No homework today - just a prayer...
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, as we begin this journey toward the cross, slow our hurried hearts.
Give us courage to face the cost of our redemption.
Teach us to sit in the shadow before we stand in the light.
Amen.
Palm branches are waved.
Tables are set on Maundy Thursday.
Sanctuaries grow dark on Good Friday.
And before we know it, the lilies arrive and trumpets sound.
But somewhere in the movement of the season, we risk arriving at Easter without fully understanding what happened on the way.
For the next fourteen weekdays, we will walk step by step through the final moments of Jesus’ earthly life. Christians across centuries have reflected on these moments in what are often called the “Stations of the Cross.” While Methodists do not formally observe the Via Dolorosa as some of our Anglican and Catholic brothers and sisters do, we share the same Lord, the same Scriptures, and the same saving cross.
Quite frankly, I am excited to write this so I can learn about the stations right along with all of you. I wish I had written this before I went to Jerusalem last month.
Palm Sunday is not merely a parade. In Luke’s Gospel, as Jesus approaches Jerusalem, He weeps over the city (Luke 19:41). The cheers of “Hosanna” are real — but so are the tears. The One who enters to shouts of praise knows that the road ahead leads not to a throne, but to a cross.
Maundy Thursday recalls the final meal — the bread broken, the cup shared, the command to love one another (John 13:34). It is intimate, tender, and heavy with what is coming.
And then comes Good Friday.
I confess that I have always struggled with that name. There was nothing pleasant about that day. Nothing light. Nothing easy. The suffering of Christ was real — physical, public, humiliating.
And yet… we call it Good Friday because of what God accomplished through it. The cross is terrible in its cost, but glorious in its grace. On that day, the Son of God bore what we could not bear so that we might live.
This year, rather than rushing from palm branches to empty tomb, I want us to slow down.
Our purpose is not ritual.
It is remembrance.
Each day we will pause at one moment along the road to Calvary. We will look carefully at the Scripture. I am taking the events of that Friday when the dakness descends - and telling the story in 14 parts - the stations of the cross.
We will listen for the echoes of the Old Testament. We will consider the historical setting — what Jerusalem looked like under Roman rule, where these events likely unfolded, and where pilgrims pause today. And then we will ask why it matters for us as we prepare to gather for our Service of Shadows on Good Friday.
In teh Sanctuary on Good Friday (April 3rd) we will be conducting the Service of Darkness – Tenebrae on Good Friday. It is a musical recounting of the last days.
Tenebrae means “darkness.”
In that service, light will gradually fade. Candles will be extinguished. Scripture will carry us deeper into the story. We do not end with resurrection that night. We end in silence.
But silence is not despair.
It is waiting.
So beginning tomorrow, we take the first step.
Not to reenact.
Not to dramatize.
But to understand.
Let us walk slowly.
Let us pay attention.
Let us prepare our hearts historically, theologically, and emotionally for the weight of the cross.
Follow along here and the Tenebrae will come alive for you! No homework today - just a prayer...
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, as we begin this journey toward the cross, slow our hurried hearts.
Give us courage to face the cost of our redemption.
Teach us to sit in the shadow before we stand in the light.
Amen.
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