Reading:
1 Peter 1:17-23

Devotional:
There is a right way to fold towels, did you know? Just like there is a proper order to unload the groceries on the conveyor belt at the store. (If you can't imagine either in your head, just ask your mom or your wife—they know.) We learn to raise our hand in school, to close our mouth when we chew, to shake hands firmly, to bow our head and close our eyes when we pray.

We learn the patterns of performance that are polite, good, better, right. Our families, communities and cultures pass down the rules for approved and acceptable actions, until they become second nature in us. And we are rewarded for them too: responsible behavior preserves our rights in society and earns us privileges and trust in our circles. Alongside our actions, we also learn who we are, by tradition and education, telling us what we are like and what our nature and character will be.

Eventually, the combination of who we are and what we do and why we matter begins to merge until it is hard to untangle any one piece of it. I am and I do, and of course I matter. And we’re right, of course we do. But what happens when you redefine all three?

That’s where we are with Peter again, still writing to (mostly) Gentiles: he’s reminding them (and us) that who we are, what we do, and why we matter are all being reimagined. Our actions and the way we think of ourselves, and all the meaning we attach are subject to different definitions. Further, rather than this reframing throwing us into an unsettling existential crisis, we should be assured.

Who are we now? Well we’re disciples. What do we do now? We abandon the old futile ways of living, we conduct ourselves in respect of God, loving each other fervently. And why? Because we’ve been redeemed by His precious blood.

Except these are all the wrong questions—they are not new Kingdom questions. We just took our old questions and answered them differently, but we didn’t actually change frameworks at all.

Peter is telling us that yes it has all changed, but we’re not focusing the conversation on who we are, what we do, why we matter. He is asking us instead to understand who Christ is, what Christ does, why He matters. Because the gift and hope of the new Kingdom isn’t something we’re going to do or be ourselves into. We’re not going to find ourselves with enough willpower to suddenly change generations-old ways and habits and reinvent ourselves with any lasting ability. It’s outside of us.

So let’s look again. Who is He? He’s the plan all along, foreknown, shown to us now but intended from the very start. He is the living and enduring Word of God. And what does He do? He rescues us with His blood, raises from the dead and is glorified, then extends resurrection to us. And why does all of this matter? Because it is through Him that we are believers, through the living and enduring Word of God that we have been born again. His doing, His being, on our behalf. And with that mindset, now we can understand ourselves.

Now when we address Him as Father, it’s because Christ has made that relationship possible. Now when we are judged impartially (and seen to be born from above), it is through Christ. Now when we love one another fervently, when we interact, when we move through society, it is because Christ has given us belief, has placed our faith and hope in God. What He established outside of us, He then places into us.

When we move the focus of our questions to knowing Christ, who in turn points to the Father, we ground ourselves in Him. Through Christ, we believe in God, which gives us context and assurance of who He says we are, what He says we can do, why He says we matter. We don’t assume the pressure to change our nature—first or second—because Christ took on the effort and is causing it to happen. Our traditions get to be reinterpreted. Our habits get to be recharacterized. We don’t reinvent ourselves; Christ raises us with Him and places us as sons and daughters. Our faith becomes equally rich in personal meaning and shared history as we become one with Him.

Peter is helping us to understand that we have not inherited a long punch list of corrections to fix our lives to live like Christ, but we’ve received the gift of life planned and delivered to us, revealed to us, being worked out in us through Christ.

Blessed assurance, we are of Jesus—in whom we live, and move, and have our being… “For we also are His children.”

A Prayer for Each Moment
God we call as Father,
Who, through Christ our resurrection, resets our lineage and places us into His family, cause us to be obedient to You and Your Way that we would be fervent and sincere in our love for one another, bringing glory to You, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.
Amen

A Prayer for Each Other
Our Father,
Open our eyes, that we may obey, and be purified by conforming to the truth about reality.  That sincere love may bloom and blossom in us for all our brothers and sisters, born from imperishable seed, the living and enduring word of God.
As He says, so will be.
Amen

Blessing
May we be reminded this week, even as we yet learn to recognize Him, that we are already accepted as children of our loving Father.



_{Photo by Jan Huber on Unsplash}

Reading:
1 Peter 1:3-9

Devotional:

Praise with my whole heart!
Because You do great, majestic, splendid things.
Gratitude with my whole heart!
Because Your work is memorable, gracious, and compassionate.
Awe with my whole heart!
Because You are faithful, trustworthy and just.

What does it really look like to take off old grave clothes? Imagine Lazarus, coming out of the grave and peeling off his mummy wrappings. At best, maybe we could kindly say that it’s out of place or unusual, but the reality is that it’s uncomfortable to watch and a struggle to experience. How do you get your own hands and feet free? And it’s new for everyone—no one has seen someone raised to life; there’s not a how-to guide for helping people out of their burial clothes. And what if you’re not really enthusiastic about getting up close and personal with a recently dead person and their (likely) smelly clothes? There’s not a formula or best practice to apply, there’s nothing that tells you whether it’s better to start with the head or the legs. But Lazarus must change out of the clothes; resurrection has already happened. Uncomfortable as the transition may be, the life ahead holds too much promise to stay in his old condition.

Fast forward to Jesus’ own resurrection, and the apostles face the same confrontation. Their faith, as we discussed on Sunday, is not in believing Christ the Resurrection (whom they saw first-hand), but rather is in the implications of the Kingdom unfolding. Practically, it is in the unwrapping—uncomfortable, clumsy and awkward as it may be—because the new Kingdom must be realized. Change must occur.

Which brings us to the accompanying lectionary text in 1 Peter this week. If we read the few extra verses just before the passage begins, we learn this is written to “those who reside as aliens” and are scattered throughout modern-day Turkey. They are possibly Gentile Christians, possibly Jews who are now converted to Christianity, or a mix of both, and they are experiencing trials. We don’t know the specifics of their distress, but we’ve all had our own similar moments. We’ve experienced what it is like to understand the kindness and goodness of God, to hold the hope of redeemed creation, and yet find ourselves in the friction of old kingdom habits and systems. Perhaps we can imagine that shedding grave clothes is still as awkward as it was with Lazarus for these early Christians. That uncovering and revealing the Kingdom is not always comfortable or obvious or embraced.

So Peter offers to the early Christians of Asia Minor (and us) comma-laden sentence after sentence expounding on the richness of God’s intentional love toward us, of that Apostolic faith that we the readers (both now and then) share in, and of the present and real impact in our lives. These are the kind of long, dependent sentences that you have to re-read to follow. They’re also the kind of sentences that grammar teachers love to use for diagramming exercises because they fill up a whole page with all the clauses and phrases and diagonal lines. But tucked in the profound, weighty statements of the new Kingdom, Peter chooses words that will comfort and encourage those early Christians (and us too).

Even as we begin the chapter, Peter notes we are living as aliens, but this isn’t necessarily language of separation from the people and culture around them. No, instead, he adds words that remind us we are, and have always been, part of God’s intention. These Gentiles, too, are “chosen” like God’s chosen people; they too are sprinkled with the blood of Jesus Christ, just like Israel in the Passover. Now the landscape is different, and the new Kingdom is for all. It might feel like this new way of doing things is foreign, but take heart, we’re all living in this new Kingdom.

And it is a Kingdom characterized by God’s mercy and love directed toward us. The same mercy that causes us to be born again—at His doing! He reserves an inheritance for us, uses His power to protect us. These are words of intention and action, and Peter is reminding us that this Kingdom reflects God’s meaningful favor toward us. The trials are just the unwrapping, but the how is established. It’s through His love, at His mercy, by His hand.

He reminds us too of what we’re unwrapping in our inheritance: it’s change that doesn’t fade, doesn’t spoil, doesn’t go out of fashion. It’s the permanent restructuring of the world. And in this hope, Peter offers, we rejoice. Because when the grave clothes fall away, what is revealed and restored includes us, bringing inexpressible joy, full of glory, resulting in praise. These are words of life, of salvation.

So, early Christians, you’re right where you should be, your faith deepening in the uncovering of the new Kingdom. It might feel foreign, it might seem distressful, it might present challenges. Early Christians, you love Him, and you believe. And the return is richer, enduring, precious life ahead.

Us too, in our hump days and trials, in the systems that still insist on the old kingdoms and the old ways, we rejoice. Because these grave clothes have to go! (Even if they are weird and smelly and difficult to remove.) We rejoice at the hope of what we are now living in through the resurrection of Jesus Christ—the expression of God’s love and intention.

Seen and heard, deed and word
Belief is our inheritance.
Remembered, expected, delivered, protected.
Redemption is our heritage.

A Prayer for Each Moment
God Who Gives,
You breathed out, again and again, giving us life in creation, rescue in desperation, and comfort in companionship. Let us be believing, with more joy than we can express, that we might see creation made peacefully whole and that our faith might yield praise, honor, and glory to You.
Amen.

A Prayer for Each Other
Our Father,
You have a track record of rescue and redemption. As You always have and do, help those who are distressed, those who are facing struggles and doubts, those who feel they’re at a dead end with no escape, filling them with living hope and overflowing joy. Give us words of gratitude, that we too can marvel, “Who is like You, majestic in holiness, awesome in praises, working wonders?”
Amen

Blessing
This week, may we approach our distresses, doubts, and struggles with hope, our faith encouraged by the Holy Spirit in the life of the resurrection.

Reading
Luke 24:13-49

Devotional
The journey is the destination.

We’ve all heard variations on this idea, that what we experience along the way to wherever we’re going is as rewarding, sometimes more, as whatever we will find upon arrival. It’s the cliche reminders to stop and smell the roses, to enjoy the moment, to slow down, that these are the good old days… all hinting at some distinction between what is to come and what is present.

And while it’s speculation, of course, it would be entertaining to suggest that today’s passage on the Road to Emmaus is the start of that whole sentiment. Let’s explain:

We’re in the middle of the story about the Marys finding the tomb empty, and Jesus has appeared to them and told them to meet Him on ahead in Jerusalem. They run on, tell the disciples, all of whom reject the story as nonsense, except Peter. Meanwhile, Jesus gets to the road to Jerusalem.

Then, as He did over and over in His ministry on earth, Jesus interrupts whatever He was doing and opts for a side quest instead. He finds two disciples on their way to Emmaus—which is out of, away from, Jerusalem, by roughly seven miles—and He joins them on their journey. Just to be clear, Jesus is now going the wrong way to meet the disciples in Jerusalem. (Brief side quest of our own: Let’s pretend that disciples walk the same average pace per mile that we walk today. If so, we’re talking 1.5-2 hours one way from Jerusalem to Emmaus.)

And here Jesus approaches and asks what they’re talking about—the friendly “hello”, His actions always pointing to the Father, the same who would walk and talk daily in the garden with Adam and Eve. While the two on the road are surprised that He is clueless (or is it just that He likes to talk to us?), they proceed to tell Him the whole story, including their sadness and disappointment. He responds to explain the whole history of Himself in the Scriptures as they walk.

When they finally get near to Emmaus, Jesus pretends He’s going further, but the disciples pressure Him to stay, citing that it’s already late in the day. So they sit down together, where finally as He breaks the bread and blesses it, their eyes are opened to recognize Him.

(Side quest again: Paul seems to understand this phenomena too when he tells the Corinthians that “as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until He comes.” As we do the things He commands, others recognize Him in our actions.)

Then Jesus disappears, and the disciples immediately get up to go back to Jerusalem to tell the others. Remember, these are the two that just told Jesus it was too late in the day to keep travelling. They’re seven miles away, and it’s dark now. But they make it back to the main crowd and finally affirm what the Marys and Peter have said.

And we have to laugh at this point. It’s late at night, the two disciples are in the middle of telling the others the whole day’s events, and Jesus shows up. And, after having spent hours with Him literally all day, they still don’t recognize Him, and are afraid because they think He’s a ghost. They still can’t believe it until He shows them His scars. And even then, they’re so amazed that He has to actually ask for something to eat (remember, He left the dinner earlier in Emmaus before the meal).

And so what’s the point of all the going back and forth, the eating and not eating, the disappearing and reappearing, and belief and disbelief? Each time, Jesus has to explain again what is going on. Though He’s exasperated by their confusion and doubts, He lays it all out again and again, going over the details and explaining the Scriptures. But it seems like He’s taking an inordinately long and roundabout way to do so when He could just jump to the end.

As we discussed on Easter, this is just the beginning of the story, not the end. And Jesus is showing them, glimpse by glimpse, what has really begun, with patience and love. And as anyone who has ever believed in anything knows, the journey is ongoing. We believe in the potential of future generations over time, not based on any one moment. This journey of belief and faith is going to be one where we continue to need to have our eyes opened. We need the scenic route and the side quests because there is something about His continued Presence that changes us and our perspective.

Which is not to say that His future coming won’t be glorious. Bet on that, but just like a homecoming of a dear friend or family member, the option to know Him deeply, that we might recognize Him, is available now while we await that joyful reunion. Jesus takes the long road, out of His way, for the sake of yet one more chance to show us the Father and help us understand the richness of all that is both now and still to come, that we could really savor the new life available.

Can we take all that He has shown us of love enacted and understand the fullness of faith that it initiates? As we love one another, may we embrace the journey, both expectant of the end and joyfully grateful for His company along the way.

A Prayer for Each Moment
God Who Meets Us,
You patiently walk with us, even taking the long route, so that we might understand and know You. Open our eyes and hearts again and again that our faith might compound, that we would experience the fullness of joy that is Your presence, and that we may bring glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit—as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.
Amen

A Prayer for Each Other
Our Father,
In each day’s journey, You support us and offer us wise counsel, wiping away our tears, erasing our shame, and removing our doubts. May we fully embrace the heritage of hope You have given us, choosing to share life with each other in sincerity and truth.
Amen

Blessing
May this week give us opportunities to be amazed and joyful that God is with us, showing us the path to life.

Reading:
Matthew 27:57-66 and John 19:38-42

Devotional:

They left my Savior in the tomb,
Hope was lost, and the doubt was breaking through.
–"Wouldn't it Be Like You?", Bryan and Katie Torwalt

The crowds have dispersed. Jesus’s mother has been taken home. The silence is settling in. The absence continues to grow longer. And with each passing moment that feels too short and too long all at once, the shock and numbness deepen. The conversations and memories replay in all the wrong order as those closest to Jesus start to search for answers. Can you feel the heaviness of it?

The disciples must have. His family must have. Death has the harsh ability to confront everything you thought you knew, everything you expected to be, swiftly and callously. And now the illusions start to fade, and doubt begins to creep in. Was He who He said He was? What have we been doing all these months? What now? The cast of characters is scattered and reeling.

And we come to these two accounts of Jesus being placed in the tomb, and we have to be struck by who is involved. Who is with Jesus in His most vulnerable and broken state? It’s not the disciples, the same who swore they wouldn’t fall away from him just the night before. It’s not his family.

We see instead the characters of the darkness: Joseph of Arimethea: who had been afraid and was following Jesus in secret. Nicodemus, who had been afraid and came to Jesus at night.

But there’s no secrecy left in Joseph’s act. He’s not only rich, but a member of the Sanhedrin (the Jewish Supreme Court). In his very act of placing Jesus’s body in his own family tomb, he has made the association and affiliation with Jesus as public as it gets. Everyone will know where his allegiance truly lies, and there won’t be any justifying his decision. But for Joseph, there’s no fear left. He’s seen Jesus’s act of love, seen Him for Who He is, and it has dispelled his ideas of reputation and safety.

And there’s no hiding under cover of night for Nicodemus the Pharisee. The many pounds of spices and myrrh are the equivalent of a royal burial, approximately $150k-$200k worth in modern value. And the clean linen suggests priestly quality. His response to love is dispelling the expectations of his station, the presumptions of propriety, and the conventions of his faith. He has treated Jesus like the king and high priest that he believes Him to be. Anyone would see the extravagance, much like Mary anointing Jesus days before, and question the decision. But Nicodemus too is rid of his fear; love has intervened and dispelled any sense of tradition or authority.

Light is creeping in even now, and there’s no stopping it.

Because love is a powerful motivator and catalyst, covering a multitude of sins. Or maybe we could say causing a multitude of forgivenesses. Or even dispelling a multitude of encumbrances. The love of Christ, extended to Joseph and Nicodemus, releases them from fear and reframes their positions of power.

For us too, we have that same heritage of love available, both in Christ’s example and as a resource, that helps us overlook the right way of doing things or the agreed-upon definitions or the reciprocal actions. Love that relinquishes our sense of justice and authority or our need for security. Love that extends our patience… three days is a long time to wait and wonder in the silence and absence, after all. Love that casts off our pride and releases our offenses. Love that softens our answers and expands our generosity.

So as we follow Christ, we take up the command to love one another, enduring what is required, but now also with the hope and great courage of what love will dispel in us. And it is with this hope and anticipation, this small glimpse of what is coming, that we await the glory of Christ resurrected.

A Prayer for Each Moment:
God our Strength,
In the long waiting, in the uncertainty of silence and absence, we cling to the hope of Your unwavering love and kindness. Equip us with the same mindset as Christ, that in our struggles we would find the power of sin broken and our old limiting ideas dispelled, and we would be spurred to love each other deeply.
Amen

A Prayer for Each Other:
Our Father,
You know the frail needs of Your children. Lead us and guide us that when You call us from our dead past, we would courageously answer and embrace life as You always imagined it. Strengthen our roots in the moments where we are unsure what will happen next, and remind us of our confidence and security in Your love.
Amen

Blessing:
May we hold our heads up, face shining, as we experience deep, earnest love from the Father and extend the same to each other.

Reading:
Mark 14:1–15:47

Devotion:

Today He who hung the earth upon the waters is hung upon the Cross
He who is King of the angels is arrayed in a crown of thorns.
He who wraps the Heavens in clouds is wrapped in the purple of mockery.
He who in Jordan set Adam free receives blows upon His face.
The Bridegroom of the Church is transfixed with nails.
The Son of the Virgin is pierced with a spear.
We venerate Your Passion, O Christ.
Show us also Your glorious Resurrection.
–Sēmeron Kremātai Epí Xýlou, 15th Century Greek Orthodox Hymn

Today’s passage is long, covering the entire sequence of events from the woman anointing Jesus with perfume all the way through His burial. In many Good Friday traditions and services, we spend hours considering these moments in the story, pausing to consider and reflect on the effort and anguish of Christ. The Way of the Cross, for example, presents fourteen images of Christ as He experiences His condemnation, crucifixion and burial, arranged on a path, each offering a moment to stop and pray.

In our reflection and retelling of the sequence of events, we get a larger picture of all that Christ is experiencing. As the woman anoints him, the effort is ridiculed, its expression of devotion fully misunderstood. As Judas plots to hand over Jesus, he experiences backstabbing, even denial and disbelief from the other disciples. He is betrayed with Judas’s duplicity. He experiences accusation, lies, injustice, powerlessness, voicelessness, disrespect, abuse, assault, violence—all as he is with his accusers. He is abandoned, deserted and renounced by Peter. The crowd casts merciless hatred and rejection toward him before Pilate, mocking and despising Him as he carries the cross. He is taunted and disregarded in his pain before his death and burial. The range of sorrows is wide.

And near the middle of this passage, Jesus is in the garden, also taking moments to stop and pray. Anxiety, distress, grief, discomfort, exhaustion, frustration… the emotions aren’t hidden in the story, but palpable. He says directly, “My soul is deeply grieved to the point of death.”

Then He prays a curious request to the Father, one that should make us stop and pause a little longer. “All things are possible for You; remove this cup from Me; yet not what I will, but what You will.” All things are indeed possible for Him. The option for this to happen a different way seems reasonable. Because, really, is God indebted or enslaved to sin? Is God beholden to any rule system that He doesn’t have complete authority to overturn? Of course not.

Even at the cross, when Jesus cries in desperation, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”, this isn’t a statement of God being powerless to engage with sin. After all, it was “we” who thought of him as smitten by God. No, God hasn’t forsaken Him. This is a declaration of trust, the affirmation that trust in God does not disappoint (as it says a few verses later in the passage Jesus quotes). Of course God doesn’t reject him. It only makes sense that sin didn’t—can’t—coerce God into a change of character; redemption and resurrection have always been His heart.

So in the garden Jesus asks to do this another way, but it’s not a desperate, dead-end ask where the outcome can’t change due to a requirement of sin. It’s a sincere request, which means the question here isn’t a question of what can be done about sin—all things can be done. It’s a question of for whom is Jesus taking this cup? Why this path?

There’s no trick answer here: it’s still for us, just a changed motive. As we explored yesterday, Jesus models how to follow Him, and therein how to follow the Father, explaining that it’s demonstrated in our love for one another. Is the cup, the journey to the cross, an expression of love to us like we’ve always known it, but offered to us freely instead of as a demanded price? And if solely offered in love, how now do we look at the Sorrows of the Cross?

Loving one another endures a lot, often silently, even from those closest to us. It’s not just Jesus’s enemies that mistreat him, but it’s his friends and disciples too, misunderstanding and misrepresenting, doubting and denying. Over and over, Jesus chooses to respond with love, to endure the painful moments before Him.

Loving one another, following Christ, allows us to endure much, for the joy set before us. The moments of miscommunication, the real and painful wounds, the falling out and lost contact in our relationships—all become moments we may choose to offer our love instead, following the example and inheritance Christ gives.

Today, may we read the story of Christ’s suffering, the events leading up to His death, and see the hope of the Resurrection already unfolding. May we take heart when we endure in love for one another, anticipating the life yet to come.

A Prayer for Each Moment:
Gracious Father,
We remember tearfully the journey of sorrows that Christ took to the grave, His expression of love that stoops to us in our needs and demands. As we imagine the weight of Christ crucified and in the tomb, remind us of the new and living way inaugurated for us, that we might live carrying each other in love, just as Your Son carried our own sins.
Amen

A Prayer for Each Other:
Our Father,
You hear our prayers of anguish and praise, and You listen to the real feelings in our hearts without turning away. Grant us sincere faith, trusting in You without disappointment, that we might have hope and encourage one another in Your faithfulness to us.
Amen

Blessing:
May today bring us gentle reminders of the kindness of God toward us and the ways His love endures on our behalf.

Reading: 
John 13:1-17, 31-35

Devotional:
Have you ever had a dinner guest start clearing and cleaning up their own dishes? And then they keep cleaning, putting the leftovers in your fridge, loading your dishwasher and hand-washing the pots… maybe they wipe down the counters or grab a broom and sweep under the table. Very quickly, the scene and relationships transform—where there was a clear host and guest, now the lines blur, and everyone is serving and receiving. Any formality has been replaced with familiarity as your guest willingly chooses to be part of the family, getting their hands dirty alongside you.

This is the scene I imagine with Jesus and His disciples at the Last Supper. They’re in Jerusalem, observing all the very specific details of the Passover Feast that require a specific dress code and food to be prepared in just the right manner. And abruptly, Jesus takes off his formal outer coat, hikes up his robe and tucks it into his belt, and starts getting a bucket of water. As if that wouldn’t have been shocking enough, he then begins to do the work of the servants, cleaning the dirty and dusty feet of His beloved disciples sitting around the dinner table. The disciples respond as we would expect, protesting and surprised.

Then Jesus has some fun with the language of washing, bathing and cleaning. Bathing is what you would expect someone to do to their whole body, as good hygiene. Washing here is the ceremonial word, the same word the priests would have used when washing their hands to consecrate them for the work of the ministry. And cleaning is both the literal and figurative sense: hygienic, and also set apart, made pure.

So Jesus consecrates their feet, saying, “A slave isn’t greater than his master, nor the one who is sent (an apostle) greater than the one who has sent him. If you know (see) these things, you are blessed if you do them.” In other words, they’re in it together, and the formality has been replaced with familiarity. Jesus is showing and telling them that rank doesn’t rank here, encouraging them to reassess what they see or know about a Lord or Teacher.

And with that newfound sight and awareness, now, Jesus says in verse 31, is the Son of Man glorified, and God is glorified in Him. Now, we see Jesus for Who He really is, and through Him, we see the Father for Who He really is. He’s a Lord (or a Master) doing the work of His servant. He’s the theological Teacher learning what is pleasing to the Father alongside his pupil. And the disciples (us too) are invited to be there with Him, working as a servant, learning as the pupil. Except that He’s told them that where He is going they can’t follow.

He consecrated their feet to go, told them to do the work with Him, but then said that they won’t be able to go where He’s going. They’ve spent the last years literally following his footsteps, but now Jesus says they can’t. In a dinner of shocking reveals, this has to be the most surprising to the disciples’ ears. So what then? How will they go to continue the work of the ministry? How will people know that they are following Jesus if they cannot be with Him?

Jesus says it’s in their love for each other. Not their diligence to every religious ritual observance. Not their dedication to propriety and social hierarchies. Not their ability to explain the mysteries of God or replicate His teaching. It’s the example He’s just given them in washing their feet. It’s in their selfless, treated-as-family, preferential love for one another that picks up dishes, sweeps the crumbs, and comes alongside to carry the load.

Our love for one another tells the story of Who we follow, and this is the hope we have to share coming into Easter weekend. Having seen Jesus for Who He really is, how might we display our love in our family gatherings, our Easter dinners, our celebrations with friends?

A Prayer for Each Moment:
God Who Loves Us,
Who Sent Your Son that we might see and know You for Who You really are, lead our steps to follow after Jesus’ example, serving one another in love that those around us may know us as Your disciples and remember the work of Your Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, for ever and ever.
Amen.

A Prayer for Each Other:
Our Father,
You hear the voices and needs of Your children and respond with a life-giving inheritance. Remind us of how generously You care for us, how You rescue us from death, our eyes from tears, our feet from stumbling. Lead our steps that we may walk with You in the land of the living.
Amen

Blessing:
May today bring reminders God loves us to the utmost, listens to us, and responds to us with generosity and compassion.