Standing Before Our Redemption

 

Readings 040326 

Tonight we stand before the crucifix…
before the One who redeemed us,
the One who suffered so to enter into His glory,
the One lifted high on the cross
and pierced by a lance
so that nothing in us would ever be unreachable again.

Look at Him.
Not quickly.
Not from a distance.
Look at Him with the honesty of someone who knows they need saving.

His arms are stretched wide—
not in defeat,
but in welcome.
As if He is gathering every fear, every sin, every wound we carry
and pulling it into His own heart.

This is love that does not run away.
Love that does not negotiate.
Love that does not wait for us to be better.
This is love that bleeds.

On this cross hangs the One who knows our darkness
and still chooses us.
The One who feels the loneliness we hide.
The One who cries out,
“My God, my God…”
so that our own cries would never be the last word.

And here, in this moment,
the crucifix becomes more than wood and metal.
It becomes a mirror.
A mirror of how far God will go
to bring us home.

So let your heart break a little tonight.
Let the silence speak.
Let the weight of this love fall on you like a warm, heavy cloak.

Because this is the truth of Good Friday:
Christ is not ashamed of you.
Christ is not tired of you.
Christ is not giving up on you.

He is here—
lifted high,
pierced,
poured out—
so that you may finally know
you are loved beyond measure.

Lord Jesus, crucified for us…
pierce our hearts with Your love.
Draw us into Your mercy.
And let this Cross change us.

Prayer

Lord Jesus, 

Crucified and lifted high, 

Draw us into the shelter of Your wounded side. 

Let Your pierced heart heal what we cannot name. 

Let Your mercy fall on us like quiet rain. 

Break open our fear with Your faithful love. 

Hold us close in the darkness of this night. 

Teach us to trust the Father as You did. 

And let Your Cross reshape our hearts 

until we rise with You into new life.

Amen

Towel and Basin

 

Readings 040226-Supper

We return to the Upper Room—
to that quiet, trembling moment
when Jesus “knew His hour had come,”
and yet chose not power,
not protection,
but a basin and a towel.
He loved His own, John tells us,
“and He loved them to the end.” 

As a minister, one of the most humbling things I ever do
is wash the feet of God’s people.
It’s usually the priest’s role,
but there have been years—
serving beside elderly priests—
when the task fell to me.
And every time,
I feel that same mixture of awe and trembling:
Who am I to kneel before the people of God?
Who am I to touch the dust of their journeys,
their wounds,
their stories,
their hopes?

But then I remember—
this is exactly where Jesus places Himself.
Not above us.
Not distant.
But at our feet.

In the Gospel, Peter resists.
“Master, are you going to wash my feet?”
And Jesus answers,
“What I am doing you do not understand now,
but you will understand later.”
That line always stays with me.
Because so much of ministry feels like that—
we don’t always understand the why,
or the timing,
or the cost.
We just know the Lord is asking us
to kneel,
to serve,
to love.

And when Jesus finishes,
He doesn’t say,
“Wasn’t that beautiful?”
He says,
“Do you realize what I have done for you?
If I, your Master and Teacher, have washed your feet,
you ought to wash one another’s feet.” 

That is the heart of Holy Thursday.
Not just the institution of the Eucharist—
though that alone would be enough—
but the institution of a way of life:
a life where love bends low,
where authority becomes service,
where holiness looks like a towel around the waist.

Every time I kneel at that basin,
I feel the Lord inviting me again:
Give yourself.
Don’t hold back.
Let your hands preach the Gospel.
Let your posture speak mercy.
Let your service reveal the One
who loved us to the end.

Tonight, may we allow Jesus to wash our feet—
to touch the places we hide,
to cleanse the places we fear,
to heal the places we carry alone.
And then, strengthened by His love,
may we rise from this table
ready to wash the feet of the world.

Prayer

Lord Jesus,

You alone make us holy.

Make my service small and my love large. 

Let my towel be mercy 

My basin your love. 

Give me courage to touch wounds 

And reverence to touch souls. 

Send me forth to wash the feet of the world.

In your name.
Amen