Matthew 26:14–16
“Then one of the twelve, whose name was Judas Iscariot, went to the chief priests…”
By Wednesday, the tension is building.
The crowds still don’t fully understand Jesus. The religious leaders are looking for a way to stop Him. And Judas, one of His own disciples, quietly agrees to betray Him.
It’s a painful part of the story because it reminds us that Jesus was not only rejected from a distance—He was betrayed up close.
And still, Jesus keeps moving forward.
He does not turn back. He does not harden Himself. He continues toward the cross with clear eyes and an open heart.
There’s something honest for us to sit with here: not everyone around Jesus understood Him, stayed loyal to Him, or responded to Him with love. That is still true now.
Holy Week reminds us that following Jesus does not always mean ease, clarity, or approval. Sometimes it means trusting God even when things feel disappointing, confusing, or costly.
So today, slow down and ask:
Where do I feel let down, hurt, or disillusioned?
Where is Jesus inviting me to stay faithful anyway?
Jesus is not thrown off by human failure. He is steady, even here.
John 13:1, 34
“Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end… A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another.”
Maundy Thursday brings us into a quieter, slower moment in the story of Jesus.
There are no crowds, no public miracles—just a table, a towel, bread, and a cup. And Jesus, fully aware of what is about to happen.
John tells us, “having loved his own… he loved them to the end.” This night is about the depth of Jesus’ love—and how far it goes.
Jesus knows everything that is coming. He knows Judas will betray Him, Peter will deny Him, and the rest will scatter. Nothing surprises Him.
And still, He kneels down and washes their feet.
This shows us what God is like. The one with all authority takes the lowest place. The one who should be served chooses to serve. The one who sees everyone clearly still loves them all completely.
Then Jesus gives a command: “Love one another as I have loved you.”
He doesn’t leave room to redefine love. He sets the standard Himself. This is love that moves toward people, even when it’s costly, inconvenient, or undeserved.
This is where it challenges all of us.
It’s easier to admire this moment than to live it. Easier to sit at the table than to pick up the towel.
So the question is simple: where is Jesus calling you to love like this?
Where is there tension you’ve avoided, distance you’ve justified, or pride you’ve held onto?
Maundy Thursday calls for response.
But before we respond, we are invited to receive.
At Good Friday service, we will come to the communion table—not because we have loved well, but because we have been loved fully. We come as people who fall short and are still welcomed.
Jesus offers Himself—bread broken and cup poured out—as a sign of a love that goes to the very end.
So don’t rush past this.
Slow down. Pay attention.
Ask God to show you where you are being invited to love as Christ has loved you.
And receive again the grace that makes that kind of love possible.
Luke 23:44–46
“Then Jesus, calling out with a loud voice, said, ‘Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!’”
Good Friday is the day we stop and look directly at the cross.
Not quickly. Not vaguely. Not as a symbol we’ve grown used to.
This is the day we remember that Jesus really suffered. He was rejected, mocked, beaten, and killed. The cross shows us both the seriousness of sin and the depth of God’s love.
Jesus does not save us from a distance. He enters fully into human pain, injustice, and death.
And in the middle of that darkness, He entrusts Himself to the Father.
Good Friday does not rush to resolution. It invites us to sit with grief, loss, and the weight of what Jesus carried for us.
So today, make room for silence.
Bring God what feels broken, heavy, or unfinished in your life.
And remember: the cross is not proof that God has abandoned the world. It is proof that He has entered it fully—and loves it still.
Luke 23:56
“On the Sabbath they rested according to the commandment.”
Holy Saturday is quiet.
Jesus has died. The tomb is sealed. The crowds are gone. The disciples are scattered. Nothing seems to be happening.
This is the in-between day—the day after grief and before resurrection.
Most of us do not like this kind of waiting.
We want answers, movement, and resolution. We want God to make things clear and quickly put them back together. But Holy Saturday reminds us that much of life is lived in this space: waiting, not knowing, trusting when we cannot yet see.
And still, God is at work.
Even when the tomb is closed. Even when hope feels buried. Even when the story seems over.
If today feels quiet, uncertain, or unresolved for you, Holy Saturday says: you are not alone there.
God is still present in the silence.
Wait with Him.
John 20:1, 16
“Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark… Jesus said to her, ‘Mary.’”
Easter begins in the dark.
Before the celebration, before the singing, before anyone fully understands what has happened, there is a quiet garden and an empty tomb.
And then everything changes.
Jesus is alive.
Death does not get the last word. Sin does not win. Grief is not final. The stone is rolled away, and the risen Christ meets His people again—personally, tenderly, and with peace.
This is the heart of our faith: not just that Jesus died for us, but that He rose again and is making all things new.
Easter is not just good news for someday. It is good news for right now.
It means hope is real. New life is possible. And Jesus still meets people by name.
So today, celebrate.
Bring your joy. Bring your questions. Bring your weariness. Bring your hope.
The tomb is empty. Christ is risen.
And that changes everything.
*This devotional is based on a Maundy Thursday reflection from the Presbyterian Church in Canada