Message from the Pastor - From Suffering to Sunrise: A Holy Week Reflection

Our Lenten journey with Everything [In] Between invites us to explore the liminal spaces of faith—the unanswered questions, the waiting rooms of grief and hope, the uncertain terrain where endings and beginnings blur. Holy Week, especially the movement from Maundy Thursday through Good Friday to Easter Sunday, brings these in-between spaces into focus. We are asked to remember— not just the events, but the meaning, the movement, and the mystery at the heart of our faith. 

Maundy Thursday asks us to remember, not passively, but as Jesus intended: “Do this in remembrance of me.” To re-member is to put back together what is broken. Around the table, we reclaim the radical love and vulnerability of the One who knelt to wash feet, who gave bread and cup as signs of self-giving love, and who asked us to do the same. It’s an invitation into relationship, service, and sacred memory that shapes how we live now. 

Good Friday names the brutality of injustice and the weight of suffering. It demands honesty about the way power is abused, love is betrayed, and bodies are broken—then and now. In Jesus’ crucifixion, we see the consequences of fear, empire, and silence. And yet, even in that agony, God is not distant. God is not up-there, out-there, but right here—suffering with us and in us. 

The tomb is more than a resting place for Jesus’ body. It is a metaphor for all the times when the story feels over, the light seems gone, and hope is sealed away. And yet, this is where resurrection begins—not in power or certainty, but in mystery. The risen Christ doesn’t return to punish or prove a point. He comes to speak peace, break bread, and embody love—wounded and real. 

Easter doesn’t erase Maundy Thursday or Good Friday. Resurrection doesn’t deny suffering—it transforms it. Life is not a straight line from sorrow to joy. It’s a sacred dance of both/and—death and life, despair and courage, grief and hope. That’s why the in-between matters. It’s where our faith is forged. 

This Easter, we don’t celebrate to escape the world’s pain. We celebrate as God’s defiant “yes” to life, justice, and beloved community—even when the world says otherwise. We proclaim that the tomb cannot contain the Spirit, that love cannot be silenced, and that even in the darkest nights, morning is coming. 

So come as you are this Easter – with hallelujahs or heavy hearts, or a mix of both—and trust that Christ will meet you in between. And that is holy ground. 

With courage and hope, 

Donna