Ministry in Motion

The tomb was sealed. The Savior was still. Heaven was quiet. On Holy Saturday, all seemed lost. The disciples were scattered. Their hopes buried with Jesus. No miracles. No words. Just silence. And yet—even in the silence—God was not absent. In the stillness of this in-between day, something holy lingers. The waiting. The not-yet. The ache of grief wrapped in the faintest thread of hope. Holy Saturday teaches us how to hold space when we don’t have answers. How to sit in the tension between what was and what will be . How to trust, not because we see the ending, but because we know the One who holds it. This Saturday invites us to ask:  What parts of my life feel buried or unfinished?  Can I trust God in the waiting—when the outcome is still unseen?  Am I willing to stay in the silence, believing resurrection is coming? You are not forgotten in your Saturday seasons.  Even in the tomb, Jesus was working—conquering death from the inside out.  And Sunday is alrea...

The sky darkened. The earth trembled. The veil tore. On Good Friday, Jesus—innocent, beaten, silent—was nailed to a cross. He took the punishment we could never bear, bore the wrath we could never satisfy, and whispered words we could never deserve:  “Father, forgive them…” The cross is brutal. Bloody. Undeniably unjust. And yet, it is the place where mercy meets justice, where death is swallowed by love, where shame is shattered by grace. Jesus did not die because He lost.  He died because He chose to. He chose to stay silent before His accusers. He chose the nails. He chose you and me. “It is finished.” Not a cry of defeat, but of completion. The work is done. The debt is paid. The door to God has been flung wide open. This Friday invites us to ask: Do I really believe He did this for me ? What am I still trying to earn that Jesus already finished? Can I sit in the sorrow—and still call it good? Don’t rush past this day. Let it sink in. Let the cross break you—and then hold...

On Thursday evening, Jesus gathered with His disciples in an upper room. The weight of what was coming hung heavy in the air, but He didn’t spend the night in fear. He spent it in love. He bent low—washing their feet, the work of the lowest servant. He broke bread—offering His body, before it was broken by the cross. He poured wine—offering His blood, before it was spilled. He gave a new command: “Love one another as I have loved you.”   Maundy comes from the Latin mandatum —meaning “commandment.” This night is about a love that doesn’t just feel, but acts. Serves. Sacrifices. Stoops. A love that endures even in the presence of betrayal. Even as Judas slipped into the night, Jesus kept loving. Even as Peter swore he’d never deny Him, Jesus knew—and still offered him a seat at the table. This Thursday invites us to ask: Where is Jesus calling me to love someone I find difficult? Am I willing to bend low—to serve, even when it costs? Can I receive His love, not just admire it? The t...

Holy Week Wednesday is often called   Spy Wednesday —the day Judas Iscariot quietly slipped away to betray Jesus. No crowds, no miracles, no parables. Just a dark deal made in secret. “What will you give me if I deliver him over to you?” The answer - thirty silver coins. That was the price. A Savior, traded like goods. A friendship, fractured for profit. A heart, slowly turned. The weight of Wednesday isn’t just about Judas. It’s about us. How easily love can grow cold. How quietly compromises are made. How silently betrayal can begin—with small choices, silent drift, hidden wounds left to fester. And yet, Jesus knew. He knew the betrayal was coming—and still, He walked toward the cross. Still, He broke bread with Judas. Still, He offered His life for the brokenness of all of us. This Wednesday invites us to ask: Where am I drifting in silence? What compromises have I justified? Do I trust Him with the parts of me that feel furthest from redemption? Let this day be a quiet turning—...

Tuesday was a day of teaching. Jesus spent time in the Temple courts, speaking in parables, answering questions, and challenging the religious leaders. He knew what was coming. He wasn’t wasting a moment. He spoke truth—unflinching and uncomfortable. Parables like the Tenants in the Vineyard and the Two Sons revealed the hardness of hearts, the rejection of God’s messengers, and the call to repentance. “ The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone. ” Jesus’ words weren’t safe. They exposed pride and self-righteousness. But even in the confrontation, there was an invitation: return. Believe. Bear fruit. Let the truth break you open in the best way. Today, let His truth do its work in you. Let it cut away the masks and expose what’s real.Let it challenge the places where you’ve become too comfortable. This Tuesday asks us: Are we listening to His voice—or resisting it? Do we come to Him with honest questions—or with hearts already made up? Are we building our lives on the ...

On Monday of Holy Week, Christians reflect on events that took place after Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem (which is remembered on Palm Sunday).   As Jesus entered the Temple on this day, He wasn’t gentle. He was righteously angry. Tables overturned. Coins scattered. Voices raised. The Prince of Peace disrupted the status quo—not out of rage, but out of love. He couldn’t bear to see a sacred place turned into a marketplace. A house of prayer reduced to profit. “My house shall be called a house of prayer,  but you are making it a den of thieves.” We also see Jesus curse a fig tree that bore leaves but no fruit—an outward show without inward substance. A powerful metaphor. It’s easy to appear spiritually “leafy”—busy with good works, filled with church-going habits—yet bearing little of the fruit God truly desires: love, justice, mercy, humility.  This Monday invites us to ask: What tables in our hearts need to be overturned? What noise and clutter have drowned o...

  A monastic brother was restless in the community and often moved to anger. So he said: “I will go and live somewhere by myself. And since I shall be able to talk or listen to no one, I shall be tranquil, and my passionate anger will cease.” He went out and lived alone in a cave. But one day he filled his jug with water and put it on the ground. It happened suddenly to fall over. He filled it again, and again it fell. And this happened a third time. And in a rage he snatched up the jug and broke it. Returning to his right mind, he knew that the demon of anger had mocked him, and he said: “Here am I by myself, and he has beaten me. I will return to the community. Wherever you live, you need effort and patience and above all God’s help.” And he rose up, and went back to the monastery.  Have you experienced a cycle, a season, like this? I have. Similar frustrations have raised their ugly heads more times than I care to count...

“The Lord blessed the latter part of Job’s life more than the former part…[he] lived a hundred and forty years; he saw his children and their children to the fourth generation. And so Job died, an old man and full of years” Barbara Holmes wrote: We tell our stories because all of us have survived something, because stories are signposts from the past that give us clues about the future. Our stories are a witness to the next generation and an opportunity to understand the universal as well as the particular in tales of trauma, healing, and survival.  Here's my thought: Own your story;  embrace your experiences;  acknowledge your choices,  because the journey has shaped you… Pkes        MinM

  Being For Something - Not Just Against Something, a Sunday Thought Author Sarah Bessey names: the need to be “for” something good, not merely “against” what is wrong. Imagining and contending for what you hope for in this world is one of the hardest and kindest paths I’ve discovered out here. Don’t forget to dream of what could be possible. And don’t forget to live into those hopes with faithfulness. In the midst of all this, don’t forget to imagine something better. Have ideas. In the Apostle Paul’s second letter to Timothy’s he put it this way : Stay away from foolish and stupid arguments, because you know they grow into quarrels. And a servant of the Lord must not quarrel but must be kind to everyone, a good teacher, and patient. The Lord’s servant must gently teach those who disagree. Then maybe God will let them change their minds so they can accept the truth. And they may wake up and escape from the trap of the devil, who catches them to do what he wants.  2 Timothy 2...