The quiet

Holy Thursday.

Tonight churches will darken and altars will be stripped. The Last Supper, the washing of the disciples feet and the night in Gethesame remembered. The abandonment of Jesus remembered.

Tonight we sit in the quiet. We sit in the tension between betrayal and forgiveness, between failure and grace. We remember that the Saviour of the world stood alone and abandoned so that we’d never have to.

In many ways, Holy Thursday holds up a mirror. It doesn’t just ask us to remember the night before Jesus died. It asks us to see ourselves in it. The sleepy disciples in the garden, the bold promises followed by quiet retreats, the hesitation, the fear—it’s all painfully familiar.

It reminds us of how easy it is to fall asleep in faith, to retreat when things get hard, to deny with our actions what we profess with our lips.

But it also shows us the depth of Jesus’ love—a love that doesn’t quit when we do. A love that stays when we walk away.

That’s what makes this night so sacred. It is not just a reminder of what we’ve done, or remembering what occurred that night.

But a revelation of what He still does.

He stays. He prays. He loves.

All the way to the cross.