Husband. Father. Anglican Priest.
Two disciples walked away from Jerusalem on the day of the resurrection — grieving, confused, hopes shattered. Jesus drew near and walked with them before they knew who he was. He opened the Scriptures, broke the bread, and their eyes were opened. The road to Emmaus did not end in that village.
On Easter evening, the disciples hid behind locked doors — not just afraid, but crushed by guilt and grief. Jesus came through anyway, spoke peace, and breathed new life into them. He is still doing exactly that today.
On Easter morning, Mary came weeping in darkness—grieving and hopeless. The risen Jesus met her there, called her by name, and turned her tears into testimony: “I have seen the Lord.” He is calling your name too. Hear. Respond.
A Good Friday sermon on John 18–19. From the garden to Golgotha, one word reorders everything: tetelestai — paid in full.
Good Friday stops everything. No flowers, no music, just a bare altar and silence. In this countercultural observance, the worst day in history is called “good”—the day divine love triumphed on the cross.
On Maundy Thursday, Jesus has his Last Supper with his disciples, and humbly washes His disciples' feet and gives the new commandment: “Love one another as I have loved you” — the heart of sacrificial service.