To believe in the risen Jesus is to trust that the generative power of God is active in the human world; that it can be experienced as transformation and recreation and empowerment in the present; and that its availability and relevance extends to every human situation.
Rowan Williams, Resurrection: Interpreting the Easter Gospel
We join with Christians around the world in the observance of Holy Week, culminating with our celebration on Easter morning. These are what our spiritual forebears called “the still days,” inviting us, amid all that our lives demand of us, to take this time to ponder the way of the cross and the hope of resurrection. Another word used to describe this week is “passion,” evoking the depth and intensity of Jesus’ love, in the fullness of his humanity and at the same time, revealing to us what divine love in human form looks like.
Never am I more proud to serve this diocese than as our clergy and lay leaders prepare for Holy Week and Easter. Whether for a small gathering or a full sanctuary, they give their all so that others may know the transforming power of Jesus’ love. Please join me in praying that the Spirit give them (or you, if you are among them) inspiration and a sense of joy in this work.
This year I’ve noticed the care with which many of our leaders are teaching those new to The Episcopal Church about the foundational observances of our faith. Though hardly a new Christian, I find in their words fresh understandings about ancient practices and they deepen my faith in the risen Jesus and desire to follow in his ways.
As one example, I share with you what the Rev. Robert Bunker, rector of St. Philip’s, Laurel, wrote to his congregation in answer to the question,
What is the Triduum?
The Triduum (“three days” in Latin) is one service over three days, a profound journey compressed into three days that is at the heart of the Christian liturgical year. It’s a time that strips away the noise of everyday life and pulls you into the raw, transformative mystery of Christ’s passion, death, and resurrection. Intentionally taking the time to reflect on it feels like standing at the edge of something vast, where words strain to capture the weight.
Holy Thursday hits with a quiet intensity. The washing of feet, and the institution of the Eucharist. It is all about service and sacrifice. I’m struck by how Jesus, knowing what’s coming, chooses to kneel and wash his disciples’ feet. It’s a radical act of humility, a call to love in the face of betrayal. The Eucharist, too, feels like a gift that keeps unfolding. Yet, there is a shadow over it, because Judas leaves and the garden awaits. It is a reminder that love doesn’t flinch from suffering.
Good Friday is stark, and heavy. The cross looms large, and there’s no sugarcoating it. Jesus’ agony, his cry of abandonment, pierces through any romanticized notions of redemption. Reflecting on it forces me to confront my own complicity, my sins, and my indifferences that all add to that weight. But there is also this paradox: the cross is both a scandal and a triumph. The cross is where despair meets hope, where God’s love refuses to be extinguished. Sitting with that tension, I feel both broken and strangely held.
The Easter Vigil is like a deep exhale after holding your breath. It is a journey that begins in a swirl of darkness, the first flames of fire, and the Exsultet (the Easter proclamation). It is a shift from mourning to joy that feels almost disorienting. The readings trace salvation’s arc, from creation to resurrection, and it is as if time collapses, pulling us into God’s story. The empty tomb isn’t just an event; it’s a promise that death does not get the last word. I am left with this sense of awe, but also a challenge: to live as if the resurrection matters, to carry that light into a world that often feels shadowed.
The Triduum does not let you stay comfortable. It’s a pilgrimage that demands you walk through betrayal, suffering, and loss to reach hope. Each year it reshapes me a little by exposing my weaknesses, while also deepening my trust in a God who enters the mess and makes it holy. It is not just a remembrance; it is an invitation to die and rise, again and again.
Thank you, Robert, and all who invite us to join the universal Christian pilgrimage from death to life.
A blessed Holy Week and Easter to all.
