Thoughts, Prayers & Art

(Originally published: April 16,2025)
A Holy Week Reflection on John 13:21–32

Today, I am tired.
Not the kind of tired a nap can fix, but the kind that settles in your bones when you’ve been holding too much for too long. The kind that comes from standing at the intersection of grief and hope for too many days in a row. The kind of tired that comes from being priest, mother, daughter, sister, prophet, wife, warrior, witness, etc… especially in times like these.
This Holy Week, I come to the Gospel with a heavy heart. (Family illness and weakness has me traveling and managing from afar)The country is trembling under the weight of rising fascism. Families are being torn apart. Innocent people are being locked away or left behind or worse yet, sent to a death camp. The world is aching—and I, like so many of you, feel that ache deep within my chest.
And then I read our Gospel today, John 13:21–32.
“Jesus was troubled in spirit.”
That’s the line that got me. That stopped me today. That opened the door to my own tears.
Jesus—our Teacher, our Healer, our Holy One—was troubled. And not by Roman soldiers or temple politics. He was troubled at the table, with his friends, with those he loved. He knew what was coming. He knew betrayal had already taken root. And still, he sat. Still, he stayed.
I think about that.
And I think about us.
I think about how many of us are sitting at tables in our lives—tables of ministry, of family, of faith—where we know betrayal is in the room. Where we know the weight of injustice is more than we can carry alone. Where we feel stretched between the call to show up and the deep, pulsing desire to flee.
Yes, I’ve thought about escaping to a warm island.About packing it all up, taking my family to safety, surrounding them with joy and sun and laughter instead of this slow-burning anxiety that comes with serving on the edge of empire.
But then I remember Jesus.
Jesus stayed.
Not because he was unafraid.
But because his love was greater than his fear.
Because his purpose was deeper than his exhaustion.
Because even as his heart broke,
he still believed that love could rise again.
And maybe that’s what this Gospel teaches me today.
That it’s okay to feel tired.
It’s okay to be troubled.
It’s okay to weep and wish for a softer road.
But in the staying—in the loving through it all—
there is glory.
Not the glory of glittering power.
But the quiet, sacred glory of faithfulness.
Of breaking bread even when the world is breaking.
Of standing at the altar even when your knees shake.
Of offering peace when the headlines scream war.
Of dreaming of safety and still choosing to serve.
So today, if you are tired, know this:
You are not alone.
You are in the company of the Christ
who was troubled too.
And he stayed.
Even here—
in our sorrow, in our questions, in our longing—
yes, even here, there is glory.