Happy Monday, ladies… coffee’s on. Grace is already at the table. And today – this Monday – isn’t like the others.
This is the doorway into Holy Week.
And I want to be honest with you right from the start… I almost didn’t sit down to write this. Not because I don’t have words. But because the words feel so small next to what we’re stepping into. How do you write about a week where heaven moved toward earth with a love so fierce, so intentional, so costly… that nothing – nothing – has been the same since?
You can’t, really. You can only try to stay close to it.
So that’s what I want to do with you today. Not rush past it. Not breeze through it on the way to Sunday’s hallelujahs. But walk into this week slowly… with intention, with reverence, with hands open and hearts awake.
Before the Empty Tomb, There Is a Road
I think we can be tempted – I know I can be – to jump straight to Easter Sunday. To the risen Jesus, the rolled-away stone, the alleluias. And oh, that morning is glorious. That morning changes everything.
But there is a road before the resurrection. A road Jesus chose to walk. A week marked by surrender and obedience and courage and a love so deep, so deliberate… that it still undoes me every time I sit with it.
He didn’t stumble into that week. He walked toward it.
He rode into Jerusalem on a donkey while people spread their coats on the ground and waved palm branches and shouted Hosanna. He wept over the city. He turned tables in the temple. He sat with His disciples for a final meal and washed their feet one by one – the King of heaven on His knees with a basin and a towel.
He prayed in a garden until His sweat was like drops of blood…
And then He walked toward the cross.
Willingly. Knowingly. For us.
“He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain. Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering…” – Isaiah 53:3-4 NIV
The Lamb Who Stepped Forward
I’ve been sitting with this question this week… What does it cost to love like that?
Because it cost Jesus everything.
This wasn’t a misunderstanding or a tragedy that spiralled out of control. This was the plan. The Lamb of God – who had been in existence before time, who had spoken galaxies into being, who knew every hair on every head that would ever be born – stepped forward willingly into the darkness so that we could walk into the light.
I don’t fully understand it. I’m not sure we’re meant to fully understand it this side of eternity. But I feel it. Deep down in the place where theology becomes testimony… I feel the weight of what He carried.
And this week, I want to sit with that weight a little longer than usual.
“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” – Romans 5:8 NIV
While we were still sinners. Not when we had cleaned ourselves up. Not when we had our act together. Not when we finally deserved it.
While. We. Were. Still. Sinners.
That’s the kind of love that walks into Holy Week and doesn’t turn back.
A King Who Knelt
One of the things that gets me every single year – every year, without fail – is the foot washing.
Jesus knew. He knew Judas was about to betray Him. He knew Peter was about to deny Him three times. He knew what the next 72 hours held… and He knelt down and washed their feet anyway.
He didn’t withhold tenderness from the ones who would wound Him. He washed the feet of the man who would sell Him for thirty pieces of silver.
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about feet washing over the years… there’s something about that image of Jesus on His knees that breaks open something in me. The King of everything, choosing the posture of a servant. Not because He had to. Because love looks like that. Real love – the kind that costs something – it gets low.
“Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.” – John 13:14-15 NIV
He wasn’t just washing feet, sisters. He was showing us the shape of love.
And I find myself asking – what would it look like for me to love like that this week? Not the grand gesture. Not the Instagram moment. But the basin and the towel. The low and the quiet and the costly.
Not Our Strength. His.
Here’s what I keep coming back to as we step into Holy Week…
This week isn’t about our striving. It’s not about how well we observe it or how spiritually focused we manage to stay. It’s not about whether we make it to every Good Friday service or whether our quiet times are long enough.
This week is about His strength. His surrender. His love.
We are invited to witness it. To draw close to it. To let it do what it was always meant to do – not just two thousand years ago on a hill outside Jerusalem, but right here, right now, in the middle of our Monday morning and all the messy ordinary of our real lives. Wherever this Monday finds you – in the rush of getting kids to school, in the quiet of a house that feels too empty, in the middle of a health storm you didn’t see coming, in a season of waiting that seems to have no end – Jesus is walking toward you in the middle of all of it.
He knows what the week holds. He always has.
“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” – John 16:33 NIV
Let’s Walk This Week Together
I want to invite you to do something this week, girlfriend… I want to invite you to slow down. Just a little. Not in a way that adds to your to-do list. But in a way that keeps your heart close to the One who loves you most.
Maybe that looks like sitting for five extra minutes with your coffee before the chaos begins, and just saying: ‘Jesus, I want to be close to You this week.’ Maybe it looks like reading through one of the Gospel accounts of Holy Week – Matthew 21 onwards, or John 12 onwards. Not to study it. Just to walk with Him. Maybe it looks like letting yourself feel the weight of what He carried… and letting yourself be grateful. Really, properly grateful. The kind that makes your chest ache a little.
Because He didn’t have to do any of it. He chose to. He chose you. He chose me. He chose the whole broken, beautiful mess of humanity and He loved us to the end.
“Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.” – John 13:1 NIV
To the end, ladies. To the very end.
Abba Father…
We step into this sacred week carrying the pieces of our humanity, the tiredness that sits in our bones, the questions that whisper in the quiet, the hopes we’ve held onto for so long, and the places where we’re still longing for You to move.
But even with all of that… here we are. Standing at the doorway of the week that changed all of history. A week not defined by our strength, but by the strength of Your Son. A week not shaped by our devotion, but by His unwavering obedience.
Jesus, meet us here, not only at the empty tomb where joy bursts open, but here at the beginning, in the stillness of an ordinary Monday, in the slow, deliberate steps toward the cross. Meet us in the place where You chose surrender long before we ever understood its cost.
Help us not to rush past the weight of these days. Help us to remember that before there was resurrection, there was resolve. Before there was victory, there was a cup You chose to drink. Before there was an empty tomb, there was a Lamb who willingly laid Himself down.
Let us feel the depth of Your love, a love that did not hesitate, a love that walked into suffering with eyes wide open, a love that held nothing back.
Jesus, we open our hands before You. Take what we cling to, our need to understand every detail, our desire to control outcomes, our fear that You might not move the way we imagined. You carried a cross without grasping for certainty or comfort; teach us to trust the heart of the One who walked that road for us.
We walk into Holy Week with You, not as spectators, but as those who want to stay close to the One who saves. Eyes fixed on the Son of God who became the Son of Man. Hearts softened by the magnitude of Your sacrifice. Souls steadied by the truth that every step You took was intentional, purposeful, and overflowing with love.
Keep us near, Jesus. Near to Your heart. Near to Your story. Near to the wonder of what You accomplished in these holy days.
In Your holy, beautiful, matchless name, Jesus. Amen.
