A Reflection For Holy Week
Imagine it…
The sky still heavy with sorrow,
the air thick with fear,
and the streets quiet from the echo of something too holy to be forgotten—
yet too dangerous to name.
What Each of Them Might Have Felt: A Holy Grief
They had walked beside Him.
Watched miracles unfold before their eyes.
He touched lepers, lifted the dead, opened blind eyes.
And then… He was gone.
Each of them grieved differently, because love is not the same for every soul.
Peter might have been tormented by guilt.
The shame of his denial echoing in his ears,
remembering the firelight where he said,
“I do not know the man.”
John, the beloved, might have wept in silence,
his soul torn by the intimacy they shared—
the resting on Christ’s chest at the Last Supper,
and now, the emptiness in his arms.
Mary Magdalene, who had been delivered from darkness,
grieved with a rawness only the redeemed know.
She searched for Him in a tomb,
because love like hers couldn’t just disappear.
Thomas might have felt disbelief not out of doubt,
but because grief had shattered what he thought was possible.
And when love is that strong, it’s hard to imagine it ever ending.
And His mother, Mary…
Oh, the sword that pierced her soul.
To cradle the Messiah in her arms as an infant,
and later watch Him pierced upon the cross—
a loss no mother should bear,
yet one her spirit knew was coming.
She didn’t just lose a son.
She watched the world lose its Savior.
The disciples, once bold with the presence of Jesus,
were now scattered and hiding.
Not because they stopped loving Him—
but because that love had become a risk.
They had seen the miracle.
They had walked beside the embodiment of divine love.
And yet after the crucifixion,
they had to hide the very thing that made them feel most alive:
their love for Jesus.
Can you imagine the weight of that?
To carry the memory of His voice calling your name.
To remember the way He looked at you and saw everything you were—
everything you could be—
and still loved you fully, without condition.
Each one of them had a life before Him.
They were fishermen, tax collectors, doubters, zealots.
But when Jesus stepped into their story,
everything changed.
He knew them—
before they even knew themselves.
And all it took was love.
Not law.
Not punishment.
Just love.
God’s love.
And for that love,
they watched Him crucified.
The One who calmed storms, healed the blind, and raised the dead—
murdered.
And in those dark hours after His death,
before the dawn of resurrection,
they carried unbearable weight:
The weight of grief, for the man who loved them like no other.
The weight of guilt, for the ones who denied and abandoned Him.
The weight of loss, for the direction and purpose He gave their lives.
They had no proof of the rising yet.
Only the ache of His absence.
Only the echo of His words.
And still… they carried on.
Because that kind of love never leaves a soul unchanged.
So This Week…
As we walk through this Holy Week,
let us not rush to Sunday without sitting in the silence of Saturday.
Let us not forget what it means to carry love in a world that tries to bury it.
Let us reflect on the disciples—
not as perfect followers,
but as deeply human hearts
who experienced the full spectrum of divine intimacy and earthly fear.
Because if you are carrying something heavy—
some grief, some unanswered prayer, some deep longing—
know this:
You are not alone.
If you have loved and lost…
If you have feared and denied…
If you have waited in the dark,
wondering if what you believe is really true…
You are in holy company.
And just like them,
you will rise too.
Because Love—true Love—cannot stay buried.
It will rise.
It always rises.
And so will you.
