31 March 2026
And it was night
The readings today bring us into the room with Jesus, into the moment where decisions are made, where loyalties are revealed, where hearts are tested.
The first reading from Isaiah gives us the voice of the Servant: “The Lord called me from birth… He made of me a sharp-edged sword.” This is not just about mission, it’s about identity. The Servant is chosen, formed, and sent.
But then comes a surprising line: “Though I thought I had toiled in vain, and for nothing, uselessly, spent my strength…”
Even the Servant experiences what feels like failure.
And yet, that is not the end. “My reward is with the Lord… I will make you a light to the nations.” God takes what looks like failure and reveals it as part of something greater. The mission is not collapsing, it is expanding.
Now bring that into the Gospel.
We are at the Last Supper. The moment is intimate, quiet, and suddenly heavy. “Jesus was deeply troubled and testified, ‘Amen, amen, I say to you, one of you will betray me.’” We realize, this is not a distant enemy. Not a stranger. Not someone outside the circle. It is one of the twelve.
And as the disciples look around, confused and uncertain, Judas takes the morsel—and leaves.
“And it was night.”
That is more than a time reference. It is a spiritual reality. Darkness has entered the room.
And yet, right after Judas leaves, Jesus says something unexpected: “Now is the Son of Man glorified.”
Not later. Not after the Resurrection. Now.
In the very moment betrayal begins to unfold, Jesus speaks of glory.
Why?
Because what looks like failure is actually the beginning of fulfillment.
The Servant in Isaiah thought his labor was in vain. Jesus, surrounded by betrayal, abandonment, and denial, knows that the Father’s plan is unfolding.
And then Peter speaks. “Master, why can I not follow you now? I will lay down my life for you.” It sounds strong. Loyal. Courageous.
But Jesus answers with painful clarity: “You will deny me three times.”
Now we have three responses to Jesus in the same room. Judas—who betrays. Peter—who promises, but will fail. And Jesus—who remains faithful.
This is what Holy Week reveals. Not just what happens to Jesus—but what is in the human heart.
Because if we are honest, we can find ourselves in each of those places.
There are moments when we turn away like Judas—choosing something else over Christ. There are moments when we speak like Peter—sincere, but overconfident, not yet aware or even forgetful of our weakness.
And yet, through all of it, Jesus remains steady.
He is not surprised. He is not thrown off course. He continues forward.
Because His mission does not depend on human perfection. It rests in the will of the Father.
That is the connection to Isaiah. What looks like failure… what feels like loss… what seems like everything is falling apart… is often the very place where God is accomplishing something deeper.
And that brings it to us.
Holy Week is not just about watching these events unfold. It is about recognizing ourselves in them—and allowing Christ to meet us there.
Not when we are strong. Not when we think we are ready for it. Not when we have it all together.
But right in the middle of our weakness.
Because the same Jesus who looks at Peter—knowing he will deny Him—still invites him to follow.
And the same Jesus who faces betrayal still walks toward the Cross.
Not because we are faithful.
But because He is.
The readings today bring us into the room with Jesus, into the moment where decisions are made, where loyalties are revealed, where hearts are tested.
The first reading from Isaiah gives us the voice of the Servant: “The Lord called me from birth… He made of me a sharp-edged sword.” This is not just about mission, it’s about identity. The Servant is chosen, formed, and sent.
But then comes a surprising line: “Though I thought I had toiled in vain, and for nothing, uselessly, spent my strength…”
Even the Servant experiences what feels like failure.
And yet, that is not the end. “My reward is with the Lord… I will make you a light to the nations.” God takes what looks like failure and reveals it as part of something greater. The mission is not collapsing, it is expanding.
Now bring that into the Gospel.
We are at the Last Supper. The moment is intimate, quiet, and suddenly heavy. “Jesus was deeply troubled and testified, ‘Amen, amen, I say to you, one of you will betray me.’” We realize, this is not a distant enemy. Not a stranger. Not someone outside the circle. It is one of the twelve.
And as the disciples look around, confused and uncertain, Judas takes the morsel—and leaves.
“And it was night.”
That is more than a time reference. It is a spiritual reality. Darkness has entered the room.
And yet, right after Judas leaves, Jesus says something unexpected: “Now is the Son of Man glorified.”
Not later. Not after the Resurrection. Now.
In the very moment betrayal begins to unfold, Jesus speaks of glory.
Why?
Because what looks like failure is actually the beginning of fulfillment.
The Servant in Isaiah thought his labor was in vain. Jesus, surrounded by betrayal, abandonment, and denial, knows that the Father’s plan is unfolding.
And then Peter speaks. “Master, why can I not follow you now? I will lay down my life for you.” It sounds strong. Loyal. Courageous.
But Jesus answers with painful clarity: “You will deny me three times.”
Now we have three responses to Jesus in the same room. Judas—who betrays. Peter—who promises, but will fail. And Jesus—who remains faithful.
This is what Holy Week reveals. Not just what happens to Jesus—but what is in the human heart.
Because if we are honest, we can find ourselves in each of those places.
There are moments when we turn away like Judas—choosing something else over Christ. There are moments when we speak like Peter—sincere, but overconfident, not yet aware or even forgetful of our weakness.
And yet, through all of it, Jesus remains steady.
He is not surprised. He is not thrown off course. He continues forward.
Because His mission does not depend on human perfection. It rests in the will of the Father.
That is the connection to Isaiah. What looks like failure… what feels like loss… what seems like everything is falling apart… is often the very place where God is accomplishing something deeper.
And that brings it to us.
Holy Week is not just about watching these events unfold. It is about recognizing ourselves in them—and allowing Christ to meet us there.
Not when we are strong. Not when we think we are ready for it. Not when we have it all together.
But right in the middle of our weakness.
Because the same Jesus who looks at Peter—knowing he will deny Him—still invites him to follow.
And the same Jesus who faces betrayal still walks toward the Cross.
Not because we are faithful.
But because He is.