It was a simple moment. Nothing big, nothing planned. Just me and my stepson talking about the crucifixion.
And somewhere in the middle of that conversation, it hit me again—the weight of it, yes… but even more, the why behind it. The kind of love that doesn’t just speak, but stays. The kind of love that doesn’t just promise, but bleeds. The kind of love that looks at a broken world and says, “I’m not walking away from you.”
And I found myself thinking about you.
Because I know what this coming week holds. I know the pressure, the expectations, the quiet weight you carry into Holy Week. The sermons that need to land. The rooms that need to fill. The hope that people might actually hear it this time.
So this isn’t coming from a place of critique. It’s not aimed at anyone. And it’s definitely not coming from someone who has it all figured out.
If anything, it’s coming from a place of sitting in the back row of my own life, realizing how much I still need the very message you’re about to preach.
So, to my pastor friends…
You’re doing more good than you think you are.
You’re carrying more than most people realize.
And this week matters—maybe more than you’ll ever fully see on this side of heaven.
Just a few thoughts I can’t shake as you step into it:
Your words won’t stay in this week.
They’re going to echo. In conversations. In quiet drives home. In hospital rooms. In moments months from now when someone remembers a sentence you don’t even remember saying. What you’re about to pour out… it lasts. So yes, the prep matters. The late nights matter. But don’t forget—it’s not just about getting it right. It’s about being real.
Your people aren’t showing up for a lecture.
They’re not coming to be impressed. They’re coming home to their Dad’s house. Whether they know it or not, they’re walking in hoping to hear the family story again… and to find themselves somewhere inside it. Not as outsiders trying to measure up, but as sons and daughters learning they already belong.
Don’t underestimate how much we need the “old” story.
I know the tension. You’ve preached this before. You’ve said it in a hundred different ways. There’s that voice that whispers, “You’ve got to make it new.” But maybe what people need isn’t new. Maybe they just need it to be true… again. Clear. Personal. Alive in you. We forget so quickly. We drift so easily. The same story that saved us is the story that sustains us.
And please hear this one the way I mean it—gently, honestly, as someone who needs this too:
If people walk out only hearing how they need to try harder, carry more shame, or fix themselves before they belong… then we missed something.
Not because we don’t believe in transformation. Not because holiness doesn’t matter. But because that’s not the heart of the story.
The world is already really good at reminding people they’re not enough.
They feel it in broken relationships. They see it in the news. They carry it in quiet moments they don’t talk about.
The law… it’s already written on their hearts and preached to them from every corner of this broken world on an hourly basis.
But the Gospel?
That’s different.
That’s the part they can’t manufacture on their own. That’s the part they need you to speak. Not as a formula, not as a checklist—but as a proclamation of a love that already exists for them. A love that has already proven itself. A love that meets them without ever cleaning themselves up.
Because how can they believe if they don’t hear? And how can they hear… if we don’t speak?
Not louder. Not harsher.
Just clearer. Truer. Fuller of Jesus.
So as you step into this week…
Take a breath.
You don’t have to carry the weight of changing lives. That was never yours to hold.
Just be faithful to His love story.
Tell it like it’s still good news—because it is. Tell it like it still has power—because it does. Tell it like it’s for them—because it is.
I’m praying for you. Really.
For strength when you’re tired. For peace when your mind won’t slow down. For moments where you feel God meet you in the middle of your preparation, not just your delivery.
You’ve been placed where you are, with the people you’ve been given, in this exact moment… on purpose.
Not by accident. Not by chance.
For such a time as this.
And I’m cheering you on.