April 3, 2026 Reflection

Reflection: The Crowd Chooses

Pilgrimage reveals who we really are. At the beginning of a journey, it is easy to walk together.
There is excitement. Curiosity. A sense that something meaningful lies ahead.

But every pilgrimage eventually reaches a place where the road becomes difficult. And that is when people begin to choose.

On this road, the crowd turns. Not long ago they welcomed Jesus with palm branches and shouts of Hosanna. Now the same voices cry out, Crucify him.

It happens quickly. Fear spreads faster than truth. Rumours become louder than compassion. Crowds begin to believe what they repeat.

And suddenly the world feels divided into sides.

We see it in our own time. The language may be different, but the spirit is familiar. Voices rise in anger. Communities fracture. Truth is buried beneath outrage and misinformation.

In our world today we see wars grinding on in places like Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan, and now Iran, where ordinary people suffer while powerful forces struggle for land, influence, and control.

And closer to home we see the same dynamics in quieter ways. Families divided by politics.
Communities struggling to speak across difference. People feeling unheard, unseen, misunderstood.

The crowd in this story is not simply “them.” It is us.

Pilgrimage asks us to look honestly at ourselves. When fear spreads… when anger grows… when everyone seems certain who the enemy is…

Which voice do we follow? The voice of the crowd? Or the quiet voice of compassion that refuses to condemn?

Because the Way of Jesus is not the easy road. It is the road that asks us to resist the pull of the crowd and to keep choosing love, even when love is unpopular. Even when love costs something.

The Second Step on the Way: The Cry of Abandonment

Scripture: Psalm 22:1–11

Reflection: The Cry of Abandonment

Every pilgrimage eventually reaches a moment of exhaustion. A moment when the road feels longer than we expected. When the strength we began with has faded. When hope feels fragile.

Psalm 22 gives voice to that moment. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

These words are raw and unfiltered. They are not polite prayers. They are the cry of someone who has reached the edge.

And perhaps many of us know this place. The place where life doesn’t make sense. The diagnosis we didn’t expect. The relationship that slowly fell apart. The grief that still catches us off guard years later. The quiet loneliness that can creep in even when life appears full.

Sometimes the road we walk is not the road we imagined. And in those moments we may wonder where God is.

The remarkable thing about this psalm is that it doesn’t hide those questions.

In scripture, faith is not about pretending everything is fine. Faith includes the courage to tell God the truth.

To say: This hurts. This is confusing. I am angry. I feel alone. Jesus himself prays these words from the cross. Even the Son of God knows what it feels like to walk through darkness.

And perhaps that is part of the comfort of Good Friday. Not that suffering disappears. But that God has walked this road too.

The road of doubt. The road of grief. The road where hope flickers but does not completely go out. And because Jesus walked that road, we are never truly alone on it.

The Third Step on the Way: The Cross

We have been walking the Way with Jesus. Now the road grows heavier. The path that once felt hopeful begins to narrow and darken.

Along this road, a cross appears. A cross carried not only by Jesus, but by all who suffer under violence, injustice, and cruelty.

As we hear the story, the cross will be brought among us, a reminder that this road is not only ancient history. It is the road our world still walks today.

Scripture: Luke 23:26–43

Reflection: The Cross

Along the road to the cross, unexpected companions appear. Simon of Cyrene is pulled from the crowd and forced to carry the cross. The women of Jerusalem refuse to look away.

And beside Jesus hangs a man the world has already judged. A criminal. Someone with no status. No power. No voice. Yet somehow he sees what others cannot.

In the middle of agony, he turns to Jesus and says: “Remember me.”

It is such a simple prayer. Not a theological statement. Just a quiet hope that his life will not be forgotten.

And Jesus answers him with astonishing grace. “Today you will be with me in paradise.”

Even here, at the worst possible moment, compassion still appears. This is one of the most surprising truths of the cross. God’s kingdom does not appear where we expect it. Not in the halls of power. Not in the certainty of those who think they already understand everything.

It appears in places of vulnerability. In hospital rooms where families sit beside loved ones. In community kitchens where strangers share food. In quiet acts of kindness that no one else notices.

In our own lives we see glimpses of this too. Someone shows up when we need them most. A word of forgiveness changes the direction of a relationship.

Or when a small act of courage interrupts cruelty.

The cross reveals something profound about the Way of Jesus. Love does not wait for perfect circumstances. Love appears in the middle of suffering. Even when the world believes everything is lost.

The Pilgrim’s Stone

Throughout Lent we have been walking The Way. Pilgrims rarely travel empty-handed.

On ancient journeys people carried small stones in their pockets or packs. Sometimes the stones marked where they had been. Sometimes they represented prayers, burdens, or memories they carried along the way.

Stones are interesting things. They are small enough to hold, but heavy enough to remind us they are there. In many ways, our lives are like that.

We carry things with us. Some of them are visible, responsibilities, work, caring for family.

But many of the heaviest things we carry are invisible. Regret. Grief. Fear about the future. Old wounds that never quite healed.

Sometimes we carry burdens for the world as well. The suffering we see in the news. The violence that continues in places like Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan and Iran, and in so many places that rarely make the news. The worry we feel for the earth and for generations who will come after us.

Pilgrimage teaches us something important: We are not meant to carry everything alone. At some point on the journey, pilgrims stop. They set down what they have been holding. They remember that God walks the road with them.

Today, as we gather at the foot of the cross, we are invited to do the same. Not because everything will suddenly be fixed. But because the cross reminds us that God already knows the weight of this world.

And God is strong enough to hold it.

I invite you to come forward and choose a rock, and place it on the cross or at the base of the cross.

The Fourth Step on the Way: The Silence of Death

Scripture: Luke 23:44–49

Reflection: The Silence of Death

Darkness falls across the land. The road has reached its end. The crowds that once shouted begin to drift away. The disciples watch from a distance. And the empire believes it has won.

For a moment, everything is silent. Good Friday invites us to sit in that silence. Because silence is part of every pilgrimage.

There are moments in life when words feel too small. Moments when grief arrives and explanations do not help. Moments when we simply stand still and wonder how the world became so broken.

We know those moments personally. The phone call in the middle of the night. The unexpected loss. The quiet realization that life has changed and cannot go back.

We also know these moments as a world. Watching wars continue year after year. Seeing communities torn apart by fear and anger. Witnessing the earth itself struggling under the weight of our choices.

And yet even here, something remarkable happens. A Roman centurion, a soldier of the empire, looks at Jesus and says: “Surely this man was innocent.”

Sometimes truth appears in the most unexpected places. Sometimes it takes the shock of tragedy for people to see clearly.

The cross forces us to face a painful truth about humanity: We are capable of cruelty.

But the cross also reveals a deeper truth about God. God does not abandon the world to its violence. God enters it. God suffers within it. God refuses to turn away. And even here, in the shadow of death, love remains.

Reflection: Transition to the Tomb

The road grows quiet now. The shouting crowds have faded. The sky has darkened. And those who loved Jesus must face the reality of what has happened. They do not yet know that the story is not finished. For them, this is simply the end of the road.

And so, like pilgrims who have lost their way in the night, they do the only thing they can do. They care for the body. They prepare the spices. They place him in the tomb. And they wait.

The Final Step: The Tomb

Scripture: Luke 23:50–56

Words to Send Us on the Way

Every pilgrimage reaches a moment like this. The road disappears into darkness. The story seems unfinished. The silence feels heavy. Today we stand with those first followers of Jesus who walked away from the tomb carrying more questions than answers.

They had believed the journey would lead somewhere else. But sometimes the Way of love passes through places we would never choose. Through grief. Through uncertainty. Through the long silence of waiting.

And yet, pilgrims know something important: The road does not end here. We cannot see what lies beyond this day. But God is still walking. Still breathing life into the world. Still moving quietly beneath the surface of despair. Still preparing something we cannot yet imagine.

So today we leave as pilgrims once more, walking into the quiet, carrying the mystery of this day with us, trusting that the Way of Christ continues even when the road disappears from view.

And as we leave worship to enter deeper into this space between life, death, and life again, go with the knowledge that God who fashioned you with love, whose Spirit breathes in and through you, and who shares in our every sorrow and every joy goes with you, even in doubt, even in death, even to the end of the age.

Go in peace, and in silence, to wait with those who wait, and mourn with those who mourn.

Amen.