St. John’s Park Slope

The Resurrection doesn’t erase Peter’s past. It transforms it. The place of his greatest shame becomes the place of his greatest calling…

This morning’s Gospel picks up where Easter left off. Mary Magdalene: “I have seen the Lord.” But they don’t respond with joy. They lock the doors. They’re afraid—of the authorities, yes. But maybe also of what Mary’s words could mean. To the Romans, Jesus was an insurrectionist. To the religious leaders, a blasphemer. To the disciples, he had been everything—and they had failed him…

"The Resurrection gives birth to hope—a living hope—resilient enough to withstand the pull of nihilism, apathy, and despair. The kind of hopelessness that creeps in when we contemplate oblivion—when we fear that nothing means anything at all. Our God has acted—and he promises to act again. He will bring evil, suffering, and loss to an end, once and for all. And this is the greatest hope..."

In the Passion accounts of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, we encounter Jesus as profoundly human—a suffering servant burdened by grief and despair. We see his agony, his tears, his desperate plea as he faces betrayal and abandonment. And we mourn for him—not only for what he suffered, but because we know he endured it all for us. Yet when we turn to John’s account, sorrow doesn’t take center stage. Instead, Christ’s divine majesty shines through…

Jesus didn’t just give us a model of service. He stooped to wash the feet of sinners—feet that would flee in fear, feet that would deny him by a charcoal fire, feet that would falter and doubt. He washed them all. And he washes us still.