There is a story I have carried with me for a long time.

The physician Richard Selzer wrote about standing at the bedside of a young woman after surgery. To remove a tumor from her cheek, he had to cut a small nerve. Her mouth would be twisted from that day forward. Her husband was in the room.

Selzer watched them together in the lamplight — the way they looked at each other, the way they touched. And then the young woman asked the question that was really the only question: Will my mouth always be like this?

Yes, Selzer told her. The nerve was cut.

Her husband smiled. "I like it," he said. "Kind of cute."

And then he bent down and kissed her. And Selzer noticed — he was close enough to see — that the young man twisted his own lips to meet hers. To show her that their kiss still worked.

I don't know a better picture of what love actually looks like.

Not love as sentiment. Not love as feeling. But love as a choice to bend toward another person — whatever it costs — and say: I'm not going anywhere.

On the night he was betrayed, Jesus gathered with his closest friends. He knew what was coming. And what did he do? He got down on his knees and washed their feet. He took the bread and broke it. He took the cup and poured it. He said: This is my body, given for you.

This is what love looks like. This love is not just spoken—it is lived, given, and poured out.

Later, Jesus said to them: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.

Not: I will be with you when you have it together. Not: I will be with you when you deserve it. Always. To the end.

This is the love at the heart of this day. A love that bends toward us — whatever it costs — and refuses to let go.

Prayer: Loving God, we thank you that we don't have to earn your love. That there is nothing in life or death that can separate us from you. We think today of those who are in really hard places — who need to know you have not forgotten them. Surround each of us with your grace. And may we know, right here and right now, that you are with us. Through Christ, who gave himself for us. Amen.

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Years ago, at First Presbyterian Church in Sarasota, we would occasionally celebrate a Passover Seder together as a congregation. A dear friend of mine, Cy Wofsy, who was Jewish, would help me lead it. It was one of the most meaningful things we did all year.

What Cy helped us see was something easy to miss: that the Last Supper — the night Jesus gathered with his disciples before he was arrested — was itself a Passover Seder. Jesus was not creating something entirely new that night. He was standing inside a story his people had been telling for over a thousand years. And he was saying: this story is about me. And now it is about you.

The connections between Passover and communion run deep — too many to trace here. But one thread connects them both at the root.

Remember.

In both, the people of God are invited not merely to know what happened, but to enact it. To tell the story again. To sing the songs. To say the prayers. To taste the bread and the cup and let the body remember what the mind sometimes forgets.

There is profound wisdom in this. Because in the hardest moments of life — when we are frightened, or grieving, or lost — it is easy to forget. To lose the thread. To wonder whether God has been present at all.

And the ritual says: look back. Remember how you got here. Remember who has carried you.

The story of God's faithfulness does not begin today. It stretches back further than we can see. And we are standing inside it.

Prayer: Holy God, on this night we remember. We remember the Passover — your people delivered from bondage, carried through the wilderness, brought home. We remember Jesus at the table with his friends, taking the bread and the cup and giving himself. We remember the ways you have carried us through our own hard places — though we do not always stop to name them. Today we name them. We are grateful. And we trust that the grace that has carried us this far will carry us still. Amen.

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There is an old story about a man who fell off a cliff and managed to grab an outcrop on the way down. Hanging there, he looks up and calls out: Is anyone up there?

A voice booms down. I am here. I am the Lord. Do you believe in me?

Yes, Lord. I believe. I really believe. But I can't hang on much longer.

You have nothing to worry about. I will save you. Just let go.

A long pause. Then: Is there anyone else up there?

It's a funny story. And it's also uncomfortably true.

Most of us believe — in some sense. But letting go? That's a different thing entirely.

Somewhere along the way, life has a way of making this unavoidably clear: there is far more going on than we can see or control. We don't know what tomorrow holds. We barely know what the next hour holds. And no matter how hard we grip — how much we plan, manage, strategize, worry — so much remains completely out of our hands.

And at some point, most of us arrive at the same place. If there is a way forward, we are going to have to trust something — or Someone — larger than ourselves.

That's not weakness. That's honesty.

The Psalmist puts it simply: Lead me to the Rock that is higher than I.

Prayer: O God, we want to trust you. We know we can't make it on our own for very long. We need you. So help us today — help us loosen our grip, and trust that our lives are held in your hands. Give us hearts that are open to your leading. Help us trust. And in trusting, follow. Through Jesus Christ, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.

Something a pastor named Ann Hallstein wrote about her childhood really struck me. When she was six years old, her mother was expecting another baby. Her whole world was about to change. One day, her grandmother came home with a book from the library listing Christian names and their meanings. Her grandmother found Ann’s name, picked her up, and sat her down in her lap. She told her that the name Ann came from the Hebrew name Hannah, which means, “God has favored me.” Ann writes, “Imagine telling a 6-year-old she is favored by God? It has never left me.”

I remember when I was in seminary we were introduced to a theologian named Karl Barth. He wrote 13 volumes of Christian Dogmatics, among many other hefty works. His writing is so dense I could spend an hour reading a single paragraph.

Not too many years before his death, he was asked if he could summarize his theology. He responded, in all seriousness, using the words of a well-loved children’s song: “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” It’s beautiful that years of research, writing, and study could lead him to a simple but profound truth. It is in fact the basis of our faith.

My prayer today is that you would know God’s love for you in Christ in the very deepest part of your being. And may you share that love with a world desperately in need.

Let us pray: Gracious God, even in the midst of the challenges of everyday life, we thank you for your love for us. Help us to accept this love and this grace. May it flow into our lives, change our worldviews, animate our actions, and overflow back into the world around us. Help us to be healers and peacemakers. We ask in Christ’s name. Amen.

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Years ago, a friend told me about a man she met who had just been released from prison. He had found his way into recovery from addiction while behind bars. She said that at his first recovery meeting, an older, wizened man asked him, “How is your gratitude?” He told my friend the question brought him up short. He didn’t know how to answer. However, ever since that first meeting, every morning he asks himself this same question upon waking: “How is your gratitude?”

Life for ex-convicts is not easy. Even when their lives are turned around and straightened out, few people are willing to hire them for jobs. There forever seems to be a lack of trust and acceptance. I have to imagine it is not easy to carve out a new life.

For this man, a gratitude check every morning is essential for life. It puts things in perspective and allows him to visualize grace.

This same question could be a huge blessing for our lives as well. I invite you to try it for a week. Each day, as you wake up, before you get out of bed, ask yourself the question, “How is my gratitude today? What do I have to be thankful for?” In your mind, list several things, people, events, or places. As you do, notice your perspective widen and your spirits lift.

Let us pray: Loving God, today I thank you for much-needed rain. I thank you for the laughter of children and the love I receive from my family. I also thank you for the shelter of a warm home and for food enough to share. You have blessed each of us so richly. Keep us mindful of these blessings and help us to be attentive to and responsive to the needs of those around us. Amen.

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