Dwelling in Dissonance: Standing Up and Standing Back
John 18:12–27
Introduction: The Tension Within Us
Have you ever found yourself caught in that uncomfortable space between what you know is right and what feels safe? Where part of you wants to stand up with courage and conviction, while another part of you wants to step back, remain quiet, and avoid whatever cost might come from being seen or identified?
John 18 brings us directly into that tension. Jesus has just been arrested and taken to the house of the high priest, while Peter lingers outside in the courtyard, standing close enough to see what is happening, yet far enough away to remain unnoticed and it is in that in-between space—neither fully fleeing nor fully standing with Jesus—that we begin to recognize something deeply familiar about our own experience of discipleship. As this passage unfolds and Peter denies Christ three times, it exposes three tensions that continue to shape the life of faith: the tension between fear and courage, the tension between winning and losing, and the tension between trauma and compassion.
- Fear and Courage: The Quiet Compromise
The contrast between Jesus and Peter in this passage is striking, because while Jesus stands before the high priest and speaks openly about his teaching, declaring that he has said nothing in secret, Peter stands outside responding to simple questions with repeated denials, insisting that he does not know the very one he had so recently vowed to follow.
What makes this moment particularly revealing is that Peter had already demonstrated courage earlier in the evening when he drew his sword in the garden, acting boldly—if misguidedly—in defence of Jesus, and yet now, in a situation where the danger is no longer hypothetical but immediate, his courage begins to dissolve into fear.
And what Peter does next is something many of us recognize, because he does not run away entirely, but instead chooses to remain near while quietly distancing himself, attempting to stay connected without being identified, which reveals how fear often works in subtle ways, not always leading us to abandon our faith outright, but gently reshaping our posture so that we remain present but uncommitted, nearby but not visible.
In those moments, the rooster’s crow becomes more than a narrative detail; it becomes a mirror reminding us of the times when fear has quietly influenced our choices in ways we did not fully recognize until later.
- Winning and Losing: Rethinking Faithfulness
The second tension emerges as we consider how quickly Peter’s expectations collapse, because only hours earlier, he had every reason to believe that he was on the side of victory, having witnessed Jesus’ authority over sickness, nature, and even death, and likely assuming that this story would culminate in triumph over Israel’s enemies.
But the arrest of Jesus shatters that expectation, as the one who seemed unstoppable now allows himself to be bound, questioned, and struck, appearing, by every outward measure, to be losing. And it is in that moment that Peter’s denial begins to make sense, because courage is much easier to sustain when we believe we are on the winning side, when the future appears secure, and success seems inevitable, but when circumstances suggest that following Jesus may lead not to victory but to vulnerability, the temptation to distance ourselves becomes far stronger.
Yet John’s Gospel invites us to see that what appears to be defeat is actually the unfolding of God’s glory, because the cross is not the failure of Jesus’ mission but the very means through which God’s redeeming love is revealed. This challenges our assumptions about success, reminding us that the kingdom of God does not advance through the preservation of power or the avoidance of suffering, but through the costly, self-giving love that Jesus embodies, a love that may at times look, from the outside, very much like losing.
- Trauma and Compassion: Understanding Peter’s Failure
The third tension invites us to look more closely at Peter’s denial, not simply as a moral failure to be judged, but as a deeply human response to fear and perceived danger, because Peter is standing in an environment where his teacher has just been arrested, and the authorities who have taken Jesus are close enough to question him directly.
In moments like this, the human instinct is to move toward self-preservation, whether through fighting, fleeing, freezing, or attempting to blend in, and Peter’s denial reflects that instinct at work as he seeks to avoid the consequences of being identified with Jesus.
Recognizing this does not excuse his actions, but it does invite us to see him with compassion, because the same story that reveals Peter’s failure also reveals the grace that will later restore him, as the one who denies Jesus three times becomes the one who boldly proclaims him in the early church. Peter’s story reminds us that our moments of fear do not have the final word, because the faithfulness of Jesus is greater than the fragility of his followers.
Gospel Invitation: The Faithfulness of Jesus
At the heart of this passage, the deepest contrast is not simply between Peter’s fear and Jesus’ courage, but between Peter’s instinct to protect himself and Jesus’ willingness to give himself, because while Peter seeks safety through denial, Jesus speaks openly, even though it leads him toward suffering and the cross. This is where the gospel becomes clear, because the good news is not that we must somehow find the strength to be as courageous as Jesus in every moment, but that Jesus remained faithful even when his disciples faltered, and that the salvation of the world rests not on us, but on Christ’s obedience. The cross becomes the place where our failures meet the mercy of God, where the one who never stood back gives himself fully for those who so often do, and where grace proves itself stronger than fear.
Conclusion: Returning to Grace
The story of Peter in the courtyard confronts us with a tension we all recognize, because there are moments when we find ourselves caught between standing up and standing back, between courage and fear, between faithfulness and self-protection. Yet the final word of this passage does not belong to Peter’s denial, but to Jesus’ faithfulness, because the same Lord who stood firm before the high priest is the one who walks willingly toward the cross in order to redeem fearful disciples. And so the sound of the rooster’s crow is not only a reminder of failure, but an invitation, an invitation to return to the grace of Christ, who meets us not in our strength, but in our weakness, and who patiently forms in us a courage that is not rooted in our own strength, but in his unfailing love.
Amen.
Dwelling in Dissonance: The Towel and the Basin
John 13:1–17
Introduction: Lent and the Practices That Reveal Our Hearts
As we come to the second Sunday of Lent, we enter a season that invites us not simply to remember the death and resurrection of Jesus as a past event, but to reflect more deeply on its meaning and to consider how we ourselves participate in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ through faith, not only in what we believe, but in how we live.
For me, this season has taken on a very practical expression over the past couple of years, as I have chosen to fast both pop and Frappuccinos during Lent, which may sound like a small thing, but it has become a meaningful spiritual discipline, because fasting has a way of disrupting our normal rhythms and exposing what is going on beneath the surface of our lives in ways we might otherwise overlook. What I have noticed is that there are moments when I instinctively reach for those comforts not out of hunger, but out of anxiety or a desire to relieve stress, and those moments have become invitations to pause and ask a deeper question, namely, why am I not bringing those same needs to Jesus, and what might it look like to re-center my life around Jesus in those very places of tension where I am most tempted not to?
- Jesus Knew—and Still Chose Love
Reading the Gospels, people often wonder, did Jesus know he was going to die? As John introduces this scene, he makes it unmistakably clear that Jesus was not caught off guard by what was about to happen, but that “Jesus knew that the hour had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father” (John 13:1, NIV), and that everything that followed unfolded within the context of that awareness and intentionality.
This is not a story of accidental suffering or unforeseen tragedy, but of deliberate obedience, because Jesus had previously stepped away from danger when the timing was not yet right (cf. John 7:30), yet now, at the appointed time, he moves forward willingly, embracing what lies ahead rather than resisting it. And the reason for that movement is given to us in one of the most profound summaries of the gospel in John’s writing: “having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end” (John 13:1, NIV), which tells us that everything that follows—including the cross—is rooted not in compulsion, but in love that is steadfast and complete. Jesus not only knew that he would die, but he also knew that he would be betrayed, for “the devil had already prompted Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot, to betray Jesus” (John 13:2, NIV), and yet even in that emotional and relational tension, he does not withdraw or harden his heart, but instead chooses to remain present, and loving.
- The Towel and the Basin: A Kingdom Turned Upside Down
It is in that context—knowing what is coming, knowing who will betray him—that Jesus does something deeply unexpected, because “he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist… and began to wash his disciples’ feet” (John 13:4–5, NIV), entering into a task that would have been considered beneath someone of his status. This act would have been startling in its original setting, because foot washing was the work of the lowest servant in the household, and yet here is Jesus, the one whom they rightly call Teacher and Lord, choosing to serve from below rather than assert his position from above. The towel and the basin become, therefore, a powerful symbol of the nature of Christ’s ministry, because they reveal a kingdom that operates according to a completely different logic, one in which greatness is expressed not through status or power, but through humility, self-giving, and a willingness to enter into the needs of others.
When Jesus returns to his place at the table and asks, “Do you understand what I have done for you?” (John 13:12, NIV), the implied answer is that they likely do not fully grasp it yet, and perhaps we do not either, because it is one thing to admire the humility of Jesus from a distance, but another thing entirely to embody it in the ordinary, sometimes inconvenient realities of our own lives. Yet the command is clear and unmistakable, because Jesus tells them, “Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet… I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you” (John 13:14–15, NIV), setting a pattern of life that is meant to be lived out in practical, everyday acts of service.
- Doing What Jesus Did: From Inner Work to Relational Action
As I reflected on this passage, I found myself asking where I have truly taken up the towel and the basin in my own life, not in theory, but in practice, particularly in situations where relationships have been strained, complicated, or even painful. I shared last week about a season in my early ministry that involved being let go and then rehired, but although I continued in that same role for five more years, I came to realize later that I was still carrying unresolved hurt from that experience. A few years later, during a time of intentional reflection with a spiritual director, I was invited to name those experiences honestly, to write them down, and then, one by one, to release those things to the Lord, and what I discovered in that process was just how much I had been carrying without even realizing it. But that inner work was only part of the journey, because eventually I also sensed the need to pursue a conversation with that former colleague, not out of anger but from a place of wanting the best for him, and when that opportunity finally came, I was able to speak honestly while also extending forgiveness. What struck me most in that conversation was that the posture of service did not mean ignoring what had happened or pretending that everything was fine, but rather choosing to engage in a way that sought restoration rather than retaliation, echoing the way of Christ who calls us to love even when it is costly.
The Promise: Blessing in the Way of Jesus
Jesus concludes this teaching not only with a command but with a promise, saying, “Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them” (John 13:17, NIV), which reminds us that the way of humble service is not only the right path, but also the path through which God’s blessing flows into our lives and into the life of the community. This blessing is not necessarily found in ease or comfort, but in alignment with the heart of Christ, as we learn to serve one another in both ordinary and unexpected ways, whether through quiet acts of care, courageous moments of reconciliation, or simply choosing to show up faithfully in the lives of others even when it costs us something.
Conclusion: Taking Up the Towel Together
As your pastor, I want you to know that this is the posture I desire to take among you, not to be served, but to serve. And as we move forward together, especially in a season that may feel uncertain or complex, I hope that we would all take up that same posture, recognizing that following Jesus means learning to serve one another with humility, grace, and love, even when it stretches us or calls us beyond what feels comfortable. We are invited not only to reflect on the example of Jesus, but to participate in it, to take up the towel and the basin in whatever ways God places before us, trusting that as we do, he will guide us, shape us, and form us into a community that reflects his heart more fully. Amen.
Dwelling in Dissonance: Love and Grief, Glory and Belief
John 11:1–44
Introduction: A Familiar Story, A Fresh Word
As we begin the season of Lent, a six-week journey that leads us toward the cross and ultimately toward the resurrection, we are following the narrative arc of John’s Gospel, which brings us today to John 11, the story of Lazarus—his sickness, his death, the grief of Martha and Mary, and the moment when Jesus calls Lazarus out of the tomb. When I first saw that this was the lectionary text, my initial reaction was, “Really? We were just here,” because some of you will remember that we touched on this passage during Advent and explored it more deeply in our Bible study, and so it felt like a return to familiar ground. But as I sat with the passage again, I was reminded of something important, especially for those who know these stories well, and it is this: the text may not change, but we do, and the Spirit of God meets us in familiar passages with a word that is fresh for the season we are actually living in.
John 11 is a story that refuses to flatten the tension of life into easy answers, because it holds together realities that we often try to separate too quickly—love and grief, glory and belief—and instead of resolving that tension, it invites us to dwell there long enough to discover that Jesus does not simply arrive with power to fix everything immediately, but that he enters into our sorrow, shares in our grief, and calls us to trust him even there.
A Testimony of Death and Resurrection
I believe that the death and resurrection of Jesus was a literal, historical event that took place at a particular time in human history. Though I have never witnessed a literal resurrection, I have seen what I would describe as the death and resurrection of hopes and dreams, and one of those moments came early in my ministry.
I was serving in the church I had grown up in, and I loved the people and the work. We began to see encouraging growth, and I believed this was where God had called me to serve. Then, unexpectedly, I was told that my role was coming to an end, not because I had failed, but because the direction of the church was shifting. I remember going for a long winter run that day, trying to process what felt like a loss I had not chosen. Something I believed God had given seemed to be taken away. And yet, in that season, something deeper was being formed in me. I was learning how to finish well, how to trust God when the path did not make sense, and how to remain faithful even when I was no longer on the path I had imagined. In time, after further conversation and prayer, I was invited to stay and continue in my role, and what had felt like a kind of death became, in a very real sense, a resurrection, as I continued in that ministry position for five more years of fruitful ministry.
Sometimes find myself asking the same kind of questions we hear in John 11: why the delay, why the difficulty, and why did it unfold this way? Wasn’t there an easier path? I do not have a complete answer, but I have come to believe that God is often more concerned with what he is doing in us than what he is doing through us, and that some of the most important lessons we learn in following Jesus are formed not in ease, but in the tension of some of the most challenging experiences of our lives.
Three Invitations from John 11
- Name the Dissonance Honestly in the Presence of Jesus
One of the striking features of this story is that Martha and Mary do not attempt to tidy up their grief, but instead say plainly, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died” (John 11:21, 32). This is both a confession of faith and an expression of disappointment. What we see in Jesus’ response is not correction but presence. He stays with them, listens, and ultimately enters into their grief. We are reminded that bringing our questions, confusion, and even frustration into the presence of God is not a failure, but often the place where faith begins to deepen. If you find yourself in a season where God’s timing does not make sense, you do not need to pretend everything is fine. Jesus is not threatened by your honesty, and he meets you in the reality of your experience.
- Trust That Jesus’ Love Is Not Disproven by Delay
John tells us that Jesus loved Lazarus and his sisters, and yet John also writes that Jesus delayed going to them (John 11:5–6), which forces us to confront a tension that many of us feel, namely that love and delay can coexist. When God does not act as quickly as we would like, it is tempting to interpret that delay as absence or indifference. But this story challenges that assumption. Jesus does arrive. He enters the situation. He weeps (John 11:35). And he acts. But he does so according to a timing and purpose larger than what Martha and Mary can see. In other words, the presence of delay does not negate the presence of Jesus’ love.
- Respond to Jesus’ Call and Allow the Community to Help Unbind You
When Jesus finally arrives and stands before the tomb, he calls Lazarus by name, and Lazarus comes out (John 11:43–44). But L is still wrapped in grave clothes, still bound by what once held him. Jesus then turns to those around him and says, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.” Resurrection is both personal and communal. Jesus brings life, but the community helps a person walk in that life. There are times when we need to hear the voice of Christ calling us out of places that feel like death, and there are also times when we need others to come alongside us and help remove what continues to bind us, whether that is fear, grief, or patterns that no longer align with the life Jesus has given.
The Gospel Beneath the Story
While Lazarus is raised, this is not the final victory over death, because Lazarus will die again. This moment functions as a sign pointing forward to something greater.
In John’s Gospel, the raising of Lazarus sets in motion the events that lead to Jesus’ own death. Unlike Lazarus, Jesus will not simply be called out of the tomb by another, but will enter death fully and break it open from the inside through his resurrection, securing a victory that is not temporary but final.
This means that when we find ourselves living in the tension between what is and what we long for, we are not abandoned. The story of Jesus assures us that love is present even in grief, that tears are not a sign of failure but of participation in a broken world that God is redeeming, and that glory is not absent but often hidden, waiting to be revealed in God’s time.
Conclusion: Dwelling in Dissonance with Jesus
So as we begin this season of Lent, I want to invite you not to rush past the unresolved places in your life, but to dwell in them with Jesus, trusting that he is not afraid of your questions, your grief, or the tensions you carry.
Because Jesus meets us in those places, not with quick answers or easy resolutions, but with his presence, and as we walk with him, he leads us, often slowly and sometimes mysteriously, toward the hope of resurrection that stands at the center of our faith. Amen.
