Holy Week Devotional

This 8-day devotional is designed to help you walk through the story of Holy Week —from Palm Sunday all the way to Easter. Each day will take anywhere from 15 to 45 minutes, depending on how much time you’re able to set aside.

Every entry follows a simple rhythm:

• Picture

• Gospel and Psalm passage

• Short devotional

• Prayer

• Reflection questions

If you can, start each day by closing your eyes, opening your hands, and taking a few deep breaths—just a simple way to become present and invite the Holy Spirit to meet you. The Gospel passage will shape the focus of the day, while the icon, Psalm, prayer are there to guide you deeper into God’s presence. Our hope is that you’ll walk with us this week by placing yourself in the story—through Scripture, prayer, and reflection—as a way of encountering the presence and peace of Jesus. We’re looking forward to celebrating his resurrection together onEaster Sunday, April 20th, 2025.

You can download a PDF version here.

Palm Sunday

As Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey—what we now call the triumphal entry—there was a buzz in the air. Word had spread about Him: a miracle-working, sin-forgiving, Kingdom-preaching rabbi from the line of David. Could this really be the king the prophets spoke of? The one who would finally free Israel from Roman rule?

There was real hope in the air.

Jesus entered the city riding a humble donkey, but the crowd greeted Him like royalty. They laid down cloaks and palm branches—rolling out a kind of red carpet—and shouted with joy. “Hosanna!” they cried, which means “God, save us!” It was both praise and desperate prayer.

No one could’ve guessed how this week would end. By Friday, Jesus would be mocked, beaten, and dying on a Roman cross. But He didn’t come just to free them from Rome—He came to win a deeper, bigger victory. One they couldn’t yet see.

Jesus came to rescue us all—from sin, from death, from everything that holds us captive. He came to bring a different kind of kingdom, and a freedom that lasts forever. Even now, our hearts still cry out, “Hosanna!” And Jesus still responds—gently, powerfully, completely.

Readings

Psalm 118

Mark 11:1-11

Prayer

Hosanna! My help and my deliverer: I welcome you.

I cannot see how you are working: I welcome you.

I set aside my expectations: I welcome you.

With praise and honor: I welcome you.

Hosanna! Jesus Christ, King of Kings: I welcome you.

Reflection Questions

What expectations do you carry into your relationship with Jesus? (Are there ways you, like the crowd, hope He’ll fix something specific—while missing the deeper rescue He’s offering?)

What does it mean for you to welcome Jesus as King today? (What would it look like to lay down your own version of control, success, or comfort and trust Him with your life?)

Holy Monday

When Jesus returned to Jerusalem the next day, He went straight to the Temple —and what He found there broke His heart. The outer courts, meant to be a space of prayer and welcome, had turned into a noisy marketplace. People were buying and selling animals for sacrifice, and money changers were exploiting the system. It had become more about profit than presence.

Jesus wasn’t having it.

He flipped tables, knocked over chairs, and shut the whole operation down. Then He said, “The Scriptures say, ‘My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations,’ but you’ve turned it into a den of thieves.” It was bold. And dangerous. The religious leaders started looking for a way to kill Him. But the people? They were amazed. Why was Jesus so fired up? Because the Temple mattered. Because the people mattered. He wasn’t trying to shame anyone—He was reclaiming a sacred space. Restoring it to what it was always meant to be: a place where anyone and everyone could draw near to God.

And here’s what’s wild: today, you are God’s temple.

His Spirit lives in you. And when we come together—even in our messiness—we become a house of prayer for all nations.Jesus still clears out the noise in us, not to condemn us, but to create space for something better: His presence. His peace. His power.

Part of being authentic is being self-aware. And the truth is, we’re more like the religious leaders than we’d like to admit. We have that same tendency to put on a spiritual front—to look like we’re doing all the right things—while resisting the deeper transformation Jesus invites us into. Few of us would call ourselves hypocrites, but if we’re honest, we care a lot about what others think of us. And sometimes, we forget to care enough about what God sees.

But hear this clearly: Jesus loves you as you are. He’s not asking you to clean yourself up before coming to Him. You can bring your real self. He already knows it all—your thoughts, your actions, your motivations. And still, He welcomes you.

Readings

Psalm 27

Matt 21:12-17

Prayer

Father, Son, and Spirit, I offer myself wholly to you.

Father, search me and know my heart.

Jesus, see if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.

Holy Spirit, come and make your home in me.

Reflection Questions

What parts of your life feel more like a performance than a place of real connection with God? (Where might Jesus want to flip some tables—not out of anger, but to make space for something better?)

What would it look like for you to bring your real self to Jesus today—no filters, no pretending? (What might you say to Him in prayer if you really believed He already know and still loves you?)

Holy Tuesday

At first glance, the story of Jesus cursing a fig tree can feel… odd. Was He just hangry? But when we zoom out and read it alongside the bigger story— through Mark, Jeremiah, Micah, and Matthew—it becomes clear the fig tree
isn’t just about fruit. It’s a symbol.
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In the Old Testament, the fig tree often represented Israel. So when Jesus comes looking for fruit and finds none, it’s not just about a tree—it’s about the spiritual state of God’s people. Just like the Temple the day before, it looked full of life from the outside, but there was no real fruit. No love. No justice. No faith.
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Jesus was grieved by what He saw—empty religion, hollow worship, people missing the point. And in the middle of that moment, He gives this invitation: “Have faith in God… Embrace this God-life, and you’ll get God’s
everything.” (Mark 11)
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When we start to see life the way God does, everything shifts.
Where we used to see limits, we begin to see possibility.
Where we expected defeat, we start to believe in victory.
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Faith doesn’t always look flashy. But it’s powerful.
You can’t hold it in your hands—but it can move mountains.
And when you live by it, you gain courage, clarity, and strength for the road ahead.

Readings

Psalm 16

Mark 11: 12-25

Prayer

Jesus, would you come close to us as we remember ways we have not been

faithful to you. Would you come gather us, cleanse us of all unrighteousness,

so that the weight of any festered fear and unbelief would simply wither away.

Would you give us faith to trust you and remain in your love by the renewing of

our minds.

Reflection Questions

Is there an area in your life that looks good on the outside but feels fruitless
underneath? (What might God be inviting you to change or surrender?)
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Where do you need to see your circumstances through God’s eyes instead
of your own? (What might shift if you chose to trust Him with that today?)

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Holy Wednesday

There was something about how Jesus showed up—fully present, fully aware—that drew out powerful responses from the people around Him. Sometimes it was awe and worship. Sometimes, anger and resistance. Jesus had a way of revealing
what was already simmering beneath the surface.
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On Holy Wednesday, we remember two moments that couldn’t be more different: Judas’ betrayal and Mary’s anointing.
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It’s striking that Jesus allowed both of them close. He wasn’t naive or unaware—He knew exactly what was coming. Judas would hand Him over to death. Mary would pour out costly oil, anointing Him in love and devotion. One act would
lead to crucifixion. The other would point to His identity as Messiah—The Anointed One.
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Both moments shocked the people around them. But Jesus wasn’t surprised. He saw what was in their hearts. Just as He sees what’s in ours.
And here’s the mystery: He welcomes us anyway. He’s not afraid of what we’re carrying—our fears, doubts, gratitude, grief, even betrayal. He wants to sit with us, help us face it, and begin the healing.
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But it takes courage to be that honest. Can we trust Him enough to look inward with Him? Can we be still long enough to let Him show us what’s really going on beneath the surface?

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Today, as best you can, welcome Him in. Let Him help you see.

Readings

Psalm 139

Matthew 26: 14-25

John 12:1-11

Prayer

You who bring out the deepest parts of me,

Draw near now. But do so gently, please,

For I’m not sure what may surface.

As best I can, Jesus

Reflection Questions

When you imagine Jesus fully present with you, what part of your heart or story do you instinctively try to hide? (What would it take to let Him see that part too?)

Are you more drawn to the vulnerability of Mary or the self-protection of Judas? ((Why do you think that is, and what might Jesus be inviting you to today?)

Maundy Thursday

After sharing what would be His final meal before the cross, Jesus did something shocking. He got up from the table, wrapped a towel around His waist, and began washing His disciples’ feet—something normally done by a servant. And then He
said this: “A new command I give you: Love one another. Just as I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this, everyone will know you are my disciples—if you love one another.” (John 13:34–35)
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That phrase “new command” is where we get the name Maundy Thursday. The Latin word mandatum means “command.” But this wasn’t just a new rule—it was a whole new way of living. The foot washing is more than a symbolic gesture. It’s a posture. A calling. A way of life marked by humility and self-giving love. Jesus was showing them— and us—what covenant love looks like. It kneels. It serves. It gets messy. It lifts
others up.
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So what would it look like for you to love like that? To serve others—not out of guilt or obligation, but out of a deep sense of belonging to Jesus? Jesus didn’t just talk about love. He embodied it. And on Maundy Thursday, that love was on full display—setting into motion a weekend that would change everything.

Readings

Psalm 103

John 13: 1-3

Prayer

Jesus, you came into the world as a servant, giving your life.

King of all, you bowed low and washed feet.

May we follow your example in humble love.

Strengthen us so that we may serve one another.

And, as we do, may the world know of your great love.

All glory to you Father, honor to you King Jesus, and praise to you Spirit.

Amen.

Reflection Questions

Who in your life is Jesus inviting you to love with greater humility and care? (What’s one small, concrete way you could serve them this week?)
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When have you experienced love that felt undeserved or unexpected—like foot-washing love? (How did that shape you, and how might God be asking you to pass it on?)

Good Friday

Good Friday brings us face-to-face with the question at the center of the Gospel: Who do you say Jesus is?
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On this day, Jesus was crucified between two thieves. Bloody, broken, and exposed, He hung under the weight of human sin and divine love. The crowd below hurled insults and mockery: “If you’re really the Son of God, come down from the cross!” (Matthew
27:32–55)
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But what they couldn’t see—what we’re invited to see—is that staying on the cross was the very proof of who He was.
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The cross wasn’t a failure of His power.
It was the fullness of His purpose.
It wasn’t weakness. It was love.
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One of the thieves joined in the scoffing: “Aren’t you the Christ? Save yourself—and us!”
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But the other thief watched Jesus—watched how He prayed for His enemies, how He spoke to His mother, how He received suffering with unshakeable grace. Something broke open in him. He saw something divine.

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Readings

Psalm 22

Luke 23:26-49

Prayer

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,
We want to feel the weight of our sin as we see it laid on Jesus this Friday.
Help us not to rush to resurrection, that we may know the Grace which
runs deeper than our sins on Jesus laid.

Reflection Questions

As you picture Jesus on the cross, what do you see—and what stirs in you? (What does it reveal about how you see Him, and how He sees you?)

How have you responded to Jesus in your own moments of desperation? (Has your pain drawn you closer or pushed you away? What might it look like to turn toward Him today?)

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Holy Saturday

Today is Holy Saturday—the quiet in-between.It’s the day in the story where we sit with silence and sorrow. As an old song puts it: “It was a long Saturday between His death and the rising day.”

For many, it’s just another Saturday—errands, last-minute Easter prep, grocery runs. But if we’re paying attention, today holds an invitation: to enter into the depths of Jesus’ redemptive work in a way we often overlook.

Scripture tells us that Jesus didn’t just die—He descended. Ephesians 4:9 speaks of Him going to “the lower regions,” or what was known as Sheol—the realm of the dead. This isn’t a minor footnote in the Gospel; it’s a profound piece of the story.

On this day, Jesus entered fully into death so that we could fully enter into life. Holy Saturday invites us to wait with the first disciples. To sit in the tension between grief and hope, between what is and what is to come.

It’s the space of in-between.

The silence after the cross but before the stone is rolled away.

The place of mystery, dashed hopes, and still-unseen promises.

But even here, God is at work. In the dark, in the silence, in the tomb—redemption is unfolding.

Today, we wait. And we keep our eyes on the One who moves even in the unseen.

Readings

Psalm 31

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Prayer

As the crucified body of Jesus was laid in the tomb on this Holy Saturday, so

may we await with him the coming of the third day, trusting in the hidden

work of a redemptive God.

God, grant us hearts that trust and eyes that look for your coming good, as we

wait for morning to dawn.

Reflection Questions

Where in your life are you currently sitting in the in-between—between loss and hope, longing and fulfillment? (What might it look like to trust God in the silence?)

How does it change your view of Jesus to know He entered fully into death—not to escape it, but to redeem it? (What comfort does that offer you today?)

Easter Sunday

Today we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus—the moment that changed everything and made the way for our resurrection too.
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It’s easy to think of resurrection as just a reset button, like going back to how things were before the pain or loss. And honestly, there are times we’d settle for that. But God is far more creative—and far more generous—than we tend to imagine.
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From the moment Adam and Eve left the Garden, the story of Scripture has been about God restoring us to Himself. But here’s the surprising part: God’s plan isn’t to take us back to Eden. It’s to move us forward into something even greater.
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Jesus’ resurrection isn’t about returning to an old life—it’s about stepping into new life, the kind we were always meant to live.
And it’s not just spiritual or symbolic. Just as Jesus rose in a real, glorified body, we too will experience a full, embodied resurrection.
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Everything broken will be made whole.
Everything lost will be restored.
Everything misaligned in us will be brought into harmony with God’s design: wholeness, joy, and union with Him.
We only get glimpses now. But one day, we’ll see clearly—face to face with Jesus.
Loving Him.
And finally knowing what it means to be fully loved.

Readings

Psalm 148

John 20:1-29

Prayer

You made all things once and you will make them again!

But newer and with more glory!

Wake me up to the joy and beauty of what is to come!

Let me run in the pastures of your goodness

And watch for signs of your resurrected Kingdom!

Reflection Questions

Where in your life do you most long for renewal—not just a reset, but real resurrection? (How might Jesus be inviting you into that new life even now?)

What would it mean to live today in light of your future resurrection? (What changes when you believe that wholeness and joy are not only possible—but promised?)

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