There’s something about this time of year that feels like it moves faster than it should. The calendar fills up. The weather starts to shift. There are baskets to fill, meals to plan, schedules to coordinate. And before we know it, Easter is here… and gone. But this week–the week leading up to Easter–was never meant to be rushed.

In the Christian tradition, we call it Holy Week. It’s a journey through some of the most meaningful moments of Jesus’ life: celebration, betrayal, suffering, waiting… and ultimately hope. And if we’re honest, it’s also a journey that looks a lot like our own lives.

Because right now, many of us are carrying more than we let on. We’re living in a time that can feel divided and uncertain. We see conflict in our world, tension in our communities, and sometimes even distance between people who once felt close. It can be heavy. And in the middle of all of that, Easter arrives.

This year, in our church’s G.I.F.T. (Growing In Faith Together) Program, we’ve been focusing on a simple but powerful idea: God’s goodness is always present–no matter what. We’ve been holding onto the words of Psalm 23, where we’re reminded that even in the darkest valleys, we are not alone.

But here’s the thing–those words are easy to say when life feels good. It’s much harder to believe them when life feels uncertain, heavy, or broken.

That’s why Holy Week matters. Because it doesn’t skip over the hard parts. It doesn’t rush from joy to joy. It walks us through the full story–through waving palm branches and shouted praise, through quiet prayers and deep sorrow, through the cross and the silence that follows.

And maybe what we need most this Easter… is not to rush past that story. Maybe we need to pause long enough to actually feel it. To sit with the humility of a Savior who chose love over power. To notice the depth of a sacrifice that was made for all people. To recognize that even in the moments that looked like loss… God was still at work.

Because if God’s goodness can be present there–in betrayal, in suffering, in the unknown, then maybe it can be present in our lives, too. In the stress we carry. In the grief we don’t always name. In the divisions that feel too big to bridge.

In the questions we don’t have answers for.

Psalm 23 doesn’t promise that we won’t walk through valleys. It promises that we won’t walk through them alone. And that’s what Easter ultimately reveals. That hope doesn’t come from everything going right. It comes from knowing that love holds us, even when things feel wrong. Even in a world that feels fractured, God’s goodness still finds a way.

So, here’s a simple invitation this week: Pause. Before the celebrations and traditions take over, take a moment to slow your heart down. Notice where you’ve seen God’s Goodness lately–maybe in a small kindness, a moment of peace, a person who showed up when you needed them. And as you notice it, consider how you might be that goodness for someone else. A kind word. A moment of patience. A simple act of showing up. Because sometimes the way we see God’s goodness most clearly… is when we live it.

And if it’s hard to see? That’s okay too. Sometimes faith isn’t about having clear answers. Sometimes it’s about being willing to look again… and trust that God’s goodness is still there, even if it feels hidden.

The story of Easter isn’t just something that happened long ago. It’s a reminder that light still breaks through darkness. That love still shows up. That hope is still coming. And maybe–just maybe–that’s something worth slowing down for.

May you find space to pause and notice God’s Goodness this Holy Week.

Sarah Anderson is the Faith Formation Director and Synodical Authorized Minister at Trinity Lutheran Church