Confidence radiates from the texts we read today. Isaiah has set his face like flint, knowing that he will not be put to shame. Paul tells us that Jesus emptied himself to the point of death on a cross only to be exalted to the glory of God.

At the start of Holy Week, I find myself most grateful for the insight and foresight of the ones who originally compiled the canon of scripture. What richness is given to the church with four unique portraits of the Passion of Jesus! Some early church leaders found this same idea rather scandalous: that more than one version of the gospel would be preserved as authoritative.

When it was time, he sat down, all the apostles with him, and said, “You’ve no idea how much I have looked forward to eating this Passover meal with you before I enter my time of suffering. It’s the last one I’ll eat until we all eat it together in the kingdom of God.”

My favorite teacher in high school was Madame Roselle, who taught French and was French herself. I’ve always been an ardent Francophile. I love the language, the culture, the art, the history—all of it.

My fifth-grade teacher, Mr. Cihocki, could really give “the look.” He was a young teacher, full of idealism, eager to reach us and teach us. And I was a blurter—a kid who couldn’t help but blurt out comments and quips I thought were funny.

My eldest sister lies with her head resting against my mother’s side. My mother stroked her hair. “Honorable Number One Daughter,” my mother whispered softly. Tears welled up in my sister’s eyes.

As we begin the remembrance of our Lord’s Passion, we call to mind the failures and sins from which he saves us.

No pain, no palm; no thorns, no throne; no gall, no glory; no cross, no crown.