Weekly Word | March 25, 2026
Death by Chocolate
I saw something on Sunday that honestly blew my mind.
A four-layer, over-the-top display of dessert goodness.
Sue Janda baked something that, in all my years of eating, I’ve never seen before.
Death by Chocolate, she calls it.
And I have to say, if Lent had a nemesis, this might be it.
This wasn’t just a dessert. It was an event.
Layers upon layers of chocolate. Candy bars stacked like bricks. Chocolate chips, peanut butter cups, things I couldn’t even fully identify but was more than willing to trust.
It had a red ribbon around it, like it knew it was a gift. Or maybe a warning.
I had a piece. And yes… it was so good it almost killed me.
I guess we don’t usually hesitate when it comes to what delights us. No one had to explain that cake to me. No one had to outline its benefits or say, “You should really consider participating in this.”
I just stepped in.
And it made me wonder: What if faith—at its best—is meant to be experienced like that? Not something we have to force ourselves into. Not something we have to understand before we lean into. Not something we approach cautiously, like we’re not sure it’s for us.
But something we recognize, almost immediately, as good. Something we’re drawn toward, not out of obligation, but because something in us simply says, yes.
I think sometimes we’ve been handed a version of faith that feels more like obligation than delight—more like something we should do than something we actually want.
But when Jesus talks about life—real life, abundant life—it never sounds like that. It sounds like something you would move toward. Something that, once you’ve tasted it, you realize… this is what I’ve been hungry for.
There’s a line in the Psalms that says, “Taste and see that the Lord is good.”
Not analyze and see, not prove and see, not get it all figured out first and then see.
Taste.
Lent has a way of helping us notice that. It clears some space, quiets the noise, and frees us from clinging to the things we thought would satisfy us—but ultimately don’t.
Not so life becomes smaller, but so it becomes more expansive—so we can recognize what is actually good, what is life-giving, what is worth saying yes to.
Now, I’m not suggesting that Sue’s cake is a sacrament. (Although… I’m not saying it’s not, either.)
But I am saying that sometimes the clearest glimpses of truth come in moments of simple, honest delight. A moment where, without overthinking it, you just know—this is good.
And maybe faith—real, lived, breathed faith—is less about convincing ourselves of something and more about learning to recognize and trust what is truly, deeply good.
Much love,
Pastor Gregg
