Weekly Word | April 1, 2026
Ears to Hear
Amy and the kids have been telling me for a while now that I need to get my hearing checked.
The kids have been a little more direct—and loud: “Dad! Get some hearing aids!”
I tried to play it off. Told them I was just practicing selective hearing.
That didn’t go over well.
Turns out, my gene pool—and a few too many concerts—have caught up with me… and their wish has been granted. As of yesterday, I’m the proud (and still adjusting) wearer of hearing aids.
And I’ve got to say—it’s been… eye-opening. Check that… ear-opening.
There are sounds I didn’t realize I wasn’t hearing. Little things. Background things. Subtle things. Like the hum of the refrigerator. The click of a turn signal. The softness in someone’s voice when they’re trying to say something that matters.
It’s not that the world suddenly got louder. It’s that I’m starting to realize how much I had been missing.
“Let anyone with ears to hear, listen,” Jesus says again and again.
Not just ears, but ears to hear. Because apparently, it’s possible to have ears… and still miss what matters most.
Holy Week has a way of bringing that into focus.
On Maundy Thursday, Jesus kneels down and washes his disciples’ feet. A quiet act. Easy to miss if you’re not paying attention. Love, expressed not in words—but in humility and vulnerability.
On Good Friday, Jesus speaks from the cross—not loudly or triumphantly, but in words of forgiveness, surrender, and trust you have to lean in to hear:
“Father, forgive them…”
“It is finished.”
“Into your hands…”
And still—so many didn’t hear it. (Truth be told, I’m not sure I would have either.)
Maybe because they were listening for something else. A different kind of Messiah. A louder kind of power. A victory that looked more like control than love.
It makes me wonder…what if the problem isn’t that God isn’t speaking? What if the problem is that we’re not always tuned to hear it?
Not because we don’t care—but because life is loud. Expectations are loud. Fear is loud. Shame is loud. And the voice of love—the voice of God—often comes quieter than we expect.
And then there’s Holy Saturday. The day we don’t talk about as much. The space between.
Between promise and fulfillment.
Between heartbreak and hope.
Between what was… and what will be.
It’s the day of silence. No miracles. No words from the cross. No empty tomb.
Just… quiet.
Tradition has long held that on this day, Christ descended into the depths to set the captives free. A mystery, for sure—but a powerful one to ponder:
That there is no place love will not go.
No depth it will not reach.
No darkness it will not enter.
No hell it will not descend into.
And maybe that means even here…something is still happening.
After all, this is where a lot of life is lived—in that in-between space.
Waiting.
Wondering.
Not hearing much of anything at all.
And maybe that’s where “ears to hear” matters most. Because sometimes, faith isn’t about hearing something new. It’s about staying open… even in the silence.
Trusting that even when we can’t hear it clearly, God is still speaking, still present, still at work.
So this Holy Week, here’s a simple invitation:
Slow down, just a little.
Pay attention.
Listen beneath the noise.
You might be surprised what you begin to hear. And if not right away—stay with it.
Resurrection has a way of coming…even when it seems quiet.
Much love,
Pastor Gregg
