Preparing the Way, Wherever We Are
Wednesday, April 1, 2026
written by Rev. Erik Khoobyarian
This year, I missed Palm Sunday.
Not by choice, but by necessity. Illness has a way of interrupting even the most meaningful rhythms of our lives. As I rested and recovered, I found myself thinking about what it means to miss a “holy day.” Palm Sunday, after all, is one of those moments we mark with intention—waving palms, retelling the story, gathering as a community to begin the journey into Holy Week. And, of course, the donkey providing a physical connection to the text.
And yet, I wonder: what is it we are really being invited into on these days?
It is easy—understandably so—to emphasize presence. Showing up matters. Gathering matters. There is something sacred that happens when we are together, when our voices join, when we physically inhabit the same space and story.
But my absence this year nudged me toward a deeper question: is presence the point, or is it preparation? Is it living into the Gospel each day?
Palm Sunday is, at its heart, a story about people preparing the way. They spread cloaks on the road. They waved branches. They cried out with hope and expectation. They recognized something sacred unfolding in their midst and responded with their whole selves.
And that kind of preparation is not limited to a single day—or a single place.
As we move through Holy Week toward Easter, we are reminded that resurrection is not simply an event we attend once a year. It is a reality we are invited to live into, again and again, in the ordinary and extraordinary moments of our lives.
What does it look like to embrace resurrection each day?
It might look like noticing a neighbor in need—and choosing compassion over indifference. Resurrection, in that moment, is the quiet but powerful act of love that says: suffering does not have the final word.
It might look like walking through grief or illness and still holding, however gently, to hope. Not a forced optimism, but a steady trust that even here, even now, new life is possible. Resurrection, in that space, is not loud or triumphant—it is tender, persistent, and real.
It might look like a celebration, too. Joy is not separate from resurrection; it is one of its clearest expressions. When we give thanks, when we delight in one another, when we recognize goodness and name it aloud—we are participating in the unfolding of new life.
In all of this—in our personal stories, in the story of our church, in the life of our communities and our world—the resurrection matters. Not just as a belief, but as a way of being. A way of seeing. A way of responding.
So yes, gathering on holy days is meaningful. It shapes us, grounds us, reminds us who we are. But the deeper invitation is not confined to a sanctuary or a calendar.
The deeper invitation is this: to prepare the way for Christ wherever we are.
In our homes.
In our neighborhoods.
In hospital rooms and quiet mornings.
In conversations and small acts of courage.
In grief and in joy.
Even in absence, the work continues. Even when we cannot be present in the ways we would choose, we are still participants in the story God is telling.
As we move more deeply into Holy Week, I want to extend a simple and sincere invitation: come and be part of the story as we tell it together.
These sacred days—Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday—offer us a rhythm, a space, and a language to encounter the fullness of the resurrection story. They help us slow down enough to feel it, to wrestle with it, to be shaped by it. There is something powerful about gathering, about hearing the story aloud, about walking it together as a community.
I would love for you to be there.
And at the same time, I want to say this just as clearly: resurrection is not limited to these moments.
If you are able to come, may these services deepen your experience of the story.
If you are not, may you know that the story is still unfolding—in you and around you.
Because the invitation of Easter is not only to attend, but to live.
To notice life where it is emerging.
To embody hope where it feels fragile.
To practice love where it is most needed.
Whether we gather in a sanctuary or find ourselves elsewhere, we are still preparing the way. We are still participants in resurrection.
And that is a story big enough to hold us all—every day.
Holy Week at Pinnacle
Good Friday Prayer Stations
Friday, Apr. 3
10 am - 6:30 pm | Memorial Garden
Wisdom of the Desert Fathers and Mothers
Wednesday, Apr. 1
5 pm | Chapel Library
Good Friday Midday Worship Service
Friday, Apr. 3
12 pm | Chapel
Lenten Vespers
Wednesday, Apr. 1
6 pm | Chapel
Pinnacle Concert Series presents: Stabat Mater by Pergolesi
Friday, Apr. 3
7 pm | Sanctuary
Maundy Thursday
Thursday, Apr. 2
7 pm | Chapel