Show Don't Tell: Matthew 17:22-23

As the sun dipped low over the rolling hills of Galilee, casting long shadows on the dusty ground, the air hummed with a mix of anticipation and unease among Jesus and his disciples. They gathered around a small fire, the crackle of burning wood punctuating the silence. The smell of roasted fish lingered in the air, yet their hearts were far from feasting.

Then, with a voice steady but heavy, Jesus broke the stillness, saying, “The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men. They will kill him, and on the third day he will be raised to life.” Each word hung in the air like a storm cloud, dark and foreboding. The disciples felt the weight of his declaration settle on them—delivered, killed, raised. The clarity of his message cut through the evening, but their ears were deafened by the reality of what they couldn’t bear to hear.

Peter, ever the impetuous one, could only hear the first part. He sat there, the taste of salty fish still on his lips, as despair washed over him like a wave crashing against the shore. “Killed?” That single word reverberated in his mind, drowning out the promise of resurrection. The cross loomed larger than life in their hearts, casting a shadow so dark that it obscured the hope of what was to come.

As grief settled among them, they couldn’t fathom the glory of the resurrection Jesus spoke of. Some truths are so profound that they require our hearts to journey through the valley of grief before they can blossom into understanding. In that moment, the disciples, much like us, were on the edge of a great paradox—caught between despair and the dawning of hope, waiting for the light to break through the darkness.