Holy Tuesday: Hiddenness, Surrender, and Light
John 12:20-36 NRSVUE
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Holy Tuesday asks us to pause and notice what’s happening beneath the surface.
Jesus is in Jerusalem, surrounded by expectation, pressure, and watchful eyes. And still, He speaks plainly: “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain. But if it dies, it bears much fruit.”
This isn’t abstract poetry meant to sit on a page. It’s real. It’s grounded. And it’s costly. A seed doesn’t become fruitful by trying harder. It becomes fruitful by letting go, by trusting the dark, by releasing control, by allowing itself to be hidden for a while.
God has taken me through seasons like that. Seasons where I felt unseen and unsure of myself, where things slowed down, where nothing made sense. At the time, it felt like I was being forced to step back, to be less busy. It was hard; I resisted, wrestled, and didn’t understand. But over time, those seasons refined me. They showed me what I was gripping out of fear and what God was asking me to trust instead. Hiddenness wasn’t punishment. It was preparation. Surrender didn’t come overnight. It came slowly, breath by breath, until I learned to let go and let God hold it all.
Learning to follow Jesus has changed me in ways I didn’t expect. I clung to the roles I carried, the routines that kept me busy, the familiar ways I measured my worth. Even the good things I was doing in God’s name sometimes felt safer than actually trusting Him. I thought I was serving Him, but often I was serving my own fear, my own need to feel in control. And yet, even in the middle of all that, I could feel Him quietly guiding me, reminding me there was a different way. Following Him kept asking me to loosen my grip again and again, to let go of what felt reliable so something truer could take root in trust, not in my own striving.
And somehow, my body knew it before my mind could catch up. My shoulders were always tight, carrying more than I realized. My stomach stayed in knots, my breath short, like I was bracing for the next thing before it even happened. I could keep moving, keep going, keep “handling it.” But actually resting without guilt? That felt impossible. Every muscle, every shallow breath, they were all saying the same thing before I even knew how to put it into words.
It was in the quiet moments, sitting still, letting my body sink onto my mat, resting my hands in my lap, unclenching my hips, that I began to learn what surrender really feels like. Slowly, my shoulders softened. My breath found space. My chest opened a little. My body was learning the same thing my heart needed to hear. Letting go doesn’t mean failing. It means being held.
Jesus goes on to say: “Whoever serves me must follow me.”
And here’s the truth I’ve come to hold close. Following Him isn’t about perfection. It’s about direction. About choosing faithfulness over performance. Peace over pressure. About letting obedience live in your body, not just in your words.
Our bodies are part of this story. They remember what we carry. They show us where we are guarded. And they also know how to soften, how to yield, how to be held. They are living reminders that surrender is a process, not a one-time act.
Later, Jesus speaks of light: “Walk while you have the light… Believe in the light.” Not the light you’re waiting for. Not the clarity you wish you had. Just the light that is here. Right where you are. In your body, in your breath, in your hands.
For many of us, this feels tender. We lead others toward the light while quietly carrying our own questions, our own doubts. Holy Tuesday reminds us that faith isn’t about having it all figured out. It’s about staying present. Awake. Willing.
Surrender and light belong together. We release what is no longer life-giving so we can walk more freely in the light we have been given. We loosen our grip, not because God demands it, but because our bodies and spirits are tired of carrying what was never ours to carry.
Reflection
Take a moment. Breathe. Let your body settle.
What feels like it’s being buried right now? What are you holding onto that’s keeping you from new life?
Where in your life is God asking you to let go, without rushing the growth?
How does your body respond when you think about surrender, about really letting go?
Where do you notice light, even if it’s just a small flicker?
There’s no need to push for answers.
Holy Tuesday is an invitation. To pause. To feel. To stay present with what’s real in your life and your body. To trust that what you release, what you lay down, isn’t gone. It’s being transformed. It is becoming something new.