Good Friday services were well celebrated within my Afro-Baptist ecclesial tradition. And unlike liturgical settings, where gathered worshipers depart from the service in silence to await the jubilant praise of Easter Sunday, our Good Fridays were often the most energetic services of Holy Week. They were also the zenith of each preaching year and usually featured sermons on Christ’s seven last words.

Many of us have heard a sermon preached on the sixth word, “Tetélestai!,” ...

It is often when conditions seem the most damp and dark, when the rain has poured and patience runs thin, that green shoots of new life will begin to emerge. The seed that has died and been buried is the one that will emerge on the other side of decay in a multiplication of life.

I held the desiccated bundle of plant matter in my hand and looked up at my friend who had just given it to me. “What is it?” I asked, while turning it over to see bits of dirt still dried onto tendrils that ...