“Simon, Simon, behold, Satan demanded to have you, that he might sift you like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned again, strengthen your brothers.” Peter said to him, “Lord, I am ready to go with you both to prison and to death.” Jesus said, “I tell you, Peter, the rooster will not crow this day, until you deny three times that you know me.” (Luke 22:31-34)

These words from Jesus to Peter are filled with both warning and hope. Satan’s desire to “sift” us like wheat isn’t some vague threat—it’s a violent shaking, meant to break us down, separate, and destroy us. But right in the middle of that terrifying reality is the profoundly comforting words of Jesus: I have prayed for you.

Jesus knew Peter would fall, and He also knew Peter would rise again. He didn’t pray that Peter would be spared from the test—He prayed that Peter’s faith would not fail. That’s the difference between a total collapse in condemnation versus a redemptive stumble in conviction.

Peter, in all his boldness and pride, responded with confidence, Lord, I am ready to go with you both to prison and to death. But Jesus knew that while Peter had an emotional response, his flesh was too strong to allow him to follow through with standing firm in persecution for Jesus’ sake. Before the rooster would crow, Peter would deny even knowing Jesus, and not only once, but three times. We often believe we’re stronger than we are, and pride tells us we’ll stand firm, but Jesus sees the real condition of our hearts. Pride sets us up for a fall, but humility invites God’s grace to uphold us.

And yet—Jesus didn’t disqualify Peter. Instead, He said, When you have turned again, strengthen your brothers. What a gracious invitation to redemption, restoration, and refinement. Faltering doesn’t end our story; it becomes the foundation for future service IF we allow God to work in us.

There’s a key moment we often overlook: in John 18:15-17, Peter is at the gate, and John—the other disciple—tries to help him. He speaks to the servant girl to let Peter in closer, to be near to Jesus - but Peter stays back. That servant girl then asks him, You also are not one of this man’s disciples, are you? And the first denial is born. Peter had a chance to lean in and take help in getting closer to Jesus, but he let his fear guide him, and instead of drawing near, he distanced himself—and that’s when the denials began.

God often sends people into our lives to walk with us, sharpen us, and hold us up—but our pride to do it all ourselves and our fear of being seen, tends to push them away. We were never meant to do this alone. Faith flourishes in fellowship. Iron sharpens iron, but only when it’s willing to make contact. Peter was vulnerable when he was alone on the outskirts, and the same is true for us.

The beauty of the Church is that those who were once completely broken become the ones who God uses to help others heal. The cycle continues, grace flows, and Jesus still prays for us—for our faith to hold, for our hearts to turn, and for our hands to help others do the same. So, when we stumble—and we will—let us not be ashamed to return, receive God’s grace and forgiveness, and then fulfill the calling Jesus gave: when you have turned again, strengthen the brethren.

A dispute also arose among them, as to which of them was to be regarded as the greatest. And he said to them, “The kings of the Gentiles exercise lordship over them, and those in authority over them are called benefactors. But not so with you. Rather, let the greatest among you become as the youngest, and the leader as one who serves. For who is the greater, one who reclines at table or one who serves? Is it not the one who reclines at table? But I am among you as the one who serves. (Luke 22:24-27)

It’s a striking contrast: just moments after Jesus reveals that He’s about to suffer and die, the disciples break into a debate about who among them is the greatest. Pride has a way of showing up even in holy moments and it blinds us to the deeper call of Christ—to lay ourselves down in service, not elevate ourselves in status, title, or position.

Jesus didn’t rebuke them harshly. Instead, He called out how what they were doing was like the very people they had frustrations with and redirected their thinking. He pointed out that in the kingdoms of this world, greatness is measured by power, prestige, and position. But in HIS kingdom, greatness is defined by humility and service. He didn’t just teach it—He lived it.

If we want to be like Jesus, we must check our pride at the door. Pride has no place in kingdom leadership. The model Jesus gives us is upside-down to the world: the last will be first, the servant will be the greatest, and those who humble themselves will be exalted by God—not by people.

Jesus didn’t just wash feet as a symbolic act—He washed the feet of men who would betray, deny, and abandon Him. That is the level of service He modeled. It wasn’t glamorous, it wasn’t praised by others, but it was holy. And He calls us to do the same.

If we aspire to lead and be good, godly leaders, we must first learn to serve humbly. Not just when it’s convenient or applauded, but especially when it’s messy and unseen. Leadership in the kingdom isn’t about managing people from a platform—it’s about getting down in the trenches, setting the tone, and being an example through action, not title. A leader who asks others to scrub the floors but won’t pick up a mop themselves is not a kingdom leader—they’re a hired manager playing a role.

The call to lead is a call to die to self. If we’re unwilling to do the lowest task, we’re not ready to carry the weight of leadership. Jesus didn’t consider anything beneath Him, and neither should we. So, let’s ask ourselves honestly: Am I leading like Jesus? Am I willing to do the “bottom of the barrel” tasks without complaint or superiority? Do I expect others to do what I say, even when I’m not doing it myself? Do I find joy in serving others, even when no one sees or no one is serving me?

The greatest in the kingdom aren’t the ones being served—they’re the ones doing the serving. So often, we either step onto a pedestal in pride or others put us there in elevating our leadership position when it shouldn’t be. Regardless of how we got there, let’s be purposeful to step off the pedestal, pick up the towel, and follow the example of our King by washing the feet of others, regardless of who they are.

And when the hour came, he reclined at table, and the apostles with him. And he said to them, “I have earnestly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. For I tell you I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.” And he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he said, “Take this, and divide it among yourselves. For I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.” And he took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” And likewise the cup after they had eaten, saying, “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood. (Luke 22:14-20)

When the hour that directly led to His crucifixion had come, Jesus had the Passover meal with His disciples and said, I have earnestly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. In those genuine and tender words, we glimpse the deep longing of our Savior’s heart—not just to share the Passover meal, but to share Himself. That moment was not only leading to the final moments of Jesus’ life, it was unveiling of a new covenant that would forever change the way we relate to God.

The Passover meal celebrated Israel’s deliverance from slavery in Egypt. But Jesus, the true Passover Lamb of God, knew that He was about to accomplish a far greater deliverance—freedom from the bondage of sin. As Jesus took the bread and the cup, He established a new covenant. The bread, representing His body given for us, and the cup, His blood poured out. These were tangible signs for us to have as we remember His love and the salvation He secured through His sacrifice on the cross.

Jesus’ words in verse 16 are striking: I will not eat it again until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God. This points us forward to a feast yet to come—the marriage supper of the Lamb described in Revelation 19:9. One day, we will sit at a table in the kingdom with Jesus Himself as our bridegroom, no longer remembering His sacrifice in shadow or looking forward to the day of our redemption, but in celebrating its fullness in glory with Him.

Until that day in heaven, He calls us to remember. Not out of ritual, but out of relationship. Jesus said, Do this in remembrance of Me. Communion is more than bread and juice—it is an invitation to come to the foot of the cross with our hearts fully surrendered with thanksgiving, and to behold the One who gave everything so that we might have life.

Paul reminds us in 1 Corinthians 11:28 to examine ourselves before we partake. It’s easy to let communion become routine, something we merely do rather than something we experience in Christ. But Jesus did not go through the motions on His way to Calvary. He suffered, He bled, and He died with deliberate love. So we, too, are to come to the table with deliberate reverence, gratitude, and self-reflection. We must be fully present and aware of the cost of our salvation and the grace that now covers us.

As many of us get ready for Seder dinners, communion on Good Friday services, and Easter Sunday, let us not partake of this gift lightly. Jesus earnestly desired to eat that final Passover because He earnestly desires communion with us. May our hearts mirror His longing, and may every moment we partake be a fresh encounter with His mercy and a deeper commitment to walk in the freedom He purchased for us.