What Glory Really Looks Like

Five Sundays into the Easter season, we return to a surprising place.

Not the empty tomb.

Not the road to Emmaus.

Not even the seaside breakfast where Jesus tells Peter to feed his sheep.

We go back to the upper room.

To the Last Supper.

To the moment before the Cross.

To the moment of betrayal.

And that should stop us in our tracks.

The Glory We Think We Understand

Jesus says something strange that night:

“Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him.”

What? Now he’s glorified?

Not after healing the blind, walking on water, or raising Lazarus?

Not after rising from the dead?

No.

Jesus says it right after Judas leaves the table.

Right after love is broken.

Right at the moment of abandonment.

That’s when he says:

This is glory.

And that’s not how we usually think about glory.

In the world around us, glory is about reputation and power. It looks like military parades and victory speeches. It looks like conquest, strength, and success.

In ancient Rome, doxa—the Greek word we translate as glory—meant just that: reputation, honor, greatness. The kind you earn through heroism or dominance. That word gets repurposed in Scripture to describe the majesty of God.

But in John’s Gospel, Jesus completely redefines it.

Glory isn’t found in the triumph of the empire. It’s found in the love that kneels to wash feet. The love that stays, even when betrayed. The love that carries the Cross.

Jesus shows us: glory is not in greatness.

Glory is in love.

The Cross Is the Turning Point

This moment—when Judas walks out—is not just dramatic. It’s theological. It’s the hinge.

Jesus isn’t glorified despite the betrayal. He’s glorified through it. Because that’s where his love is most fully revealed.

And from there, the Cross becomes the ultimate revelation of God’s glory.

Not just as a place of suffering,but as a place where Jesus gathers all the world’s pain—every injustice, every betrayal, every sorrow—into his sacred heart of love.

He lifts it all up. And he leaves it in the grave.

And when he rises—he rises new.

Where Is Glory Now?

That’s why today, when we see suffering,when we hear stories of displacement and injustice,we are called to see them differently.

In our Episcopal Church, that calling has become painfully real. This year, Episcopal Migration Ministries—our church’s decades-long work of refugee resettlement—was defunded. Refugees en route to new homes were pulled off planes. Sent back. Their new beginning, revoked.

And then, the directive came: Prioritize the resettlement of white Afrikaners from South Africa.Ahead of those fleeing war in Sudan. Ahead of Christians persecuted in Afghanistan. Ahead of families escaping violence in Congo or Venezuela.

We had to say no.

Not because we don’t care. But because we do.

Because the Gospel of Jesus Christ does not allow us to prop up false narratives of power and privilege. Because glory belongs not to empire, but to love. And because God’s glory is revealed not in the front of the line, but in those who keep getting pushed to the back.

Archbishop Thabo Makgoba of Cape Town wrote:

“By every measure of economic and social privilege, white South Africans as a whole remain the beneficiaries of apartheid... We cannot agree that South Africans who have lost privilege should qualify for refugee status ahead of people fleeing war and persecution.”

This is not political ideology. This is Christian discipleship.

So What Will We Glorify?

A military parade?

Or the outstretched hand of someone begging for food on the street?

The comfort of privilege?

Or the love that carries the Cross?

Jesus says:

“By this everyone will know that you are my disciples,if you have love for one another.”

Not love that plays it safe. Not love that waits its turn. Not love that chooses the powerful.

But love that goes to the Cross. Love that stays at the table. Love that gives itself away.

Want to See God’s Glory?

Look into the eyes of someone who’s been forgotten. Sit with the one the world dismisses. Serve someone who can’t repay you.

That’s where you’ll find him.

That’s where you’ll find glory.

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All are welcome.

Really.