Sermon for Palm Sunday; March 28, 2021
Jesus, when you rode into Jerusalem the people waved palms with shouts of acclamation. Grant that when the shouting dies, we may still walk beside you, even to a cross. Amen (New Zealand Prayer Book, Collect, p. 580)
Often, when I read Scripture in my own devotions, I imagine myself one of the characters, walking beside Jesus hearing and learning from his teachings as if they were spoken specifically for me. It is a spiritual practice I find very meaningful.
But today, on Palm Sunday, I find myself resistant to entering this part of God’s story. The Passion Gospel we hear this morning is as difficult and painful as it is familiar. And, truth be told, I would rather not identify with the participants in today’s Scripture.
I don’t want to be Peter in this story. I’d rather not imagine myself the one to whom Jesus comes in the Garden of Gethsemane and finds asleep. I don’t want to bear the burden of hearing Jesus say to me, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and keep awake.” I don’t want the responsibility of being the confidante of Christ in his hour of need. I don’t want to be Peter in the Passion story because I know he will deny Christ three times. And I’d rather not be that person.
I don’t want to be Judas either. No one wants to identify with him. He’s the traitor after all. The bad guy who betrays Jesus with a kiss.
I don’t want to be Pontius Pilate or the High Priest. They are the ones with the authority to decide Jesus’ fate. I don’t want to be the Priest who heard Jesus declare that he is the Messiah, the Son of the Blessed One and then accuses Jesus of blasphemy. I don’t want to be Pilate who hears the testimony against Jesus and must decide whether to free him or have him killed. I don’t want to be in the position of being able to release Jesus, only to be driven by the crowd to execute him instead. It would not be good to be Pilate.
And I certainly don’t want to be Jesus. Not today. It’s too overwhelming to even try and identify with Christ at the moment of his Passion. I don’t want to know the despair and the sorrow that Jesus feels the night he pray in the garden. I’d rather not know what it is to cry from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
No. I would just assume look at the Passion from a safe, unimpassioned distance. But today is Palm Sunday, and we can’t do that. Today is the day in which we all are forced to play a part in the Passion of our Lord. -The day when we have to struggle with the uncomfortable reality that we do have a role in the story we tell today.
As much as we might be temped to- today is a day when we should not put roses on the cross to make it easier to accept. We cannot gloss over the events of the Passion and jump straight to the Alleluias of Easter without spending time living the story for ourselves. We cannot leave it to others to play our part in the Passion.
We may not want to admit it, and we may not like it, but we all are a little bit like Peter, who sleeps and denies rather than ministers and proclaims.
We all are a little bit like Pilate and the High Priest, in that we share in the conviction that sentenced Christ.
We are all a little bit like Jesus, in those moments when we find ourselves lost and alone in our faith. -When our fear leaves us feeling abandoned, even by God.
And we are very much like the crowd, the passersby, who gather around Jesus and experience a range of conflicting emotions as they hail the arrival of the Messiah, waving palms as he enters Jerusalem, and then turn around and call for his crucifixion.
I have heard it suggested that every Christian, throughout the ages, is present at the foot of the cross. In that moment of sacrifice, we are united in our grief, in our complicity, and in our salvation. So, too, we all find ourselves in the throng that greeted Jesus as he arrived in Jerusalem.
We are part of that crowd that waves the branches of palm. All glory, laud and honor to our redeemer King. And then, within minutes, we who are members of that crowd outside of Jerusalem find ourselves members of another vastly different crowd, shouting for the death of the Messiah.
It’s an emotional roller coaster we ride every Palm Sunday. We are on a twisted path, privileged to shout and proclaim our faith in Jesus one minute, and calling out for his death the next.
Palm Sunday forces us to confront that juxtaposition- as uncomfortable and challenging as it is. It is a day which forces us to admit that we can and should identify with the people in this story. Because the Passion is more than a story. It is the record of one of the most emotionally powerful episodes of our collective faith. It is part of the history of God’s life with us. And we are part of the narrative. We participate in the events we commemorate, capable of praising Christ in one moment and forsaking him the next.
I am sure I am not alone in having friends (and family) who have chosen not to be part of a church. Many of those I know stay away because they see churches filled with hypocritical folk who say they believe in God but then don’t lead particularly faithful lives. Why bother being Christian if they’re no better than the rest of us, one friend asked me.
She was a bit surprised at my response when I agreed that we church folk are no better than the rest. And that’s just the point. We don’t follow Jesus because we are not sinners, but because we are. We live out our lives of faith doing the best we can, but knowing that we are perfectly capable of praising Christ one minute and forsaking him the next. We know we can be invited to stand by Christ’s side in his time of need and instead be found asleep. To be a Christian does not mean to be perfect. To be a Christian is to be convicted by the roles we play in today’s Gospel. To be a Christian is to be reminded by our liturgy today how easy it is to forsake the God who died for us, at the same time we proclaim him as our Messiah.
Saint Paul writes that “God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8). Throughout this Holy Week, we will be reminded of the sins and faithlessness which contributed to the death of Christ. But, as we all know, the story does not end today. It does not end with the cry of Jesus from the cross, or with our guilt for the roles we play in his Passion. The story, in fact, is just beginning. And one week from today, we will rejoice again. Thanks be to God. Amen.