palm/passion sunday

the two main readings i reference in my brief sermon for this sunday were:

palm processional: mark 11:1-11.

the passion according to mark 14:1-15:47.

This Sunday is probably the busiest liturgical day of the church year.

We journey from what is deemed the triumphal entry into Jerusalem, although what we have on Palm Sunday is not one, but two entries into Jerusalem.  At the west gate of Jerusalem, Pilate, the governor and enforcer of Roman rule, comes in for the Passover.  Pilate comes with a full parade of Roman power, soldiers everywhere, horns blasting, powerful and majestic horses, and everyone, of course, bowing down to the power of the empire, peace by threat of violence.

Through the east gate,            comes the true ruler.  Jesus borrows a donkey—stubborn, tough, and certainly not pretty—and enters to his own cries of praise for God’s reign, God’s dominion.  And so the people proclaim the one who is to be true ruler in what becomes a mockery of the one who thinks he’s in control.

Our cries of Hosanna are joyous and excited for the one we believe will overthrow the Romans, the one we want to lead us into a final, violent battle for freedom, for victory.  And yet, as we journey with Jesus’ followers toward the Passover and what we will come to know as Holy Week, our Hosannas are quickly left echoing on the road as we gather in an upper room for a last supper with our Teacher, where we hear of betrayal from within our own community.  In the meal where Jesus feeds us with the bread and wine that is life for us, he binds us together in his one body.  Preparing us for our journey of discipleship, for the betrayals to come, and for the terror of the night ahead of us.

Confronted with the reality of our failings, we are quick to say “Surely, not I?”  As Jesus speaks truth to us of the reality of our sins, the reality of our humanness, that we will fail, we will mess up, we will even mess up big time, we begin our denials.

“Surely, not I?”  I will not be the one to fail.  I will not be the one to mess up.  I have the courage to follow you.  I will not—cannot fail.  I can do it.  I can be it all.  I will not betray you, I will not deny you.  I will die for you.

“Truly I tell you,” Jesus says, “this day, this very night, you will deny me.”  And even though Jesus knows the sad truth that we can’t admit to, he still feeds us with bread and wine.  He still gives us his body and blood.  He gives his life in love for us.  

 Jesus lets us try to live up to our words and ultimately stands by us even as we, crumbling under the pressures around us, under nerves and stress, give in and say with Peter, “I do not know or understand what you are talking about.” “I do not know this one you are talking about.”  And in that moment, perhaps we really don’t know.  Perhaps we really don’t understand that man named Jesus.  How could he be so faithful?  How can he allow this torture?  How is he not gathering the troops?  How can he win when all we see is him losing?  How can he rebuild from this?  How can this already be the end?

As the night grows deeper, bringing us into the morning dawn, we witness Jesus’ situation grow graver, until we are given a choice between one who has brought terror and death in the insurrection and The One who brings life.  We chose right in our Hosannas on the road into Jerusalem, but this time we have chosen wrong.  We choose violence over life, war over peace, calling out “Crucify him!”

Torture and death will be his lot.

As we see him bleed, as we see him suffer, as we see him die, we see love poured out, we see life.  We see God, who chooses to come to us, dwelling with us, even in our pain, our brokenness, our denial, suffering, and sorrows.

Christ dies, the curtain tears, all separation between us and our God is finished.  And then—then we hear from the ones who do not belong.  The ones who have not been following this man named Jesus.  They have been more enemy than friend or fellow disciple.  Yet it is Pilate who calls him the King of the Jews and it is the Roman centurion who proclaims that “truly this one was God’s son.” 

Out of the unlikely mouths of babes, perhaps, come sweet Hosannas.  And from even more unlikely sources we receive the assurance that this man we follow, Jesus the Christ, is truly God’s son.  Even in the midst of this death and despair, this cannot be the end of the story.  It cannot, because, in fact, it is just the beginning.

Amen.