Palm Sunday
April 13, 2014
The Rev. Christopher L. Caddell
There is no getting around it.
Of all the Sundays in the church year, today’s service is the most full service that we experience all year long. From the blessing of the palms, to the procession, to the reading of the Passion, there is so much going on here that it is hard to take it all in.
Perhaps that is not an accident, and is rather by design. We are, after all, entering into the most full week of the church’s year. It is the one week of the entire year that is set apart – rightly named Holy Week – and it is the week in which we are expected to gather each day of the week for worship, prayer, and contemplation of the acts that surround Jesus’ passion, death, and burial. Participating in this week prepares our hearts and minds for the resurrection and the fullness of joy that comes with Easter.
But we are not there yet, and Palm Sunday greets us with an invitation to jump in to the deep end of the pool, to be completely immersed in the week that is to come without placing our feet on the bottom, and waiting until that first Easter Eucharist to proclaim “He is risen.”
With all its fullness, Palm Sunday is not simply an invitation to begin Holy Week. It stands on its own andflooding our senses with a series of images and words that overwhelm our emotions. It is hard not to get caught up in the drama of what is happening in this service.
The excitement that surrounds Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem is palpable. Crowds line the streets. Cloaks and palm branches are laid down in front of Jesus as he enters the city. The noise of the crowd is deafening.
But in less than a week, that energy will turn.
The shouts of “Hosanna to the Son of David” fade away as the picture becomes more clear. This Messiah, this Jesus does not seem to be concerned at all with the Roman occupation, but rather with his own people. Instead of marching to the governor’s headquarters, he goes straight to the Temple. This Messiah is not at all like David. This is not a military leader who will drive out foreign occupation and unite the tribes of Israel under one kingdom.
This is a Messiah who is there to challenge his own people.
A confrontation in the Temple.
A plot is hatched.
A late night arrest and a hasty trial.
Friends and disciples run for their lives.
Others who were on the fence stand back and watch.
The cries of “Hosanna, save us, son of David,” give way to “Crucify him!” – Get rid of him. We have no use for him.
It is not enough just to drive him out; he must be dealt with once and for all. And so to show what happens to those who challenge authority, who challenge the status quo, he is humiliated, beaten, and given the worst possible means of death.
What began with a triumphal entry into the city seems to end with the body of Jesus being sealed inside the tomb.
For those who have been engaged in the Adult Education class over the past four weeks, you know that the question that has been raised again and again by this trial narrative is “Where do you stand in the midst of this?”
Of course, our first reaction is that of the disciples around the table at the last supper. “Surely not I, Lord!”
I would not do this.
If I had been there,
I would not have been one to desert him.
I would not have betrayed.
I would not have denied.
I would not have yelled, “Crucify him.”
And yet, when it comes to us shouting “Hosanna to the Son of David,” or to put it more in terms that we use today, “Help me, God,” our answer is not quite so emphatic.
When our salvation seems to require something of us,
When it requires that we change,
When it challenges our ideas of what salvation looks like,
Or when it opens the possibility that God’s promises do not necessarily mean that we are comfortable and content or without hardship or suffering,
And worst of all, when it seems that our salvation is intimately tied to walking the way of the cross with Jesus, dying to the self, so that new life can be brought forth,
When the events that we have just experienced call forth a change in us, then that “Surely not I, Lord” does not have the same force or conviction. When Jesus’ presence challenges who I am (or who I perceive myself to be) then it is all to easy to move away from him and to join the with anyone else in this narrative.
The invitation of this day, indeed all of Holy Week, is to enter into the trial and death of Jesus asking ourselves, “Where do I stand?”
Do I choose to stand with Jesus, or do I choose to stand with where I am comfortable, unchallenged, and unchanged?
Will I choose God’s vision for me, or simply accept the normative vision that the world gives? – this is power, this is authority, this is who I am in that system.
One thing is sure, choosing the latter moves us no closer to that salvation that we so deeply long for.
Standing with Jesus at his trial is the place where we learn both who Jesus is and who we are, and it brings us into contact with a God whose imagination is much broader than our own, whose ideas for His creation are much bigger than what we could ever imagine, whose plan for salvation might be much different than we ever expected.
The fullness of this day and week are an invitation. And it is one worth taking. It is one that opens us to the possibility of new life, life that is lived in abundance now and eternal. But it requires that we stand with Jesus first.
May the fullness of this day and of the week to come be a blessing – not a comfort, but a blessing – in helping you move closer to Jesus, the Messiah, the one who chooses to save us with God’s vision and not our own.
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