Sermon Title: "From Palms to Passion"
Date: March 28, 2010
Minister:  Rev. Susan Bjork

Lesson:  Luke 19:28-40

 

Palm Sunday is a threshold by which we enter the final days of the Lenten season, which we call Holy Week.  In the Gospel narratives, the entry into Jerusalem is the point in the story where Jesus’ ministry, his action in this world, and his sense of Divine call converge once more in preparation for what will end up being his final days and actions in this life.  And Jerusalem is where all of this takes place.

Palm Sunday is the day on which we commemorate this turn towards Jerusalem, this journey into Holy Week, and all of the awe, the terror, the mystery, the sorrow, and the hope it holds.  And so on this day we join in spirit with those original followers of Jesus as they processed alongside him and entered the city gates.

This parade that took place that day is reminiscent of a royal processional in many ways.  In Luke’s version of the story, there are shouts of praise that quote ancient prophets and psalms from “a multitude of disciples” who were touched by Jesus’ ministry, many of whom may have been pilgrims bound to Jerusalem for the Passover who got swept up into the crowd and all of the excitement.  They laid down their cloaks on the path for Jesus as he rode by on the back of a young donkey and shouted “blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”

“King,” they called him, and yet this was a different kind of king and a different kind of royal parade.  Instead of a conqueror or victorious military figure returning from battle; this king is a rabbi from Galilee.  Instead of a valiant warhorse, this king rides on the back of a working farm animal.  This king’s reign looks different than the earth-bound reign of Rome or any other kingdom Jesus’ followers had known.  This is a king who would bring peace to the people and glory to God.

And yet, many of those in that crowded palm processional probably hoped that Jesus would be a king who would deliver them from their immediate situation and Roman occupation.  They wanted a Messiah who would restore the children of God to God’s city, Jerusalem.  They longed for the visible redemption of Israel.  And none of those things happened, at least not in the way that they had imagined and hoped they would happen.

Instead, the story of Jesus Christ took a turn from palms to passion.

I will be honest and say that I have often wondered if Jesus really knew what he was getting into when he left Galilee and set off towards Jerusalem.  Certainly on some level he knew.  He had to know that the challenges and conflicts he would face there would be more intense than any he’d experienced thus far and would very probably take his life. 

And certainly Jesus felt that he was on a mission, in touch with the divine guidance within him that led him towards Jerusalem and all that would transpire there.  But, I’m not sure he had total foresight of what would happen, how every little detail would play out, how every single card would be dealt.  His struggle in the Garden of Gethsemane, his prayer of desperation, seems to suggest otherwise.  He longed for another way; he longed to be delivered from the suffering he faced.  He experienced the fullness of the human condition, after all, and doubt is part of that.

Nevertheless, something deep within drew Jesus toward Jerusalem.  He had to face, head on, the forces of domination and systemic evil that could and would easily kill him.  Sure, Jesus had been pushing some of the boundaries against Roman authority for awhile, but going to Jerusalem brought the debate to a new level. 

A professor of mine in college once said “Jesus could have stayed in Galilee and ‘shot the breeze’ with Pharisees until he was an old man, but he didn’t.”  He headed into the heart of the conflict instead.

Fred Craddock, a Disciples of Christ minister and a well known teacher of preaching, suggests that this Palm Sunday processional into Jerusalem was not only an expression of adoration for Jesus, but also a sort of protest march, a standing up against the seat of political power in 1st century Palestine. 

Many of Jesus’ own close disciples probably had great hope in this entry into Jerusalem, hope in the saving grace of God which they were desperate for, hope for release from their suffering.  However, this more direct approach, this act of protest, was likely unsettling to some. 

And, as we all know, by Good Friday many, including Judas and Peter had betrayed, denied, and fled once the palm waving had long since passed and Jesus’ passion was an all too real experience.

You see, Palm Sunday is a paradox of sorts, holding within it both endings and beginnings; fear and hope; the very real possibility of great suffering and yet the very real hope for liberation and new life. 

It’s not very surprising that this public display would incite both great enthusiasm and great worry among Jesus’ followers, Peter and Judas among them.

You know, I wonder if sometimes we too easily brush off the very real doubt and fear that the disciples felt.  And I wonder if sometimes we are too quick to condemn their actions without paying enough attention to these human doubts and fears that lay beneath the actions of some of the disciples, particularly Judas.

When I was growing up, every Holy Saturday my father and I would dye Easter eggs together and while we did that we would listen to the original rock opera recording of Jesus Christ Superstar on my dad’s reel-to-reel tape player (usually at a ridiculously loud volume, which my mother just loved).  And then, by the way, we would listen to an Iron Butterfly album because that just happened to be on the tape after JC Superstar.  It’s one of my favorite family traditions.

Now we could debate the biblical scholarship of Jesus Christ Superstar, but it does have some insightful moments.  And one of its strengths, in my opinion, is the very human, conflicted, tragic character of Judas who thought he could help Jesus, but instead ended up betraying the very one he revered most. 

In the musical, Judas actually has more lines than Jesus and it is he who articulates all of the doubt, all of the rational arguments against stirring the political waters, and the deep fear surrounding the escalating events of Jesus’ life after he takes this turn towards Jerusalem.

Judas’ opening song contains these words:

Listen Jesus do you care for your race?

Don't you see we must keep in our place?

We are occupied

Have you forgotten how put down we are?

I am frightened by the crowd

For we are getting much too loud

And they'll crush us if we go too far  

Listen Jesus to the warning I give

Please remember that I want us to live

But it's sad to see our chances weakening with every hour

All your followers are blind

Too much heaven on their minds

It was beautiful, but now it's sour

Yes it's all gone sour

You can hear the fear in these words.  And I think it’s the same fear that the Pharisees in Luke’s Gospel expressed when they asked Jesus to tell his followers to quiet down.  And truthfully, this is a fear that I can hardly imagine.  I’ve never lived in an occupied land.  I’ve never had to stand up for something that might actually get me killed. 

There are plenty of people in our world, however, for whom this is a very real fear.  Jesus’ followers were not the first to experience this, nor were they the last.

In many ways, Jesus had so much to stop him; so many people trying to convince him to take a different course of action, so many reasons to throw in the towel and return to Galilee, but that is not what he did.  Instead, Jesus progressed forward on his processional into Jerusalem, even unto death, to pain, to mockery, to desertion and betrayal.

And Jesus answered this fear and doubt along the way with a simple affirmation that even if all of the multitude of people were silenced, the very stones, the very earth upon which we stand would shout out praise to God.  Nothing could stop the creation’s praise of its creator, sustainer, and redeemer, not even death.

It’s hard to fathom how Jesus found the strength and courage to continue on this treacherous journey.

Perhaps the psalmist articulates the best answer:

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;

thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:

and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

There is an important lesson to be found in these words; there is an important lesson to be found in Jesus’ courage.

God is with us every step of the way.  We cannot escape God’s love and grace.  Even on the most frightening, difficult, reality-shattering journeys of our lives, through the pain, through the joy, through the sorrow, the fear, the courage, the hope, the disillusionment, and the liberation, God’s love endures.

This is the paradox of Palm Sunday.  Frightening though the journey may be, we are never alone and all creation conspires to give God praise even on the rocky path to uncertain destinations.  And so, on we walk with Jesus, into the dark valley of Holy Week, gazing in hope and anticipation toward the bright horizon of an Easter morn that is not yet here.  Amen.