Palm Sunday: Leave it all on the field

Luke 19: 28-48

 

We’ve just heard the story of what we have come to call Palm Sunday. Jesus triumphantly enters Jerusalem, cloaks and coats are spread to ease his journey as the crowds cheer. It’s an exciting, joyful day. We echo this tone of celebration as we wave palms, sing “All Glory, Laud, and Honor,” and shout “Hosanna!” We hear that nothing could hold back this praise—the stones and rocks themselves would cry out if the people could be silenced. All the earth joins together in praise of Jesus.

 

Yet, even on this day, we have to know what’s coming. This is the beginning of Holy Week, and before the Easter Resurrection, there is much that happens. Jesus’ Last Supper, Betrayal, Crucifixion, Death. It would be great if our reading for the day simply ended with the excitement and praise of the crowds as Jesus entered, but the day doesn’t end there. Jesus knows what’s about to happen, and he laments for Jerusalem.

 

“If you, even you, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes.”

 

There’s a saying—it’s maybe a little cliché, but it captures what’s happening today. Leave it all on the field. Some might say leave it on the court or stage or some other applicable scenario, but let’s stick with the football metaphor. Leave it all on the field.

 

Jesus knows what’s going to happen, but he doesn’t back down, retreat, or play it safe. He goes all in and leaves it all on the field. Our gospel text describes him teaching and challenging and continuing his ministry after entering Jerusalem.

 

We’ve been talking about discipleship (following Jesus) for six weeks now—all of Lent. Now, we won’t be walking up a hill to be crucified—that’s Jesus. Saved the world from sin, joined in eternal life. That’s Jesus. We’re not him.

 

We are called to follow him, his example. To leave it all on the field. To really put ourselves out there to serve God’s world. Realistically speaking, what would it look like for us to lift someone from poverty, to make sure someone entering here knows that he or she is really welcome—already part of the “us.” What would we do to pass on the faith that we’ve inherited to the children  and youth in our church—so that the ones who are waving palms this morning have a faith to claim when they are 25/30 years old?

 

Are we changed by Jesus’ presence in our lives, or was that all just talk?

 

When we hold back and make this place a place of convenience and comfort for ourselves, we are just talk. When we’d like to have programs here but do nothing to help implement them, we are just talk.

 

When we step on to the field, we live it. When we reach out to welcome friends and strangers, we are something more than talk. When we bring ourselves and our children to worship, we are more than just talk. When we go for the endzone rather than the comfort zone, we are living like Jesus has changed our lives and that matters.

 

In our gospel readings, Jesus weeps over what’s to come, but he doesn’t run to the sidelines of a comfort zone, either. He stays on the field—leading, teaching, serving. This week, we follow his journey to the cross. There won’t be a dismissal today after the Sending Song, because our worship isn’t over—it continues through the rest of Holy Week.

 

We will meet again here on Thursday to remember the story of the Last Supper, and again we will not hear the dismissal, because our worship isn’t over. It continues out of this building and back into the world of our daily lives this week.

 

As we live through this week, remembering Jesus’ final days on earth, we are called to think about how his life impacts ours. How Jesus’ presence in this world makes a difference for our lives. How we live as those who follow him.

 

Leaving it all on the field isn’t a punishment or obligation—it’s an opportunity. To know that however it turns out, every step was taken with a purpose and a hope. Hope that we can affect the world around us for the better and purpose to try to make that hope a reality. To work with our teammates, with that support, as we move forward.  

 

We wave Palm branches and celebrate. We shout Hosanna and sing All Glory, Laud and Honor. We go all out and rejoice in the moments that we have to rejoice, we grieve in the times that we have to grieve, and we don’t hold back. We ask that here on earth God’s will be done—that we may live for others and serve the world God made.

 

We leave it all out on the field. Empowered by the Holy Spirit, we continue in this Holy Week, following Jesus on this journey we call life.

Palm/Passion Sunday Sermon--April 17

This sermon focuses on two gospel texts. The Palm Processional reading, Matthew 21:1-11, can be found here. The Gospel of the Passion, Matthew 27:11-54, can be found here.


The sun will rise tomorrow—even if it’s cloudy, there is a lighter/darker split to the day. Air will go into our lungs, and then out again—adding oxygen and removing carbon dioxide. Triangles will have three sides. Water will freeze at 32 degrees Fahrenheit.

We have certain expectations of our world. Our expectations are generally based on past experience informing our present reality. For the most part, our expectations of the non-human world are pretty common and relatively similar. Triangles have three sides, the sun rises and sets as the earth spins on its axis.

Our expectations for ourselves become a little more complicated. They resemble something a little more like potential or ambition rather than fact, and they tend to differ a bit for each individual. Perhaps your expectations for yourself are general ones like filing your taxes each year (like last Friday) or completing your homework assignments or attending church, or perhaps they’re more specific like buying a car next year or reading a book this week or signing up to be a volunteer next weekend. Self-expectations tend to be based on ability and self-awareness.

Then there are those expectations for others—that gets really complicated because these can be based on everything from your perception of that person’s identity and ability to their relationship to you and the world. Expecting a friend to call or a political leader to pass or reject a bill, you get the idea. Expectations are everywhere.

And there are expectations at church this week—Holy Week. Today, we begin what is roughly 7.5 hours’ worth of a worship service this week—or 14 hours depending on how many of the services you attend more than once. There is no communion today because we continue with that part of worship on Thursday. We clearly have expectations that this week will be different from other weeks at church, and today—Palm Sunday—we expect certain things as well—that Palms will be here when we arrive, that we will process with them and that we will hear the story of Jesus riding into Jerusalem.

In our story, we discover that the crowds that gathered around Jesus as he entered had their own expectations, too. Matthew’s audience would have been very familiar with what Jesus riding on a donkey and colt into the town meant.

Hearing or seeing this, they would have been able to recall their Scriptures. “He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war-horse from Jerusalem; and he shall command peace to the nations; his dominion shall be from sea to sea and from the River to the ends of the earth…For I have bent Judah as my bow; I have made Ephraim its arrow. I will arouse your sons, O Zion, against your sons, O Greece, and wield you like a warrior’s sword.” That’s from the 9th chapter of Zechariah, right after the part that says “your king comes to you…humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” Seeing Jesus riding on these animals, the expectation of what is to come—cutting off the chariot from Ephraim and rising against the empire as a sword—would have naturally followed for this crowd.

Today, we processed with our own Palms as we recalled that story. When I was younger, I loved this part of the church year—waving around the palm, so excited to welcome Jesus. I hope there was some of that excitement and expectation in you this morning as we walked in. Palm Sunday—the triumphal entry into Jerusalem. We processed around the church as the crowds did around Jesus—through the church and into the sanctuary. And where do we end up after that ceremony of celebration? Looking ahead and facing the cross.

In just a few days, the tide of the people’s temperament will turn. They will yell, “Crucify him!” and beg for the release of Barabbas over Jesus the Christ. We may debate loudly over who killed Jesus and deserves that judgment, but are we very different from these crowds? I don’t really think so. Take a look at their situation—they change their minds quickly about a public figure based on the influence of their leaders. You can think of tabloids and paparazzi, or, even more seriously, government officials. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t know which politicians voted which way on what bills unless I had that information spoon-fed to me by CNN or MSNBC, and I make choices based on what they say.

Then there are the characters of Barabbas and Christ. One is a known criminal to Rome, which means he may have been physically fighting or wielding the sword as it were against the empire—think Zechariah and expectations again. The other is a quiet person that shows no prospect of overthrowing the oppressive rulers, but will simply die for their sake. How often do we choose those who loudly proclaim to fight on our behalf or wield the power of the sword over those who quietly work for peace or take a hit so that our mistakes don’t affect us? It’s an ongoing human condition based on our expectations.

What are our expectations? The crowds expected Christ to overthrow the government and free them from their oppressive rulers. Outwardly, Christ fails to fulfill the expectations of the people. Yet he goes outside and beyond expectations, even if it can’t be seen at the time, and opens to us a different way of being in and thinking about the world which we are invited to share. Christ doesn’t go to war with the empire at the time to free the Israelite nation—he goes to the cross and wages war with sin and death to free all the nations of the world.

If we are called to follow this example, what are our expectations of ourselves? I’m not talking about taking the blame for something you didn’t do, or passively suffering through something alone, but I am talking about considering whether we settle for just getting by, or whether we expect more from ourselves.

How do we follow through on living in the different realm Jesus has showed us is possible?

How do we offer our prayers, our praise, and our lives in response to all we know we have been given?

Facing the cross, reminded of what is ahead, we can ask these questions. Because we have been freed from the power of sin and death, we can consider how we will respond to this gift of grace through our lives. We may fail, and we may succeed. Jesus has made it possible to try. Amen.