I am so sad to miss out on an in-person Palm Sunday with
you. I love the triumphant singing and
the parade and the waving of the palms.
It is a different Sunday from any other, but such a perfect beginning to
such a Holy Week.
On this day, in Jerusalem, there would actually have been two
parades coming toward each other. The
other isn’t mentioned here, partly because it was assumed.
We have this one that Matthew tells us about, we’ll talk about
that more in a minute. The other one comes from the East. It was the Imperial Procession of Pontius
Pilate, made every year so that the Jewish people would know that Rome was more
powerful and important than their religious holidays. It was a
military parade of the leader coming into the city in case there was a riot
among the Jews. This time near Passover
was a time when the Jews were thinking of their deliverance from Egypt and more
liable to rise up against their oppressors, the Romans. It was
a parade with cavalry and foot soldiers, weapons and armor, wagons and banners,
finery and feathers, a band, marching feet, and lots power. It was meant to show who was really in
charge.
Compare that with Jesus’ triumphal entry coming from the West,
on a donkey with her nursing colt beside her, in plain worn clothing, with
palms instead of swords, cloaks spread on the ground, a fulfillment of
scripture from long ago, a nothing group of people who were nonviolent,
unarmed, and unassuming. This is unplanned, plain and common, using found
and handy objects such as cloaks and branches, declaring a very different kind
of ruler in charge.
These two parades were polar
opposites, but both revealed the values of the people who participated in them,
both revealed what mattered to the people who marched in them. Although we can’t gather for any parades, I
think these two parades reflect the two realities we’re reflecting on, right
now. Two ways of living.
We might feel pulled toward the parade
of Pilate, to make a show of power and affluence, to brag about how much we can
get done in a day, to admire fine clothes or fine posts on Facebook, to try to
earn the most money and have the most stuff.
I have marched in this parade many times. I have tried to prove myself by how many
hours I could work. I left my kid at
school and childcare 9 hours a day. The
other hours I was cooking and arguing with him about homework and getting ready
for school or bed. My husband spent 3
hours a day commuting, going to one meeting after another where very little was
accomplished.
We were in the fast-paced parade of
Pilate. We were earning enough we could
buy luxuries. We were burning a lot of
fuel, but so was everyone else. This all
seemed necessary to keep up, for life. Our days were focused on work like most
people we know. And maybe we’d get to go
out to dinner once a week and enjoy ourselves.
We thought this was the only parade, but now we march in a new parade.
This other parade feels slower,
gentler, kinder. My husband is out of a
job and I have fears about finances and worries about the church. But now we don’t set the alarm. We go at a slower pace. We’re stuck at home. We spend a lot of time together. We cook together, eat together, work
together. There are few arguments.
Sterling has even tried a bunch of foods he would never touch. He is thriving in this new situation.
It is a more leisurely parade. We’re riding on a donkey—it’s an old clunker,
nothing fancy but it runs. There aren’t any fancy outfits. We can wear our slippers 24-7 now. No one is here to judge our wealth by our car
our clothing. Whereas, just a few weeks
ago the police were sweeping the parks of the homeless, now suddenly there is
space for them in a school gym. Whereas
just a few weeks ago we couldn’t find a way to keep our fossil fuel emissions
lower, or let people work from home, all of a sudden now we can. Whereas just a few weeks ago you had to be
able to get to church to enjoy the sermon, prayers, and songs, all of a sudden
anyone with internet can join in and I even snail mailed the service to people
who have no internet. Our world all of a
sudden seems more compassionate, a little slower, a little less shiny, no
impressive shows of power and might, but just staying home to keep ourselves
and others safe. I’ve heard a lot more
people saying they are spending more time in prayer. I know I am.
I have a walking prayer practice, now.
As I walk the neighborhood 3 or 4 times a week I hold our congregation
and neighbors and world in prayer.
I’m not saying that everything was
wrong with the previous life we lived or that everything is right with the one
we’re living. Far from it. The Roman Empire made huge advances in
architecture and engineering. I was
enjoying serving my congregation with confidence and ease. Now I am struggling to the point of having a
stomach ache some days, trying to make technology work. This new life is showing an alternative to
what I simply accepted as a given before and makes me think I don’t want to
entirely return to the normal of previous days.
Today we cry “Hosanna.” It means, “Lord save us!” A few weeks ago we were rushing around trying
to save ourselves. Now we realize that
we’re helpless and dependent on each other.
We need each other even as we stay away from each other. We need each person to be responsible. No one is spared, rich or poor, powerful or
weak, smart or slow, even young people are getting the virus. So now that we realize that we are helpless
and vulnerable, we too, shout Hosanna!
Lord Save us.
But Jesus doesn’t save us the way we think he should. He didn’t save the Israelites by whisking
them away to the land of Canaan. He
trudged with them for 40 years through the wilderness, to show them a new way
to be. We think he should hand us a cure
or let us get back to the fancy parade.
Instead he walks with us in our fears and goes to the cross. He dies and asks us to die with him. He asks us to stand up to injustice and to
give up our comforts and usual way of life.
He’s asking us to look at the gifts we already have in our possession
and to let go of almost everything we’ve ever known. He doesn’t even save himself.
Hosanna! Lord save us from slavery and oppression by
opening our eyes to it. Lord save us so we can recognize our sin and turn from
it. Lord save us from our love of money and displays of wealth. Save
us from overwork and neglecting our family! Lord save us from arrogance,
from needing to be important. Lord save us from idolizing public
leaders. Lord save us from judging others based on their rank or
possessions. Lord save us from believing that people get what they
deserve. Lord save us from abusing and destroying your beautiful
creation. Lord save us from wasting our time and resources honoring those we’re
afraid of. Lord save us from self-importance. Lord save
us from ourselves.
When God was leading the Israelites out of Egypt, which is what
is celebrated at the Passover that the folks this morning are entering
Jerusalem to celebrate, God wasn’t just saving them from something, from
slavery and oppression. God was saving
them for something, new life in the promised land.
Lord save us for humility. Save us for the freedom to
limit ourselves so that someone else can thrive. Lord save us for relationship and
understanding. Lord save us for peacemaking. Lord save us so
we can slow down and appreciate your gifts to us. Lord save us for noticing
and elevating the needs of those who suffer the most. Lord save us
for deep listening, even if it’s over the telephone. Lord save us
for sharing our gifts and resources and appreciating the gifts of others. Lord
save us for sharing the truth of who we are and the experiences we’ve
had. Lord save us for standing up to the powers that crush and
abuse. Lord save us for the transformation of our unjust
systems. Lord save us for good stewardship of our time and money and
gifts. Lord save us to glorify you. Lord save us for
stretching ourselves and learning new ways to be the church. Lord save us for the good of the whole
community of creation. Save us Lord,
from ourselves. Save us Lord, for each other, for life, and for
you.
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