Praise and Petition — And here's why

A sermon for Palm Sunday, 2020

Would you pray with me?

O Lord, save us. Amen.

What a heartbreaking day Palm Sunday is. What a deeply, deeply sad day this day marks. If Holy Week, the week between Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday, is a roller coaster, Palm Sunday is the final click of the coaster on its initial climb out of the gate. The crowds in Jerusalem have no idea they’re standing at the edge of a cliff. They think they’ve made it to the top of the hill. They think they’ve come to their new home. But we all know that they are about to be thrown downward and tossed around for a week.

I just can’t get the crowd on Palm Sunday out of my mind. I’m caught up in their hope, their exuberance. Jesus is here! Jesus is here, now, right in front of us! The ancient promises have been fulfilled in our time. We are going to see a day with no more war, no more violence, no more oppression, no more needless death. No more Rome. No more back-breaking taxes that only make the rich richer. No more being excluded from the Temple if we can’t make the right sacrifices. No more begging, no more wanting, no more struggling. Jesus is here! The world is about to change!

Can you feel it?

Can you feel what that crowd was feeling?

Can you feel the hope so real and so powerful you can taste it, smell it in the air?

It smells like palm branches and sweat, like spices from a market and whiffs of air from coats, like dirt and a donkey and freedom. It sounds like a chant, maybe quiet at first, but growing and growing until it seems like it’s coming from everywhere. They’ve been shouting, praying, Hosanna for so long that it’s become just another way to say, “Hail!” when before, long ago, in different times, it used to mean, “Save us.”

This is what Palm Sunday sounds like. Praise and petition so closely woven together, you can’t even tell the difference between the two. Palm Sunday sounds like a prayer you’re sure, you’re convinced, you know has been answered.

God, they’re so sure! How could they not be? All the signs of salvation are there. Jesus, riding on a colt, fulfilling a prophecy, or so Matthew tells us. But Jesus, coming into town the same way a victorious general would, only he’s not here to shame and intimidate and frighten. He’s the prince of peace and he has come into Jerusalem triumphantly. The whole city is abuzz. Everyone knows that things are about to change. The crowd that greets him, that throws coats and branches in front of him, that chants for him, they follow him to the Temple and he kicks out the money changers and starts preaching new stories, new parables, a new way of living. This tragically hopeful crowd takes in all they can of Jesus, and they’re delighted to see that those in charge have noticed that a change is gonna come and they’re looking a little nervous.

All the signs are there.

The Messiah has arrived.

Now, it’s important to remember, as the rollercoaster of Holy Week continues, that there’s nothing in the text that suggests that it’s the same crowd who welcomes Jesus in on Sunday who will condemn him on Friday. I’ve heard it said that, in sermon after sermon, that that’s the case, that we should all have a little humility, because we’re are all, in the end, the people who love Jesus one day and hate him the next. We all, if we were there, would have condemned him too. Humans are fickle. Our minds can be changed with the slightest breeze. All it takes is someone in power to goad us and the masses will change their minds.

But I don’t think that’s so. I don’t think you can say that, not in the face of the hope-so-strong-you-can-taste-it, hope-so-strong-you-can-smell-it, hope-so-strong-you-can-feel-it, hope that could heal you if you could just reach out to the hem of its robe. The Palm Sunday crowd has been longing for salvation too long and they’ve seen and heard too much truth from Jesus, and hope and truth don’t just leave us. Hope is frail, but it’s hard to kill. Truth is hard to grasp, but these people have felt it in their bones. I say to you that the people who shouted Hosanna on Sunday were not the ones who shouted Crucify on Friday. At least, not all of them. And that’s the tragedy.

See, Jesus comes into town, bringing the hope-so-strong-you-can-smell-it, and teaches and preaches as the town prepares for Passover celebrations. The stir that started with the Palm Sunday parade spreads throughout the town, a bubbling low-boil that will be in danger of spilling over on Good Friday. But here’s the key—even though Jesus is making a stir, he’s not universally known. He’s not recognizable on sight. That’s why Judas has to betray him with a kiss: the soldiers don’t exactly know which one he is. The Hosanna Chorus set Jerusalem on edge, but all of Jerusalem wasn’t in that crowd.

It’s the people who have had their festival disturbed by these Jesus followers, the people whose lives could be overturned, and not in a hopeful way, who have gathered to try to convince Pilate to let Jesus Barabbas go and crucify Jesus the Messiah. Remember, the disciples have scattered. Anyone who could be associated with Jesus has made themselves scarce. It’s the people who have enough freedom already who are shouting crucify. It’s the people who think they’re already safe who are scared enough of the change Jesus brings to want to kill him. It’s not hope that drives them. It’s fear.

And yet, it had to be this way. There had to be a drop from the height of Palm Sunday because the prayer that was answered on Palm Sunday wasn’t big enough. It wasn’t enough that some of the people who had come to Jerusalem for the festival understood the hope that Jesus brings. Jesus doesn’t come in force. Jesus doesn’t set up free by violence. Jesus could have called down angels of vengeance, but that’s not what Love does. Love looks like, sometimes, like being willing to humble yourself in order to save others. Jesus knows the truth: Humanity will not be redeemed until all of humanity is redeemed. We can’t end on Palm Sunday. We have to make it all the way to Easter. Salvation is for those who shout Hosanna and those who shout Crucify. Salvation is for those who can truly only offer praise and those who can truly only offer petitions.

We are going to turn to the rest of Holy Week, telling the story, our story, the story of Jesus’ Passion, for the rest of this service. We’ll focus more strongly on the Last Supper on Thursday, the lament of the crucifixion on Friday, and the deep sadness and longing of the tomb on Saturday, but today, we’ll tell the story. As we tell it, as we go through it, I want you to think for yourself: which crowd are you in today? Are you hopeful, desperate for salvation, and confident that in Jesus it has arrived? Or are you scared, afraid that even the little you have will be taken from you? What is your heart shouting in this season?

Know, though, that no matter where your heart is, it can go through a painful change. Judas betrays Jesus. The Roman centurion swears that he must be the son of God. Can we cling to hope, even in these hard times? Can we find hope, even in the midst of fear? Can we trust God with the change God is working? Because if we can, if we can trust God through this painful time, then it won’t be a Palm Sunday that we wake up to, when all of this is over. It won’t be a celebration for the few who get it. It’ll be an Easter, an Easter that promises a new life for us all.

So let’s turn to one of the last gifts Jesus gives his followers before his crucifixion: the Last Supper. If you haven’t already, now is the time to do as the disciples did and prepare. Grab a grain of some kind and a drink so that we might remember the Lord’s Supper together.