Palm Sunday, April 13, 2014 | 4:00 p.m.

A Sermon for Palm Sunday

Adam H. Fronczek
Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Matthew 21:1–11
Matthew 27:11–54

The story that began today’s service (Matthew 21:1–11) is the beginning of the end. Palm Sunday is one of the most celebrated days in the life of the church, which is in some ways strange because this story, marked by waving palms, cheering crowds, and coats laid at the feet of Jesus—this story is the beginning of the end. This story begins the week that leads to Jesus’ death.

Jesus died because his way of life was and is threatening to people. The way Jesus cared for the poor is implicitly threatening to those who have more than they need. Jesus’ healings, his care for the sick, convicts those of us who have good healthcare while others go without it. Jesus’ saying render to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s, protects religion, but it also sets limits on the power of the empire, the government, or the corporation. Jesus’ questioning of the law and his reminders of true religion are a threat people like me when we do not practice what we preach. We as Christians love the stories of Jesus, but there is a side to him that threatens our comforts and conventions—and that is why they put him to death.

Jesus knew he was a threat. As he neared Jerusalem, where his greatest enemies would be found, he sent his disciples for a colt and a donkey, and he rode that humble colt into town as people spread palm branches and even their very own coats along his path and welcomed him as a king. It was a fulfillment of prophecy, yes, and it was also a threat. It was ironic street theater in which Jesus highlighted the ridiculous pride of most people who parade into the cities with horses, chariots and trumpets, only to oppress the people they claimed to serve. The week began with a threat.

During the week that followed, Jesus continued to teach; he reminded people that the current patterns of the world are not permanent; he overturned the tables of the moneychangers at the temple, threatening those who used religion and commerce to take advantage of the poor.

Then on Thursday night the tone changed. At the time of the Passover, Jesus shared a meal with his friends. He explained to them that soon he would no longer be with him as he had been before; from now on his presence would be different. They didn’t quite understand, so in an attempt to explain the unexplainable, he did things. Jesus, who would call upon them to live lives of service, bent down and washed their feet—every last one of them. Then they shared a meal. He took bread, and broke it and gave it to them and said, “Take and eat, this is my body broken for you.” He took a cup and said, “This cup is the new covenant between us—drink all of it.” “Soon I will be gone,” he said. “Do this to remember me and to remember what I taught you.”

We share something with the people of Jesus’ day. We still aren’t ready for what Jesus wants. We live as if money will create for us the happiness and security we lack; we live as if whatever power or authority we have is something to be waved about in the faces of those who have less of it. We live as if standing behind this table or serving this bread and cup is something to take pride in, rather than an act of service. We live as if Jesus’ call to justice is for someone else to worry about, as if caring for people who are poor or hungry is someone else’s job. Unbelievably, though, we share something else with those people. Even though those ancient disciples were resistant to the challenges present in Jesus’ teaching, he shared the meal with them—and he shares it with us. Jesus welcomed all of them to the table and every one of them was a saint and a sinner, a good person created in the image of God, and a lost soul full of regrets and shame and failure. We share that goodness and that brokenness with those ancient disciples. And like them, even though we have failed, we are forgiven. God loves us still.

The story we remember in the week to come is that the people who were Jesus’ followers lost him. This week is a time of loss. We all know loss in our lives: the loss of a job, a spouse, perhaps even a child, the loss of health or vitality we once had, the loss of a core belief that we once held quite strongly, the loss of something for which we had hoped, perhaps the loss of a dream.

Religion is irrelevant if we never talk about loss in church. If we sing only happy songs or tell only the stories with happy endings we are being dishonest with each other about life. The house of God must be a place where we can think about and experience loss. The house of God must be such a place so that we will never forget an important truth: that the God who created this world and all of us—that God too knows loss.

So tonight we will hear God’s story of loss. We will celebrate the Lord’s Supper together as Jesus did around the table with his disciples, and then we will close our service by reading, at length, the story of God’s loss—the betrayal, arrest, trial, and crucifixion of God’s Son, Jesus.

I trust that you will be back next Sunday to celebrate Easter, to hear God’s promise of new life, to take heart in the gift of the resurrection and that is very good news. But during this service and in the course of the week to come, consider this: In order to realize the power of what happens on Easter, in order to realize the lengths to which God has gone to prove that God loves you and that God understands, you must try, for this week, to forget about Easter. You must first consider the cross. You must consider, as one theologian has stated it, that the tomb to which Jesus goes is not a tunnel with light at the end; it is a cave where there is total darkness. It is a place where even God realizes the pain of loss. Only in fully knowing that truth can we promise one another that there is nowhere you can go in life or even in death, where God will not go with you. Amen.

The service concludes with the Service of Communion and the reading of the Passion Narrative (Matthew 27:11–54).