I Love A Parade
Sermon
Sermons On The First Readings
Series II, Cycle A
Object:
I love Palm Sunday. It's that wonderful day when we march boldly into town waving our palm branches and loving the parade. Yes, yes, I admit. It's probably the parade I like as much as what we're shouting about as the donkey saunters by. But I do. I love Palm Sunday. And did I say, I love parades, too?
I remember as a kid going with my mom every year to the Memorial Day parade in the small upstate New York town where we lived. It was exactly what you might imagine it to be. The high school band marched proudly, along with the veterans and the fire trucks and the mayor riding in a convertible he borrowed from the local dealership. The Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, 4-H, and on it went. The fife and drum corps and the local National Guard unit was also present, usually with some impressive military hardware to display. Every year we sat at the curb, waving, yelling, drinking grape soda, and getting sick on cotton candy.
It wasn't until years later that I learned about the subtext of the parade. It wasn't until I was well into young adulthood that I learned in any serious way that this parade was about all the people who had died in our nation's never-ending litany of wars. My mind goes back to the gaggle of veterans who usually marched as best they could behind the National Guard unit. I never imagined or even dreamed of what horrors they might have seen. Later, after the parade, when everyone went to lay wreaths at the cemetery, my youthful mind simply didn't grasp the sense of loss that undergirded this annual celebration.
Later on, I learned that much of life operates with a subtext, or a story running just beneath the surface of what seems to be going on. I think Palm Sunday is like that. Yes, we have the parade. We have the palm branches and the coats paving the roadway. We have the people shouting loud "Hosannas," and in its own way, it is not unlike those parades I witnessed as a child.
The subtext, or underlying story, of Palm Sunday is not the past, but the near future. Everyone was shouting and cheering, but one wonders what was going through the mind of Jesus. He knew what was coming. It couldn't have been much of a celebration for him, could it?
When I read this passage from Isaiah, I read it like it's the subtext for the Palm Sunday parade. "The Lord God has given me the tongue of a teacher that I might know how to sustain the weary with a word...." I think of Jesus' ministry and how these words describe so much of his teaching. Yet, here he is on the back of a donkey. Not much more teaching left. Instead, God is the teacher, opening Jesus' ear to the realities that sit just a few days away.
Through the din of the crowd's shifting allegiances, Isaiah gives depth to Jesus' ride into Jerusalem. No rebellion or argument will be offered. There will be no resistance to the blows that are to come. The jaw is set; the direction clear. Salvation is and will always be with God and God alone. Even in humiliation and degradation, God is the vindicator. "I will not be put to shame."
It is a good thing to read this passage side-by-side with the Palm Sunday passage in John 12. Indeed, it's a good thing to try to discern the stories beneath the stories and to hold these two passages in tension. It's also a good thing for us to try to go deeper as we pass out the palm fronds and celebrate today. This is why as we ponder the heart of Jesus on the road into Jerusalem, I am moved to wonder about the story beneath the story for us as a people.
We are eager enough today to be those Palm Sunday people, aren't we? As I say, I love a parade. We spend hours decorating the sanctuary and preparing the music, just for this moment, right? Some of us, though, and I include myself here, don't really want to go beyond this joyful moment. We like it just like it is. What will come, will come soon enough, won't it? Why languish in Isaiah's dogged focus on obedience?
Could it be because, in the end, this is all about obedience? Sure, it's about Jesus who in his humanness had to have some second thought, but in the end gave it all up for us. And in turn, the obedience is offered to us, not as a collar for a puppet God to bring us to heel, but as a gift that will lead to our own salvation. In a world like the one in which we live, the idea of obedience is a hard one to absorb. We bristle at the thought. We rebel. Most of us don't like the idea of anyone being "the boss of us." We'd rather go our own way and make our own decisions. In fact, our nation is the product of a rebellion, and we hold dear the notion that we are free to pursue our own happiness pretty much anyway we want. Yet that freedom, for we who claim Christ, is tempered by the radical obedience that leads this parade into Jerusalem and to the cross.
The truth is that this freedom to do whatever we wish is really a kind of slavery. Paul writes, "For you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become slaves to one another" (Galatians 5:13). Without Isaiah's subtext to ground us, it's hard to keep the obedience of Jesus before us. Without the obedience of Jesus, even to the point of death on the cross, what have we to claim except the so-called freedom of self-indulgence?
On Palm Sunday, sisters and brothers, what we begin to unwrap is the most powerful reality of our faith. That is, that self-giving love is redemptive. We see this in God's gift to us in Jesus' sacrifice on the cross. In his self-giving love, we are redeemed. All of our brokenness is lifted from us. All of it. But it doesn't stop there, because we are called to take up the wonder of self-giving love and to practice it in our lives as individuals and as church.
Jesus lays it out for us with stunning clarity. "Very truly I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and in fact, will do greater works than these ..." (John 14:12).
We do not have the excuse of putting Jesus on a pedestal and backing off in disingenuous awe. We have the challenge, the call to obedience, to give ourselves in love to others. In this salvation story, we have much joy to claim, but it is the deep and abiding joy that comes in willing obedience to God's call to us in Christ Jesus to take the cross and follow him (Mark 8:34).
So, as I said, I love a parade. I love parties, too. Let's celebrate this triumphal entry into Jerusalem together, today, but let's be mindful of the story beneath; the story of life-giving radical obedience to God. Amen.
I remember as a kid going with my mom every year to the Memorial Day parade in the small upstate New York town where we lived. It was exactly what you might imagine it to be. The high school band marched proudly, along with the veterans and the fire trucks and the mayor riding in a convertible he borrowed from the local dealership. The Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, 4-H, and on it went. The fife and drum corps and the local National Guard unit was also present, usually with some impressive military hardware to display. Every year we sat at the curb, waving, yelling, drinking grape soda, and getting sick on cotton candy.
It wasn't until years later that I learned about the subtext of the parade. It wasn't until I was well into young adulthood that I learned in any serious way that this parade was about all the people who had died in our nation's never-ending litany of wars. My mind goes back to the gaggle of veterans who usually marched as best they could behind the National Guard unit. I never imagined or even dreamed of what horrors they might have seen. Later, after the parade, when everyone went to lay wreaths at the cemetery, my youthful mind simply didn't grasp the sense of loss that undergirded this annual celebration.
Later on, I learned that much of life operates with a subtext, or a story running just beneath the surface of what seems to be going on. I think Palm Sunday is like that. Yes, we have the parade. We have the palm branches and the coats paving the roadway. We have the people shouting loud "Hosannas," and in its own way, it is not unlike those parades I witnessed as a child.
The subtext, or underlying story, of Palm Sunday is not the past, but the near future. Everyone was shouting and cheering, but one wonders what was going through the mind of Jesus. He knew what was coming. It couldn't have been much of a celebration for him, could it?
When I read this passage from Isaiah, I read it like it's the subtext for the Palm Sunday parade. "The Lord God has given me the tongue of a teacher that I might know how to sustain the weary with a word...." I think of Jesus' ministry and how these words describe so much of his teaching. Yet, here he is on the back of a donkey. Not much more teaching left. Instead, God is the teacher, opening Jesus' ear to the realities that sit just a few days away.
Through the din of the crowd's shifting allegiances, Isaiah gives depth to Jesus' ride into Jerusalem. No rebellion or argument will be offered. There will be no resistance to the blows that are to come. The jaw is set; the direction clear. Salvation is and will always be with God and God alone. Even in humiliation and degradation, God is the vindicator. "I will not be put to shame."
It is a good thing to read this passage side-by-side with the Palm Sunday passage in John 12. Indeed, it's a good thing to try to discern the stories beneath the stories and to hold these two passages in tension. It's also a good thing for us to try to go deeper as we pass out the palm fronds and celebrate today. This is why as we ponder the heart of Jesus on the road into Jerusalem, I am moved to wonder about the story beneath the story for us as a people.
We are eager enough today to be those Palm Sunday people, aren't we? As I say, I love a parade. We spend hours decorating the sanctuary and preparing the music, just for this moment, right? Some of us, though, and I include myself here, don't really want to go beyond this joyful moment. We like it just like it is. What will come, will come soon enough, won't it? Why languish in Isaiah's dogged focus on obedience?
Could it be because, in the end, this is all about obedience? Sure, it's about Jesus who in his humanness had to have some second thought, but in the end gave it all up for us. And in turn, the obedience is offered to us, not as a collar for a puppet God to bring us to heel, but as a gift that will lead to our own salvation. In a world like the one in which we live, the idea of obedience is a hard one to absorb. We bristle at the thought. We rebel. Most of us don't like the idea of anyone being "the boss of us." We'd rather go our own way and make our own decisions. In fact, our nation is the product of a rebellion, and we hold dear the notion that we are free to pursue our own happiness pretty much anyway we want. Yet that freedom, for we who claim Christ, is tempered by the radical obedience that leads this parade into Jerusalem and to the cross.
The truth is that this freedom to do whatever we wish is really a kind of slavery. Paul writes, "For you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become slaves to one another" (Galatians 5:13). Without Isaiah's subtext to ground us, it's hard to keep the obedience of Jesus before us. Without the obedience of Jesus, even to the point of death on the cross, what have we to claim except the so-called freedom of self-indulgence?
On Palm Sunday, sisters and brothers, what we begin to unwrap is the most powerful reality of our faith. That is, that self-giving love is redemptive. We see this in God's gift to us in Jesus' sacrifice on the cross. In his self-giving love, we are redeemed. All of our brokenness is lifted from us. All of it. But it doesn't stop there, because we are called to take up the wonder of self-giving love and to practice it in our lives as individuals and as church.
Jesus lays it out for us with stunning clarity. "Very truly I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and in fact, will do greater works than these ..." (John 14:12).
We do not have the excuse of putting Jesus on a pedestal and backing off in disingenuous awe. We have the challenge, the call to obedience, to give ourselves in love to others. In this salvation story, we have much joy to claim, but it is the deep and abiding joy that comes in willing obedience to God's call to us in Christ Jesus to take the cross and follow him (Mark 8:34).
So, as I said, I love a parade. I love parties, too. Let's celebrate this triumphal entry into Jerusalem together, today, but let's be mindful of the story beneath; the story of life-giving radical obedience to God. Amen.
