“Great Expectations”

A Palm/Passion Sunday Sermon Preached by

The Rev. Jean Niven Lenk

at the

First Congregational Church of Stoughton

United Church of Christ

One day, back in the late 80s, when I was working in downtown Boston, I took a walk during my lunch hour and came across a large crowd gathered in front of a hotel.  It was then that I remembered hearing on the news that Prince Charles was going to be visiting town for the day.  This was before the messiness of his divorce from Diana, and before the tragedy of her death.

Bostonians turned out in droves that day simply to get a glimpse of someone famous, of royalty, of a future king.  Before I knew what was happening, a roar went up from the crowd – lots of “oohs” and “ahs” and people excitedly yelling “There he is!!  There he is!!”

And then, someone near me burst the bubble with this observation:  “Gee, he’s a lot shorter than I expected.”

Isn’t that the paradox of celebrity?  After reading and hearing about famous people, we develop expectations of who we think they should be… what they should look like… how they should act.  Often we are disappointed that these human beings do not live up to our idealized expectations.  Whether it’s a beautiful and gifted singer falling prey to drugs; or an all-star athlete being accused of steroid use; or a royal couple who bursts our fairy tale dreams with infidelity and divorce – too often, it seems, people in the spotlight don’t live up to our great and larger-than-life expectations.

You could say this is what happens on that first Palm Sunday.  When Jesus rides into Jerusalem on that day, the Hebrew people are ready for a conquering hero.  They have had hundreds of years of heartache, hardship and hard times at the hands of the Assyrians and Babylonians.  Jerusalem is now controlled by the Roman conquerors who have brought oppressive taxes, brutal sentences, and quick, sure retribution to any and all who dare defy them.

Five hundred years earlier, the prophet Zechariah foretold a day when things would change.  “Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion!  Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem!  Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey” [9:9].  Those words have become a promise etched indelibly in the heart and mind of a glory-starved nation, and for half a millennium, they have kept an eye out for King David’s successor to gallop into town on a stallion and assume the throne – a new king who would be the one to bring justice, righteousness, salvation and peace, not just to Jerusalem, not just to God's people, but to all nations. 

And so, when Jesus rides into Jerusalem on that first Palm Sunday, he is received like a conquering king; people from all over line the streets and cheer wildly; the crowds shout “Hosanna to the Son of David, the promised one.”  They want to believe that Jesus will destroy their enemies and renew God’s children as a free, honored, and chosen people.

When generals come for war, they come on horses.  But Jesus comes for peace, riding on a donkey.  He comes not as a powerful, conquering hero to bring revolution to the political, economic and social structures of the day.  Instead, he comes as God’s son, to break the power of all structures of oppression and hate and death. 

The crowd that cheers Jesus' arrival does not understand any of this, and the city welcomes Jesus in victory.  But he has said that Jerusalem will be the place of his rejection and death, and all the hosannas and all the palm branches can’t hide the fact that he is redefining their concept of a Messiah.  He is from backwater Nazareth.  He walks to work, sleeps beneath the stars, lives among the poor, and fills his calendar with the kind of people kings don’t have time for.

Jesus is a different kind of sovereign.  His Godly kingship is not about might, but about mercy; not about power, but peace; not about retribution, but redemption.  And his triumphal entry into Jerusalem turns out to be not a parade for a king, but a death march for the Son of God.

So we call today both Palm Sunday and Passion Sunday.  That is because the Christian Church, down through the centuries, does not want us to go directly from this to next Sunday’s celebrations without experiencing Good Friday.  And so, while our first Gospel reading this morning tells of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, our other Scripture lessons jump us ahead to experience in advance Jesus’ passion and death on the cross.  Because if we deny the realities of Jesus’ suffering, anguish, and torment, if we deny his followers’ disloyalty and betrayal, their regret and heartache, then we also deny the full grace and goodness of his resurrection. 

And so, in case you can’t join us during this coming Holy Week at our Maundy Thursday and Good Friday observances, you are experiencing them, to some degree, this morning.  That is why, even though our worship began with such celebratory hymns as “All Glory Laud, Honor,” and “Hosanna, Loud Hosanna,” the mood of this service changed after the reading of the passion narrative.  That is why our hymns for the second half of this hour concentrate on Jesus’ suffering – “O Sacred Head, Now Wounded” and “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross.”  And that is why, instead of singing a benediction response, we will leave this place to the somber and haunting trumpet call of “Were You There.”

Because Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem turns out to be not a parade for a king, but a death march for the Son of God.

Behind him are his sermons; ahead is his suffering.

Behind him are his parables; ahead is his passion.

Behind him are his suppers of fellowship; ahead is his last supper of betrayal.

Behind him, Galilee; ahead, Gethsemane.

The new monarch will be crowned with thorns.

It’s easy to be one of those people in the crowd, lining that street in Jerusalem to see a king enter.  It’s easy to be an admirer.  And it’s easy to be among those who are disappointed when the king we envision turns out to be something different. 

It’s harder to be a follower, standing in the huddled group at the foot of the cross. 

Because following Christ means living against the grain.  It means telling the truth in a world that lies.  It means giving in a world that takes.  It means loving in a world that lusts, making peace in a world that fights, serving in a world that waits to be served, worshipping in a world that entertains.

And it means carrying a cross in a world that crucifies those who love.

The cross is the light by which we understand that Jesus has changed all the definitions.  Power, success, even happiness – as the world knows them – belong to those who take for themselves.  But peace, love, and joy are gifts from God, given to those who give of themselves.

Following Christ to the cross is hard.  Because it means pouring out our love, as did the woman with the ointment.  It means staying awake and praying with a friend who is in despair.  It means being faithful to a friend, rather than denying or betraying or slinking away in his or her hour of need.  It means reflecting the heart of God that is forever laced with grace and forgiveness.  It means trusting that Christ walks with us, wherever we find ourselves.  And it means knowing in our heart of hearts that even in the shadows that fall between now and next Sunday, even in the darkest times of our own lives, we belong to God and to one another. 

It’s not enough for us to be among the crowds lining the street and waving palms as Jesus makes his triumphal entry into Jerusalem.  We need to follow Jesus all the way through this upcoming week, all the way to the cross.

Because it is in Jesus’ suffering that we are set free.  It is in his death, that he gives us life.  And it is in his resurrection that he comes to claim each one of us as God’s own beloved child.  Blessed is he, and blessed are all, who come in the name of the Lord.  Amen.