“The Awe-Full Passage”
A Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Hilary J. Barrett
Preached at Pleasantville UCC, March 28, 2010, Palm Sunday/Passion Sunday, Year C
Psalm 118 & Luke 19:28-40
“After he had said this, he went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem.”
Luke 28:28

The forsythia is in bloom in my neighbors’ yard.  It is a riotous blaze of color in the midst of what is still largely a grayish brown winter landscape.  Small tufts of cream and yellow-colored daffodils speckle the neighborhood.  And in the garden across the back alley I can see a Star Magnolia just beginning to proclaim the good news that the long dark winter is finally over, that the flowers have begun to appear on the earth, that the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove may be heard in our land.[1] 

And I am just beginning to believe it – though I thought this spring would never come.  I keep half expecting some rogue snow storm to sweep in and swamp us in 22 inches of cold and wet.  The arrival of spring this year is almost too good to believe.

It was a long hard winter for many of us – a winter full of harsh weather and dark days, poor health and difficult times.  It was a winter I am glad to have behind us.  I want to focus upon the spring.  I want to celebrate my neighbor’s cherry tree which looks like a giant pink pom-pom about to burst into bloom.  I want to go outside and watch as the Forget-me-Not’s prove they have not forgotten how to reach for the sun.  I want to sit on my porch planting pansies and take in the few warming rays that will poke their head out today.  I want to do all these things.  But today is Palm Sunday.  Today marks the beginning of Holy Week.  And so today requires a change in focus and direction that is jarring to my spirit.

Sometimes the descent into Holy Week comes naturally to me.  But this year, I want to focus on the sun and the spring and the return of hopefulness.  This year, I want to avoid the dark story that lies ahead.  This year, I want to set my sights upon an empty cross draped in white and surrounded by fragrant lilies.  I do not want to meditate upon a story of betrayal by friends; I do not want to be reminded of how dangerous and fickle the mob can be; I do not want to imagine the cross that bore the weight and passion of my Lord.

We have made it through the long hard winter and now, just as the beauty of the Earth begins to encourage us again, we must stop and turn back and mark this awful passage of time with careful mindful intentional steps.  It’s not an easy thing to do.  But as a Christian, what I want to do will be interrupted by my obedience to a different calendar.  What I want to do will be set aside by my even greater desire to follow our Lord the whole length of his journey. 

The day is called Palm Sunday because on it we remember how Jesus rode into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey and as he did the crowds cheered triumphantly, waving palm braches and laying their coats on the ground like some great Red Carpet of the People.  At least some of the gospels tell the story like this.

But if you were listening carefully you might have noticed that in Luke’s gospel, there’s no cheering crowd.  It’s only the disciples who are shouting.  There aren’t even any palms in this version of the story -- just folks laying their coats in the road.  Imagine it for a moment.  It’s a bit of a different story when Jesus of Nazareth rides into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey and the only people shouting praises are 12 dusty guys from Galilee and maybe a few others who’ve been following Jesus ever since he turned their lives around.

This is a complex day in worship.  We begin by playing the part of the disciples shouting our praise along the roadside.  But then the day will turn and the story of next week will unfold and when it does we become part of another crowd.  When it does, we are left to face our own complicity wherever innocence is crucified.

I mentioned that Luke’s version of Palm Sunday doesn’t have any palms in it at all.  Palms were traditionally laid down in military processions, and the three other gospels all mention the branches which were placed in the road to cushion the approaching parade.  But in Luke there are not even any "Hosanna's."  He does not describe the crowd which ran before the procession as the other gospels do; in Luke's telling it's only the disciples who followed in the Palm Sunday parade.  In Luke’s version of the story, Palm Sunday is not about grand processions or a military coups, it's not about powerful political candidates about to overthrow the old order.  It's about discipleship.  No chariots.  No horses -- just a humble donkey colt.

This day is about discipleship.  It’s about doing what we are called to do; following the One we are called to follow; going where we are asked to go – even if it is jarring to our spirits.  There’s a curious detail in this story that points to the kind of obedience which is required of all disciples.  It’s the donkey part.  Jesus gives two un-named disciples detailed instructions to go into town and find a particular donkey colt that has never been ridden before.  They are to untie it and bring it to Jesus.  And if anyone asks them what they are doing, Jesus tells them they are to say: “The Lord needs it.”  And they do it – though I wonder if they were perplexed with His request.  They do it, even though they may not have understood why or whether it would make any real difference at all.

It’s kind of strange, isn’t it, that “in the midst of the great and suspenseful drama of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, Luke devotes part of the narrative to fussing about this rather peripheral matter of Jesus’ transportation?”[2]  Yet what we have here is the story of the disciples’ small obedience.  They are asked to secure the colt; they do as they are told; “and in so doing, the small and tattered strands of their lives are woven into the great story of redemption.”[3] 

The truth is in the details like these.  A small act of obedience, observed without being sure it would make any difference at all, becomes something remembered in all four gospels for over two-thousand years.  I wonder how many small acts of obedience in our lives will be the things that are remembered; the things that will make the real difference in this world.

The United Church of Christ has a Calendar of Mission that shares small stories every day about people making a difference in the world.  I read this week about a little church in Akron, Ohio which is doing just that.  The congregation is so small that they can only afford a part time secretary, a part time organist and a part time pastor.  Williard UCC in Akron, Ohio, averages 35 to 45 members in attendance on a Sunday morning.  And yet, despite their small numbers, they run one of the largest food pantries in the entire community serving thousands of people each month.  That in itself is good news – especially to all the families in Akron who have come to rely upon that food pantry.  But here’s the story that really caught my attention.  When the people of this small congregation learned that children in their community were “pocketing” extra food from the schools at lunch because there was no food at home, the people of Williard UCC started a peanut butter and jelly ministry.  Every Friday, they pack 25 bags of easy to make, kid-friendly food for 25 children.  Now, before these kids get on the bus and go home from school for the weekend, they pick up their bags of food from the people of Williard UCC so they won’t be hungry anymore. 

Peanut butter and jelly.  It may not look like much – not enough perhaps to catch the attention of Fox News or the NY Times, but for those 25 children and their families, Williard UCC’s peanut butter and jelly ministry makes a world of difference.  The truth – and often the Good News – is in the details.

The witness that we make may not look terribly big in the grand scheme of things.  There will always be those who scoff at what may be accomplished by small actions of goodness and kindness.  But we know different.  We know that small acts of obedience are often the things that make all the difference in the world.  We know that two un-named disciples are still remembered for having gone to fetch a donkey so their Lord could ride into Jerusalem in style.  We know that a woman who drew water from a well so Jesus could quench his thirst ended up being one of the very first evangelists recorded in the Gospels.  We know that there are people in our lives who made all the difference in the world for us -- and most of the time, the rest of the world paid absolutely no attention at all.

This Palm Sunday invites us to a small act of obedience.  To follow our Lord down this awe-full passage of his journey.  To witness the sacrifice and the suffering remembered this week.  To re-enter the darkness, though the spring may beckon otherwise.  To be obedient to the Lord of Life who calls us from the noise and the nonsense of this world, to the lasting treasures of His.  Who knows if our witness this week will make any difference at all?  Or maybe, it will become a sign for someone that makes all the difference in the world.  Either way, given what Jesus gave us, it’s the very least we can do.  May it be so.  Amen.