Peter JB Carman
Emmanuel Friedens Church, Schenectady New York
Palm Sunday March 25, 2018
Reading: Mark 11:1-11
Ever since I was little, I have loved the stories of Palm Sunday. We began our worship today with a hymn that is traditional on this day. Back then we also did sing “All Glory, Laud, and Honor, to thee, Redeemer King, to whom the lips of children made sweet hosannas bring…” As we march in carrying palms, we are part of a great parade—a parade almost two thousand years old, celebrating the arrival of the long awaited one….
When I was a pastor in Rochester, New York, there was a chronic little controversy on Palm Sunday. The tradition was to sing an old and lengthy hymn called “The Palms.” After some negotiating we had an agreement to sing it every other year. Problem was no one could remember whether we had sung it the previous year. Rob, the organist, did not like that hymn. Plaintively he would ask, “Didn’t we do that one just last year?” And the old timers were sure, one or two of them, well they were positive that we hadn’t. “We NEVER sing it anymore!” Since they all loved our music director, the conflict never amounted to much. It was more like a litany, before church on Palm Sunday morning in the narthex. Part of the parade.
It is Palm Sunday once again, when churches remember the triumphal march of Jesus into Jerusalem. The songs we sing may be contentious to a few. But even in the years when the details are not all agreed upon, there is always something sweet in the taste of that procession. There is something glorious in the story of a march thrown together with a borrowed mount for the messiah (a never-before ridden colt, in Mark’s version) and branches strewn in the streets in front of him.
When I was a child we never actually staged a parade in church, but for all that, we heard the story. We heard it in all its many variations: each Gospel tells it differently! Maybe it was just the sensation of the palm, rough and flexible, tough and smooth in my hand, issued to each of us on our way into church on Palm Sunday morning. But I, like some of you, I felt almost as if I had been there personally with Jesus!
Of course, like many children, by the time I was eleven or so, I had also seen “normal” parades. So, I knew there was something different about this Palm Sunday parade. Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem was nothing like the Fourth of July Parade, the Memorial Day parade, the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, or even the Rose Bowl Parade. Nor was it like the victory marches of armies—something I had never seen personally.
This was no ordinary march. This was the march not of Caesar but of the Prince of Peace. We might not have been quite sure what that meant, back then, but we knew that Jesus was not your ordinary kind of leader-- he was concerned about the things which made not for war but for peace deep rooted in justice. We knew that this was not a fancy parade but a humble one; we knew it was announcing a new kind of savior. And even as children, we knew in our bones that this march was going to be a costly one. For when I was a child, we had seen what happened to the children of Soweto when they marched, the children of Birmingham before that. And we knew that it was as yet but the beginning of the long walk for us as the children of Love. And as an aging adult I confess to you: This is a procession that has not stopped across the centuries, no matter how rough the going has gotten. We saw that yesterday, in Washington, in Albany, across the land. We saw it when high school youth and allies in Schenectady, including some from our congregation, spoke out about gun violence ten days earlier.
“Stony the road we trod,
Bitter the chastening rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
Yet with a steady beat,
Have not our weary feet
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?”
The words of James Weldon Johnson, in his classic poem, now often called the Black National Anthem, conclude that first verse with: “Let us march on, ‘til victory is won.” This, my friends, is not a short parade.
As we gather once more with palms in hand today, we remember not only the wonderful and joyful march of Jesus into Jerusalem, but also how he left the city—with a cross on his back. We remember that this greatest of parades is both joyous and costly, just as the march of love is joyous and costly all the time.
There come days which are full of the natural brightness of the sun, and the joy and pleasure of just plain living! And then there are the days when we gather in the dark around a candlelit table, sharing bread and cup in secret. There are times for parades, and times for resistance, times for easy witness and times for persistent insistence on love. There are times when we must tend our lanterns, and pass a little flame, one to another.
As Christians living in 2018, it is easy to lose track of what it means to follow in that apparently premature victory parade of Jesus. And yet in our better moments, we remember. We remember that for us, just as for his first generation of followers, it is not only about singing hosanna when the times are easy, it also about being willing to whisper alleluia and say a clear Amen, when the times are hard. It is about being ready to love not only when we are loved, but also when we are found suspect or called names or even, woe betide us, declared to be too this or that—too political, or too outspoken, or too willing to love our enemies or too naïve or too spiritual, or too simple.
On this Palm Sunday, when we remember once more how Jesus entered Jerusalem amid shouts of acclamation, we remember that being part of this particular great parade is a costly challenge. Following that ancient still young messiah on his strange mount most often means a walk without applause. But that does not reduce our joy! We are walking in Christ’s light! We find ourselves overwhelmed by joy because of the reality of God’s light breaking into the world, showing us a new way to walk in our lives, showing us a way of grace, of justice, of love, of peace. And when we sense that light, when we have once been touched by that Spirit, that Love, there is no turning back, there is no regret. Will we experience hesitation and fear? For sure—look at even the earliest disciples! And yet despite all hesitation or fear, despite our own abandonment or betrayal God will prevail. God will bring us through.
Each one of you who chooses to be here this morning is part of a great parade. Each one, young or old, has had some taste of this journey. It may have led you through struggles and suffering, and most certainly has had moments involving difficult decisions. And yet you and I, in the manner of our parents and grandparents in faith before us, are here to sing “All Glory, Laud and Honor,” to shout hosanna to the One who comes in the name of a living Spirit God, proclaiming hope and peace and a return to fairness and justice.
In season and out, in good times and in times of severity and want, we are part of the ancient still young crowd that walks close with Jesus. We claim this One for the One sent by God, claim these radical fresh teachings as a way of truth and hope and peace. We don’t just follow with our minds and hearts—we also follow with our bodies, our community, who we are, all we have.
In days when it seems victory is assured, and in times of grief, in times of trial and in times of breakthrough and power, it is ours to sing, ours to proclaim, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of God.” We may wave palms one day: we may be called to acts of healing and steadfastness on the next. We may even be called to march for justice or put our bodies on the line for a neighbor’s sake. But it is the same parade. May God grant us the grace, so to live, now and every day. Amen.
Graphic: Palm Leaf Rings in Celebration of Hosanna (Palm Sunday), origin, Ethiopia, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56503 [retrieved March 26, 2018]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hosana_Rings.jpg.
Emmanuel Friedens Church, Schenectady New York
Palm Sunday March 25, 2018
Reading: Mark 11:1-11
Ever since I was little, I have loved the stories of Palm Sunday. We began our worship today with a hymn that is traditional on this day. Back then we also did sing “All Glory, Laud, and Honor, to thee, Redeemer King, to whom the lips of children made sweet hosannas bring…” As we march in carrying palms, we are part of a great parade—a parade almost two thousand years old, celebrating the arrival of the long awaited one….
When I was a pastor in Rochester, New York, there was a chronic little controversy on Palm Sunday. The tradition was to sing an old and lengthy hymn called “The Palms.” After some negotiating we had an agreement to sing it every other year. Problem was no one could remember whether we had sung it the previous year. Rob, the organist, did not like that hymn. Plaintively he would ask, “Didn’t we do that one just last year?” And the old timers were sure, one or two of them, well they were positive that we hadn’t. “We NEVER sing it anymore!” Since they all loved our music director, the conflict never amounted to much. It was more like a litany, before church on Palm Sunday morning in the narthex. Part of the parade.
It is Palm Sunday once again, when churches remember the triumphal march of Jesus into Jerusalem. The songs we sing may be contentious to a few. But even in the years when the details are not all agreed upon, there is always something sweet in the taste of that procession. There is something glorious in the story of a march thrown together with a borrowed mount for the messiah (a never-before ridden colt, in Mark’s version) and branches strewn in the streets in front of him.
When I was a child we never actually staged a parade in church, but for all that, we heard the story. We heard it in all its many variations: each Gospel tells it differently! Maybe it was just the sensation of the palm, rough and flexible, tough and smooth in my hand, issued to each of us on our way into church on Palm Sunday morning. But I, like some of you, I felt almost as if I had been there personally with Jesus!
Of course, like many children, by the time I was eleven or so, I had also seen “normal” parades. So, I knew there was something different about this Palm Sunday parade. Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem was nothing like the Fourth of July Parade, the Memorial Day parade, the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, or even the Rose Bowl Parade. Nor was it like the victory marches of armies—something I had never seen personally.
This was no ordinary march. This was the march not of Caesar but of the Prince of Peace. We might not have been quite sure what that meant, back then, but we knew that Jesus was not your ordinary kind of leader-- he was concerned about the things which made not for war but for peace deep rooted in justice. We knew that this was not a fancy parade but a humble one; we knew it was announcing a new kind of savior. And even as children, we knew in our bones that this march was going to be a costly one. For when I was a child, we had seen what happened to the children of Soweto when they marched, the children of Birmingham before that. And we knew that it was as yet but the beginning of the long walk for us as the children of Love. And as an aging adult I confess to you: This is a procession that has not stopped across the centuries, no matter how rough the going has gotten. We saw that yesterday, in Washington, in Albany, across the land. We saw it when high school youth and allies in Schenectady, including some from our congregation, spoke out about gun violence ten days earlier.
“Stony the road we trod,
Bitter the chastening rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
Yet with a steady beat,
Have not our weary feet
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?”
The words of James Weldon Johnson, in his classic poem, now often called the Black National Anthem, conclude that first verse with: “Let us march on, ‘til victory is won.” This, my friends, is not a short parade.
As we gather once more with palms in hand today, we remember not only the wonderful and joyful march of Jesus into Jerusalem, but also how he left the city—with a cross on his back. We remember that this greatest of parades is both joyous and costly, just as the march of love is joyous and costly all the time.
There come days which are full of the natural brightness of the sun, and the joy and pleasure of just plain living! And then there are the days when we gather in the dark around a candlelit table, sharing bread and cup in secret. There are times for parades, and times for resistance, times for easy witness and times for persistent insistence on love. There are times when we must tend our lanterns, and pass a little flame, one to another.
As Christians living in 2018, it is easy to lose track of what it means to follow in that apparently premature victory parade of Jesus. And yet in our better moments, we remember. We remember that for us, just as for his first generation of followers, it is not only about singing hosanna when the times are easy, it also about being willing to whisper alleluia and say a clear Amen, when the times are hard. It is about being ready to love not only when we are loved, but also when we are found suspect or called names or even, woe betide us, declared to be too this or that—too political, or too outspoken, or too willing to love our enemies or too naïve or too spiritual, or too simple.
On this Palm Sunday, when we remember once more how Jesus entered Jerusalem amid shouts of acclamation, we remember that being part of this particular great parade is a costly challenge. Following that ancient still young messiah on his strange mount most often means a walk without applause. But that does not reduce our joy! We are walking in Christ’s light! We find ourselves overwhelmed by joy because of the reality of God’s light breaking into the world, showing us a new way to walk in our lives, showing us a way of grace, of justice, of love, of peace. And when we sense that light, when we have once been touched by that Spirit, that Love, there is no turning back, there is no regret. Will we experience hesitation and fear? For sure—look at even the earliest disciples! And yet despite all hesitation or fear, despite our own abandonment or betrayal God will prevail. God will bring us through.
Each one of you who chooses to be here this morning is part of a great parade. Each one, young or old, has had some taste of this journey. It may have led you through struggles and suffering, and most certainly has had moments involving difficult decisions. And yet you and I, in the manner of our parents and grandparents in faith before us, are here to sing “All Glory, Laud and Honor,” to shout hosanna to the One who comes in the name of a living Spirit God, proclaiming hope and peace and a return to fairness and justice.
In season and out, in good times and in times of severity and want, we are part of the ancient still young crowd that walks close with Jesus. We claim this One for the One sent by God, claim these radical fresh teachings as a way of truth and hope and peace. We don’t just follow with our minds and hearts—we also follow with our bodies, our community, who we are, all we have.
In days when it seems victory is assured, and in times of grief, in times of trial and in times of breakthrough and power, it is ours to sing, ours to proclaim, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of God.” We may wave palms one day: we may be called to acts of healing and steadfastness on the next. We may even be called to march for justice or put our bodies on the line for a neighbor’s sake. But it is the same parade. May God grant us the grace, so to live, now and every day. Amen.
Graphic: Palm Leaf Rings in Celebration of Hosanna (Palm Sunday), origin, Ethiopia, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56503 [retrieved March 26, 2018]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hosana_Rings.jpg.