Pasadena Presbyterian Church
Sermon Text
Palm Sunday, March 16, 2008

"Living Our Hosannas"
Preached by Dr. Barbara Anderson 

Scripture:  Matthew 21:1-11

When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, "Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, 'The Lord needs them.' And he will send them immediately." This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, "Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey."

The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road.

The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, "Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!"  When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, "Who is this?"  The crowds were saying, "This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee."  

-------------

The City of Jerusalem has been patrolled by soldiers at many times in its history. Today, Israeli soldiers stand on street corners, automatic weapons at the ready. Two thousand years ago, Roman soldiers were on the corners, charged with keeping the Jews in line during the always risky week of Passover.  Every Jew who could get to Jerusalem for Passover was there.  It was like the Tournament of Roses, the Olympics, the L.A. Marathon and the Oscars happening at the same time in the same place.  

The experience of oppression, the memory of deliverance and freedom, and the longing for freedom again, made Passover in Jerusalem a dangerous time for the human powers in charge.  You know how it is.  Illegitimate power always gets nervous, and rightly so, when oppressed people gather to remember their former days of freedom.  Remembering the past leads to dreams of the future, and invariably, that means trouble.

American slave owners kept African slaves from gathering to sing because faithful worship tastes of freedom and leads to hope ... and hope is dangerous to oppressive power.  Even today, Israel and Palestine continue their violence against each other not only because of a cycle of hatred and revenge, but because each side remembers freedom, and wants to live free once again.  Many of our ancestors and some of us in this room have risked our own lives for freedom.  Although most of us take it for granted, if you have ever lived without freedom, even briefly, you know how desperately precious it is.

Into this mass longing for freedom rode a quiet man on a donkey, long ago.  That's not unusual; lots of people ride donkeys in the ancient Middle East.  But this was different, because people lay their shawls down to make a carpet for his donkey to walk on.  Others took weeds from the fields and fronds from the trees to cover the dirty road.  All around him, people shouted, "Hosanna! Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord!"  These are the words one says when a king passes by, the words for the Messiah, the one who will save them.

Even today, 2,000 years later, we join their song because we know enough of bondage to long for a savior who will set us free, as well.  We watch in horror as people are blown up by suicide bombers, and villages around the world are destroyed by weapons made in our own factories.  We wonder when terrorism will strike our own people again and what liberties we will give up to keep it from happening.  We live in the shadow of terror and war, and wonder what we can do to effect peace.  We, like those who lined the streets 2000 years ago, long for a savior to change our life and world. 

We, like the ancient Hebrews, long for a savior who will set us free–we, who see the pain of our own nation brought into our living rooms: aching for victims of drive-by shootings, children overcrowded in schools, and communities without medical care.

We, like the ancient Hebrews, long for a savior who will set us free–we, who struggle to face another day because of illness or grief, loneliness or tragedy, addiction or despair.

So when Jesus rides that donkey into Jerusalem today,  we shout "Hosanna," and we sing our praise.  From the bottoms of our heart come songs of gratitude that God has sent Jesus Christ to save us and finally, to make the world whole.

On Palm Sunday, we are truly, deeply thrilled to sing Hosanna. But as beautiful as the moment is, we see the storm clouds on the horizon.  Unlike those who thrilled at the first Palm Sunday, we know what happens in the next few days.  Judas will betray Jesus and turn him over to the authorities.  Every one of Jesus’ disciples will desert him and run away.  Even Peter, whom Jesus called  “The Rock,” will deny ever having known Jesus, when given the opportunity to acknowledge his Lord.  The crowds will cry out, “Crucify him!” and Jesus will die.  When Jesus is in need, not a single one of his followers will step forward.  And even as we sing Hosanna today, we know that, when push comes to shove, we are not so very different from the people around Jesus long ago.

William Willimon tells this story about his years as a college chaplain:

A few years ago a  student was telling me that he and his roommate were not getting along too well.  I asked him why, and he said, “Because he is a Muslim and I’m not.”  I asked him how that made a difference.  And he said, “When we moved in together, he asked me what my religion was.  I told him that I was a Christian.  A Lutheran – I told him that my family wasn’t the very best of Christians and that we only went to church occasionally and it wasn’t that big a deal to me.  My roommate has this nasty habit of asking embarrassing questions.”   “What sort of questions?”  I asked.

 

 “Well after we had roomed together a few weeks, he asked me, ‘Why do you Christians never pray?’  I told him, “We pray a lot.  We just sort of keep it to ourselves.”

            

“He said, ‘I’ll say that you do.  I’ve never seen you pray.’  He prays like a half dozen times a day on his prayer rug in our room, facing East.  When I came in last Saturday morning, he asked me, ‘Doesn’t your St. Paul say something about joining your body with that of a prostitute?”

            

I told him, “Look, she is not a prostitute, she is Tri Delta.  I told you I am not the best Christian in the world.  You shouldn’t judge the Christian faith by me!”

            

Willimon says that, hearing the young man’s torment, he responded, “Well how should he judge the Christian faith?  I think I need to write your Muslim roommate a thank-you note.  If he keeps working on you with these questions, he may make you into a real Christian.”

A man who is an international economist grew up in the church, but drifted away.  In mid-life, he returned and became active.  When a pastor friend asked what propelled him back to church, he said that on an academic visit to the former Soviet Union, he had a conversation with a colleague.  She was a Communist.  In the course of the conversation she asked, “Do you believe in God?”

He said that he did.  And then she asked, “What difference does it make in your life that you believe in God?  I don’t believe, but if I did, it would probably complicate my life.  What difference does God make in your life?”    The man said that he could not come up with a single thing in his life that was different because of his faith.  He was embarrassed by having no ready answers

As we look beyond our palm frond to the cross, we remember times when people have asked us questions similar to those asked by the Muslim and the Communist: whether faith in Jesus Christ really makes a difference in your life.  If it does, what evidence does your life present?  Does your faith in Jesus Christ ever make your life inconvenient, or more difficult than if you didn’t claim to be one of his followers?  Have you been gentle when you wanted to explode instead, and gracious when you wanted to turn away?  Have you been kind and respectful to those with whom you live or work?  Have you cut back on spending for yourself, so you can give more to Jesus’ church?  Have you refrained from gossip?  Have you helped others grow into who God wants them to be and  have you valued yourself as God values you?  Are you living your Hosannas?

Does your faith in Jesus make a difference in your life?  Do you pray often?  Read the Bible to learn more of Jesus’ path and be nourished by his goodness?  Have you spoken on behalf of people who are being ridiculed?  Have you given your time to tutor students, or visit friends who are ill, or pressed the legislature for ecologically sound public policy?  Have you spoken up for peace, or fair access to health care, or immigration reform in ways that really put yourself on the line?  Are you are living your Hosannas?

It's not that we want to beat our selves up with guilt and shame, but rather, as we look from our palm frond to the cross, we become aware of our own culpability for the inequities our life supports, and our responsibility for the negative consequences of our actions.

If, as Jesus says in Matthew 25, when we feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, shelter the homeless, care for the sick, and visit the imprisoned we are caring for Jesus, then so, too, every time a child dies of hunger and every time a bomb explodes, we are the disciples running from Jesus in the Garden as the guards took him away.

Every time prejudice keeps people from using their God-given gifts, every time we slash someone with our words, and every time a homeless person sleeps under a bridge, we are Peter denying in Pilate’s courtyard that we even know Jesus.

Every time one person strikes another in anger, every time we allow injustice, every time we refuse to hear the cries of those in need, and every time our words and actions are cruel or injurious in personal relationships with loved ones or family, with co-workers or friends, at work or home, hospital or market, freeway or playing field, we crucify Christ again.

Each of us needs Palm Sunday, this day when we shout and sing Hosanna.  We need to feel the power of our hope and joy fill every fiber of our being, to the bottoms of our feet.  And each of us needs people in the crowd who will ask us who this Jesus on a donkey is, and why we are so excited about him. 

I expect as you go forth from the safe confines of this sanctuary of faith, this Holy Week, there is a good chance that somewhere, sometime, you will have an occasion to decide whether following Jesus makes a difference for you.  You will have an occasion to chose to which crowd you belong: the one that shouts “Hosanna” or the one that cries out “Crucify.”  Sometimes you’ll pass the test, and sometimes you won’t.  When you slip and let go of your Hosanna, as you will, for you’re only human, remember that all of Jesus’ disciples, including Peter, flunked the test on the night Jesus was arrested.  And remember that after Jesus’ crucifixion and his resurrection, the Risen Christ appears to Peter and the disciples.  He forgives them, blesses them, and feeds them.  He does that for you and me, as well.

This is the good news of the Gospel: God loves us so much as to enter the Jerusalems of our heart and our world, to die and be raised there, so that we can know God's love, be free of all that holds us captive, and be part of God's final triumph over evil and death.  So shout Hosanna with your voice and your life, every day!  Amen.