(non) SERMON, PALM SUNDAY, C

Palm Sunday. The triumphal entry into Jerusalem. In the immortal words of Tim Rice, "Hosanna, Heysanna Sanna Sanna Ho Sanna . . ." We acknowledge, proclaim and celebrate Jesus as King and Messiah. We bless palms and carry them in procession from the parish hall into the church where we sing, "All glory, laud and honor."

And then, like in churches all over the world, we read the Passion Gospel. In various places, this is sometimes done by a lone voice, sometimes by two, but probably mostly by a cast of characters -- a narrator, Jesus, Peter, Judas, Pilate and the others and the crowd. Our tradition is that I narrate and others in the congregation read the various parts. That is, until Pilate attempts to release him.

After hearing this, we all shout, "Crucify him! Crucify him!"

In the space of 30 minutes or so, we have gone from praising and glorifying Jesus as King to a mob mentality in which we scream for the death of an innocent man.

I find myself needing to ponder these events. What part do I play in this drama? Certainly I wasn't there to demand his crucifixion. And yet . . . What events and actions and attitudes in my life move me from adoring disciple to apathetic bystander or selfish attitude that tells God, "I don't need or want you in my life -- go away?"

And so I ponder in silence. There was no sermon this day. We all need to just sit, replay the story in our own minds, and ask ourselves, "What makes me tell Jesus to get out of my life?"

I can't answer that for you or for my conregation. Only you can answer. Only they can answer. And nobody can ponder that question with me yammering at them.