Sermon; Palm Sunday A 2020; Matt. 26:14 - 27:66

It has been my tradition to not preach a sermon on Palm Sunday because, in my opinion, there's not much anyone can say after going through that experience. Traditionally we begin with the blessing of the palms, the reading of the gospel story recounting Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem, the procession into the church, and the singing of, “All glory, laud, and honor.” From there we hear the readings of the day and the Passion – the story of Christ's last hours from the time Judas decides to betray him through his death and burial. This is a whiplash kind of day.

Rather than preach a sermon, I find it more impactful to take several minutes to sit in silence reflecting on the day's events. In those moments following the whiplash, following the trauma, I just need to sit in silence, breathe, and pray.

There's an online discussion board in which I sort of participate; that is, I mostly look, sometimes read, and rarely post. About a year ago there was a discussion about the awkwardness of Palm Sunday. The original poster felt that jumping the chronology of Holy Week by moving the Good Friday Passion into the second half of Palm Sunday was simply an excuse for people not to celebrate the Triduum. In other words, by having both the festive Palm Sunday and tragic Good Friday readings on the same day, he thought that people feel like their duty is done and they can stay home until Easter, bypassing Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday.

This was one of those times I responded.

In that response, I said, “Yes it's awkward. Yes it's jarring. Yes people don't like that. But how many times in life are we faced with awkward and jarring moments? How many times are we on the 'good' side only to suddenly flip and be the ones to gossip, backstab, or crucify someone else? Life doesn't always follow our well-reasoned liturgical sensibilities.”

Right now we find ourselves in awkward and jarring times. And with the desire and need for churches (as well as synagogues and mosques for that matter) to look for innovative, creative, and sensible ways to provide worship and connectivity, we have rediscovered that life doesn't always follow our well-reasoned liturgical sensibilities. Like the Palm Sunday whiplash, we are being tossed to and fro in our regular lives as well.

Our hopes of having this under control within a few weeks have been dashed against the rocks as we are now facing maybe months of closures and isolation. People who foolishly suggested this virus isn't anything to be worried about and that we would be back to normal by Easter have been proven wrong beyond a shadow of a doubt. The resulting US mortality rate, once proclaimed as minimal, is now projected to be as high as 240,000. And despite best efforts, there are those who refuse to distance from others for what can only be described as purely selfish and delusional reasons. All of this can make us feel tossed about in such a violent way that we suffer from mental, spiritual, and emotional whiplash.

This tossing to and fro, this whiplash, is not only something we experience on Palm Sunday and in these strange and difficult times, but this is something Jesus experienced as well. He shares a meal with twelve of his friends, one of whom betrays him. One of those friends vows that he is willing to die with Jesus, and, as if to prove his point, cuts off the ear of one of those who came to arrest Jesus. That disciple will then deny even knowing Jesus. And in the gospel of Luke, we see Jesus being passed back and forth between Pilate and Herod, adding to the whiplash effect.

On Palm Sunday when we normally gather together for the blessing of the palms and procession into the church, when we normally sing, “All glory, laud and honor to thee Redeemer King!” and then turn around a few minutes later and shout, “Crucify him!” we suffer from liturgical whiplash. The liturgy moves us in a direction we don't want to go. And, at least in places I've served, we sit in silence reflecting on the mornings events. We sit and ponder our complicity in the crucifixion of Jesus. We ask ourselves if we would have defended him, or, at the very least, not denied him. Would we have betrayed him? Maybe we pray for forgiveness. Maybe we recite the well-known response from the Great Litany, “Good Lord, deliver us.”

This Palm Sunday is different. We are gathered together in this event, but we are also scattered apart like the disciples before us. Maybe we are feeling more alone than ever before. Maybe we are feeling deserted. Maybe we want to cry out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Maybe we might be feeling a little bit like Jesus.

One of the things that makes Jesus special is that he is, we believe, the connecting point between God and humanity. Jesus allowed God the experience of being human in order to connect with us more closely. He was human in every way, but without falling victim to sin. As the writer of Hebrews said, “In Christ we have one who can sympathize with our weaknesses and who was tested in every way as we are.”

And Jesus allowed humanity to connect with God more closely. Through the life of Christ we have an example of how to live authentically and completely in relationship with God.

So here we are. We are tired, battered, and whiplashed. Here also is Jesus – tired, battered, and whiplashed. It may be that in the midst of the COVID19 trauma we can draw closer to Christ because we have a better understanding of the trauma he endured. Like God, through his Son, was able to draw nearer to us by experiencing that which we experience, we are now able to draw nearer to Christ.

We are facing awkward, jarring, and painful times, just as Jesus faced awkward, jarring, and painful times during that time we now call Holy Week. In his moment of suffering, he took time to pray, “Not my will, but your will be done.” In our moment of suffering, let us also take time to pray, “Not my will, but your will be done.”

Let us pray:

O God, by whom the meek are guided in judgment, and light rises up in darkness for the godly: Grant us, in all our doubts and uncertainties, the grace to ask what you would have us to do, that the Spirit of wisdom may save us from all false choices, and that in your light we may see light, and in your straight path may not stumble; through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.