In Case You Didn't Get It the First Time

I John 3:1-3; Acts 3:12-19

        There is an old joke about a minister preaching his first sermon to a new congregation.  He worked on the sermon until he had it just right.  Then he laid out his persuasive words to the eager ears.  After the service everyone came up and proclaimed it was the best sermon they had heard in years.  The next week the congregation enthusiastically anticipated a repeat of the previous effort.  And that is exactly what they got.  The new minister delivered the same message, word for word.  This happened the next three weeks.  Finally a group of elders marched into the minister’s study and asked for an explanation.  The minister looked up from his desk and said, “When you respond to the first sermon I will move on to another.”

        Our text this morning is Peter preaching his Pentecost sermon ….. again.   On Pentecost, Peter had stood in the middle of Solomon’s Portico and addressed the same folks who had murdered Jesus.  A day later he preached practically an exact replica just to make sure the folks listening really got the message.  This is an amazing transformation of faith. The same Peter that denied Jesus, the same Peter that had failed to show up at the crucifixion, the same Peter that had hid out hoping to find safe passage back to Galilee, now, completely filled with the Holy Spirit, described his conversion, not once but twice.  Peter was bold in his pronouncement.  He accused the crowd of “rejecting the Holy and Righteous One, of killing the author of Life.”  I am sure  when Peter finished speaking he expected the crowd to haul him off to a field and stone him.  But they didn’t.  We are told over 3,000 folks begged to be baptized.  So the next day, Peter preached the exact sermon with similar results. 

        Amazing!!!  What was it that Peter said that captivated this crowd not once, but twice?  He began with a not so simple question, “Who was Jesus?”  Peter was speaking to people who woke up every morning praying for the Messiah to come.  Of course they probably felt like the chances of him showing up were less than the Cubs going to the World Series.  The desired it, they longed for it, but it was pretty much thought it was a pipe dream.  Then Peter stood before them declared, “The Messiah was here and you not only ignored him, you killed him.  But that’s OK.  He conquered death and he can conquer your suspicious hearts if you but give him a chance.”  Can you imagine the buzz that was going through that crowd?

        You folks at Rockfish are a pretty sophisticated bunch.  If I were to stop right now and break you into small groups and ask, “Who was Jesus”, imagine how many different answers would be articulated?  Some, perhaps the majority, would state Jesus was the Son of God, sacrificed for the sins of the world.  Another group, a smaller but vocal contingency, would focus on the humanness rather than the divinity of Jesus, using him as the primary example of what we might become.  Some would try to unravel the mystery of incarnation, others would honestly say, “I’m really not sure.”  Once lines and divisions were formed, I would ask a second question.  Regardless of your understanding of Jesus, how does that understanding impact your life?

        The writer of the first Epistle of John wrote, “See what love God has given us, that we should be called the children of God.  The reason the world does not know us is that it does not know him.”  Who is Jesus?  Who are we?  How does our understanding of Jesus define our understanding of our own identity?

        The past couple of months I have spending some time with our young people.  We have had some interesting and revealing conversations and I have had a great time getting to know them.  In our initial conversation, I asked them to draw a self portrait.  When finished, we hung them on the wall.  Then I asked them to draw a picture of God.  It was amazing how similar their pictures of God resembled the pictures of themselves.  I was not surprised by this.  It is amazing how many folks see themselves as gods.  I had them open their Bibles to the Old Testament and introduced them to a formula for God which is used over and over again in the Psalms.  God is gracious, merciful, slow to anger and steadfast in love.  They looked at me strangely but since I was the teacher they gave me the benefit of the doubt. 

        The next week we talked about who they thought Jesus was.  They came up with some great answers but when they finished I asked them, “If Jesus is a child of God, how might God in Jesus best be understood.”  After a few moments someone said, “Jesus would be gracious, merciful, slow to anger, steadfast in love.”

        The following week we begin to talk about the concept of sin.  Admittedly, this is a tough conversation even for adults.  Once again your kids began to scratch under the surface and engaged in a very mature conversation.  At first stealing, lying, and gossip seemed to be the three wrongdoings that concerned them the most.  Then, with a little help, they defined sin as that which is contrary to what God desires us to do and be.  Finally one youth said, “God wants us to be gracious, merciful, slow to anger, and steadfast in love.  We need to act like God acts.” 

        Bingo!  Proceed directly to GO and collect your 200 dollars.   Our kids nailed the concept of being created in the image of God.  What they also revealed was the extreme complexities that evolve from this revelation.  Ronald Cole-Turner writes, “Jesus was misunderstood by nearly everyone around him and Christians must learn to expect the same.”    In other words, if Jesus is gracious, merciful, slow to anger and steadfast in love, and if we as a community of faith believe we are called to be gracious, merciful, slow to anger and steadfast in love, how will the world perceive us?

        Did you check out the headlines or watch CNN this morning?  They might serve to remind you we live in an age that seeks security through violence and greed rather than solidarity and forgiveness. We live in a society which finds personal identity through social networking rather than spiritual transformation.  But perhaps most challenging is we live in a world that trusts failed experiences over the promise that grace, mercy and love might show us a more profound truth.

        I love history.  What better place to live if one is a history buff.  When I was in the 4^th grade most students learned the story of Paul Revere.  As a Virginian I was much more interested in Jack Jouett’s horseback ride from Richmond to Charlottesville to warn Jefferson and other members of the Virginia legislature that Cornwallis had dispatched Col. Tarleton to capture the revolutionaries.  Thanks to Jouett, the legislature escaped, and thanks to stories such as this I have always been interested in examining the ebb and flow of various civilizations.  Challenging a premise by George Santayana, I believe no matter how much we study history we continue to repeat the same mistakes.   Experience counters everything else even if it was a bad experience.  What is so radical about Peter preaching in streets of Jerusalem was that we was offering a new direction, a new answer, a new solution to life’s age old problems.  He had the nerve to suggest despite all the accepted evidence God’s promise trumps our experience.

        You folks know this. Despite all the varying hypothesis concerning who Jesus was and who Jesus continues to be, the very heart throb of this congregation is founded on the Godly principal of being gracious, merciful, slow to anger, and steadfast in love.  

        One of the wonderful things about my job is I get to go out in the afternoon and visit with you folks.  This week I was sitting with one of you who said, “Louie, in your experience, are all churches like this one?  What makes us so different?”  Before I could speak he answered his own question by saying.  “Gracious, look at the time.  Please excuse me but I’m a CASA volunteer and I need to pick-up my student from school.”

        During another visit the same day a very complicated conversation found closure when the person I was sitting with said, “I think life comes down to one truth.  The ability to forgive defines the very essence of who we are.”

        Recently another couple said to me, “We go as far away as Waynesboro to Square Dance because it allows us to meet folks different than us.”  Another one of you said, “Hop in the car and I’ll show you another side of Nelson County.”  My favorite response might be,, “We can find plenty of pine.  But we only give away hard wood.  It doesn’t clog their chimney.”

        What makes this church unique is that you truly love each other and the community that surrounds us. You understand that each day, through your acts of mercy, graciousness and steadfast love, you are ignoring what the world has taught and are clinging to an ancient promise that there is a better way to live our lives.

        Marilynne Robinson in her new book, When I was a Child I Read Books, writes, “The great narrative to which we Christians are called to be faithful is a story of a man whose purpose was to render holiness and reveal the way of God to humankind.  This is too great a narrative to be reduced to serving any self interest or be overwritten by any lesser human tale.  Our Reverence should forbid it being subordinated to tribalism, resentment, or fear.”

        Again, you folks understand this.  When I walk into this sanctuary on Sunday morning I am reminded of that wonderful song by Doris Akers.  “There’s a sweet, sweet Spirit in this place, and I know that it’s the Spirit of the Lord.”  This is a place that understands, above all else, the Spirit has called us to be gracious, merciful, slow to anger and steadfast in love.  This is who God is.  This is who we strive to be. This is who the children of God desire to be.  

        Gracious, merciful, slow to anger, steadfast in love.

                                Say it with me.

        Gracious, merciful, slow to anger, steadfast in love.

                                One more time.

        Gracious, merciful, slow to anger, steadfast in love.

                        This is a sweet, sweet, place.       

Amen.

Reacting to the Resurrection

John 20:19-31; Acts 4:32-37

This year we spent 40 days in Lent, complete with all those contemplative scriptures and hymns before arriving at Holy Week. Then we celebrated Palm Sunday, followed by a service on Maundy Thursday. Finally Easter arrived. We sang our Alleluias, heard the miraculous Story, gave thanks to God, and then Easter was over. We went home to a glorious meal but by Monday morning most of us were back to our regular routine.

There is nothing really unusual about this. This year was my 60th Easter celebration. When I was much younger, and Easter baskets were part of the deal, I am sure I gave thanks for Easter as long as the candy stash held out. Truth is, these days I usually am more excited about the days after Easter than the sacred event. On Tuesday Dwight and I traveled to Cincinnati to catch a couple ball games. We talked, Dwight suffered through my music and we discussed why baseball is so superior to all other sports. It was a great to do nothing other than argue over who was the greater first baseman, Stan Musial or Albert Pujols.

Of course that is not what happened following the first Easter. The resurrection marked the beginning, not the end of the story. The followers of Jesus were absolutely overwhelmed by the Easter event. Today too many folks view Easter as an event that guarantees our place in heaven once we die. For the early Christians, the Easter event changed their eternal and daily outlook completely. The writer of Acts recorded, “No one claimed any of the things which he possessed was his own, but they shared everything they had.” Stories are recorded of churches becoming the center of communities where the congregations became large families. Each person claimed responsibility for their neighbor both spiritually and physically. Barnabas sold a field he owned, gave the proceeds to the church and allowed the Apostles to share the money among those who were in need. Justin Martyr wrote, “We who once coveted most greedily the wealth and fortune of others, now place in common the goods we possess, dividing them with the needy.” The early Christians took very seriously the Old Testament idea that creating heaven on earth was possible. They took care of their own and created a radical new life together. We are not sure how long the early church operated in this fashion. The Epistle of James indicates that more than one congregation was destroyed by its failure to continue this practice. Perhaps they were able to function this way because they believed Jesus would return in their lifetime. Perhaps it was simply too hard to continue this particular lifestyle for more than a generation. Regardless, large portions of the Gospel of Luke and the Book of Acts speak about economic issues and how God’s greatest competition seemed to come from the love of money.

When we hear these stories we naturally become skeptical. To some it sounds like they were running some sort of idealistic commune. How could a community survive with such naïve principals? Surely these were only isolated examples and really didn’t apply to the whole Christian community. That is why our lectionary readings link Acts with the story of the disciple Thomas. I suspect there is a little Thomas, a bit of a skeptic in each of us especially when it comes to what we believe.

You know the story. Jesus suddenly appeared among the disciples. All but Thomas was there. Jesus greeted the disciples with the words, “Peace be with you.” We could quickly dismiss this as just another way of saying hello or we can place ourselves into the panicked lives of the disciples. Their leader had been killed. They were in hiding in fear of being discovered. They had heard rumors that Jesus was alive but the report had come from a group of women whose words seemed less than reliable. They were confused and frightened. The words, “Peace be with you” were exactly the words they craved to hear. They wanted some comfort food. They needed assurances that some kind of normalcy would return to their lives.

From birth I suspect many of us instinctively desire to be comforted. I can remember the good old days when my grandchild lived less than an hour away. Before Zach and Martina “kidnapped” my grandson and took him to Louisiana, I would often have the opportunity to rock Andy to sleep. He knew the routine: bath, bottle, bed. When Andy would visit, my job was to prepare the bottle, sit in the rocker and wait for his arrival. Sometimes his hunger and fatigue put him a little over the edge. He would cry out as his grandmother lifted him into my arms. But like a good grandfather I would feed him, sing a lullaby and promise God’s peace would be with him through the night.

“Peace be with you” carries with it the assurance that beyond the reality we experience there is hope. It reminds us that God continues to work for creation even when fear paralyzes us. “Peace be with you” is more than a greeting; it is an invitation to claim the healing power of Christ.

At the critical moment in the disciple’s confusion and disillusion Jesus stepped back into their lives and offered peace. Then without saying another word, he showed them his wounds. The words of Jesus, when linked with the wounds of Jesus, amplify the promise of Jesus, that peace is possible.

Frank Honeycutt, a Lutheran minister wrote, “We are wounded people. Sometimes we pretend, even with those we know fairly well, that’s nothing wrong. It is often considered bad form to confess our weaknesses, so when asked we often say, “Everything’s fine”, even though we are lying through our teeth. Jesus refuses to pretend. He says, “Peace be with you” and then he hikes up his shirt. Jesus knows peace only comes when we deal seriously with his wounds, and our own.”

Enter Thomas. The disciples tell him everything was going to be fine because Jesus was back. But Thomas was skeptical. He had heard that sermon where the preacher gets up and says, “Don’t worry folks. It is a sad day today but a better day is coming. This life is just preparing us for that reward once we reach heaven and see Jesus.” Thomas wasn’t interested in tomorrow. He wanted proof that the power of God could change his life now. The death of his friend had broken his heart. He wasn’t interested in heavenly promises. He needed to be healed today. When he saw Jesus, his savior’s first words were, “Peace be with you.” The second were just as powerful, “Touch my wounds.”

Ever have some one touch your wounds? I am not talking about physical wounds. I am talking about the wounds deep in side, wounds that linger, and fester. Every have someone bandage your soul? Ever sat with someone that you trusted to the point you could cry and not be embarrassed?

I suspect each of us, man, woman or child, have wounds that need to be healed. I suspect that each of us, man, woman or child, would like to discover peace in our lives. And I suspect most of us, man, woman or child, fear admitting our wounds because it might expose our weaknesses. Let me share a little secret. The Church is filled with wounded people who are saved by a wounded Lord. Jesus said to Thomas, “Peace be with you and then he showed him his wounded side.” Then Thomas and Peter and John and all the other disciples preached a gospel of peace to the people of Jerusalem, exposing their wounds, exposing their fears but most importantly, exposing their faith. Then they called the new converts to a life of spiritual, intellectual and economic dependency on each other.

You see this faith thing is not just between you and God. It is about the people of God sharing in our woundedness, sharing in our faith, and sharing in our recovery. It is about being skeptical and thinking no one else hurts as much as we do and then discovering we all have to deal with some kind of pain. It is about remembering that the church is Christ’s healing agent and the healing does not begin until the wound is exposed. It is about saying “Peace be with you”, with the conviction of someone who has been wounded and healed. It is about sharing that pain, much as the early church shared their wealth, in order to discover that through Christ our wounds can be healed.

In all of my years of ministry I have never defined my successes in terms of budgets, buildings or membership. It has always been about people who are hurt, people who are lost, and people struggling to find purpose in their life. The church best represents the body of Christ when it visits the sick or the home bound. The church best represents the body of Christ when it embraces the young girl who is pregnant, or is a healing agent after a divorce, or gathers around a family when they have lost a loved one, or offers support during difficult economic times. The church does not turn a blind eye to the downtrodden. The church does not desert the mistake ridden. The Church does not condone sin but neither does it condemn the sinner. The church always remembers that he who was without sinned died for us. Because of Christ’s wounds, and because he has healed our wounds, as Christ’s ambassadors our words, without any reservations, should always be, “Peace be unto you”.

Those are transforming words, but how willing are we to be transformed. In our country one in six children go to bed hungry. That is a fact. In our world 30,000 children die daily of preventable diseases. That’s a fact. In the Presbyterian Church, few congregations spend more than 2% of their budget on local needs. That’s a shame.

Perhaps we need to go back to some of the models embraced by the early church. Perhaps we need to have the courage to wound our pockets a little bit so that when we say, “Peace be to you”, we are willing to give a piece of ourselves to the one who is wounded. Poverty is a huge problem with no logical answer. But I think if an answer is to be found, we “skeptics” who dare to follow Christ are going to have to reconsider putting ourselves and offerings behind the words, “Peace be to You”. It is more than a slogan. It is a commitment to a transforming way of life.

To God be the glory. Amen.

Somebody's Calling Your Name

John 20:1-18

Two or three times a week I will get e-mails suggesting I look at some phenomenal event recorded on the internet. There is no such thing as a private moment anymore. I have read that professional basketball players are texting comments to their “face book” during halftime. I guess I should comb my hair just in case someone is recording this sermon.

Imagine if the Easter event had happened in the 21st century. In this age of mass media, CNN would have camped out in the cemetery and Anderson Cooper would have entered the tomb at first light. We would have had a special edition of Larry King Live and on Monday Jesus would have begun the morning on the “Today Show” and ended the day trading barbs with Jon Stewart. The news of the resurrection would have been no secret whatsoever. In fact, I suspect two months later CBS would have aired a made for TV movie titled, “Alive”. The pre-airing commercials would tease us with the guarantee that it was based on a real story.

But of course that is not the way it happened. There are eye witness accounts, but each contradicts the other. Mark’s original version was so sparse that someone later went back and added an additional ending. Luke marks the events along the road to Emmaus as the center piece of his story. In Matthew the disciples don’t see the risen Lord until they return to Galilee.

Then there is the account in John. It begins with Mary Magdalene going to the tomb by herself. If this were a made for TV movie you can just imagine the creepy soundtrack being played as alone, Mary walked in the semi-darkness toward the tomb. There would be shrieking sounds as Mary found the stone rolled away. We would have all feared for her life as she looked inside the tomb. When she found it empty, she would turn, stumbling as she ran, to find the disciples and report what she had discovered. In the next scene we would witness the detectives Peter and John gathering clues to the mysterious disappearance of the body. Completely confused by the events the disciples would eventually return to their homes, leaving Mary alone, weeping.

We have no clue why Mary returned to the tomb. Obviously Jesus was gone. Maybe she just wanted to be close to where she had seen him last. Maybe in her grief, she also wanted to die. For whatever reason, she returns to the tomb and goes inside. Imagine her surprise when she discovered two angels sitting where the body had been. They ask a perfectly ridiculous question, “Woman, why are you weeping?”

For most of us, Easter is the most glorious moment in the history of humankind. It defines every other event that has happened and will happen in our lives. Yet imagine being Mary. She found herself right in the midst of God’s revelation but none of the pieces seem to fit. The tomb was empty, the grave clothes were left behind, the disciples had run off to who knows where and two angels calmly sat in the tomb telling her not to weep over the death of the most important person in her life.

Marie Berger wrote, “Once in a while one becomes profoundly and spiritually bewildered. The neat answers crumble in a sea of confusion as we are led astray into a pathless wilderness that has no obvious beginning or end.” I don’t know how many times I have sat with a husband or wife at the moment of death. One minute the person they love more than anyone else in the world is here, and then they are gone. The survivor, a person of great faith, looks sorrowfully into my eyes and silently asks, “Why?” The obvious response is, “The person you love is not dead, they are living eternally with God.” That is what we believe. That is what we proclaim. And yet those words often seem lacking, even confusing at the moment of death.

While the disciples stumbled over each other trying to figure out which one of them was the greatest, it was the women who were faithful. When Jesus was tired, the women washed his feet. When the Last Supper was prepared, do you really thing the men cooked the meal? Even at the cross, where Jesus was deserted by the disciples, the woman gathered together and supported each other. When the final breath was taken, they claimed his body. These women listened to Jesus. They remembered his stories. And now Mary Madeline, in the midst of her grief, came to make those final burial preparations. For all the promises of life, Mary could only see death. For all the promises of tomorrow, Mary could only see today. Even the angels only served to further confuse her already bruised heart.

“Where have you taken him? I need to finish the work I started. I need to say the final prayers. I need to shed a tear. I need to hold his hand and kiss his face one last time.” Mary stared blindly at the angels, overwhelmed by grief, overcome by her personal sea of confusion. Then she hears that one unique voice she has heard a thousand times before, “Mary”.

There was no one around to record this historical scene. The disciples had gone home. The soldiers had fled. No cameras, no fancy cell phones, no CNN, no one, except Mary. She turned and looked into that face she adored and answered, “Teacher.” That one word, that one moment of faith, began that incredible transition when the rest of the world claimed Jesus, son of Joseph as Christ, son of God.

Karl Barth, the great Swiss Reformed pastor wrote, “Faith is a decision to believe in God’s mysterious breaking forth. Faith is the belief that God is not dead, not passive, nor inactive but that God works through history for the redemption of humankind. Faith is enacted by announcing, ‘I have seen the Lord’.”

There is an African-American spiritual that beautifully captures Mary’s moment of recognition. The song begins, “Hush, hush, somebody’s calling my name. Hush…… hush, somebody’s calling my name. Hush……… hush, somebody’s calling my name. Oh my Lord, O my Lord, what shall I do?”

The Christian faith began when Mary found Peter, John and the rest of the disciples and testified to the resurrection. She didn’t bring pictures of the body. She didn’t share a recording of the voice. She declared her witness to a transformation of her dear friend from teacher to Lord.

At my last congregation we had a children’s program which met every other Wednesday. On the Wednesday before Easter the kids and I would walk through the church, reliving the last week of Jesus. We started with a parade in the fellowship hall. We went outside and pretended to be Jesus praying on the hill for the sins of Jerusalem. Only we prayed for our own sins. We climbed the steps to the “Upper Room” where the kids told me all about the significance of the bread and the body. We headed to the choir room which we turned into the garden. We talked about the disciples falling asleep. We traveled to the court of Pilate, and made our way into the sanctuary. On the communion table was a cross wrapped in black. The kids were filled with questions about how Jesus died, why he would forgive everyone, and why he was thirsty. Then I sent the girls to the tomb. They came back and announced the tomb was empty. I asked them what had happened and one girl said, “Jesus rose from the dead.” I asked her how she knew. She said, “Somebody told me.”

Easter is remembering Mary’s act of faith. But Easter is more than that. Easter is relived each time we, one child at a time, one life at a time, share the story of God calling our name.

If we believe, how do we do anything less?

To God be the Glory. Amen.                            

Humble Thyself

Matthew 21:1-11; Philippians 2:5-11

Palm Sunday

A sentry stands in the highest tower of the city of Jerusalem. As he looks to the east, the sun begins to climb into the empty sky. It’s Sunday, the day after the Sabbath, and the first day of the Passover Celebration. Soon the roads will be crowded with pilgrims headed toward Jerusalem to celebrate the holiest of holidays. The sentry strains his eyes to the west toward Caesarea Philippi. It will only be a matter of minutes before the royal guard from the Roman garrison will appear on the horizon. Rome wants to take no chances of even the hint of an insurrection during the holidays. Before the Passover meal is shared, Jerusalem will swell from a town of 40,000 to a city of 200,000. There will be memories of Moses. There will be stories of Israel’s years of slavery. There will be songs of freedom. Eventually the stories and songs will lead to talk of revolt and revolution. This will be a busy week in Jerusalem.

Down the road they march, 10,000 strong, the peacemakers of the Emperor. The sentry’s heart swells as he views the pride of Rome marching toward Jerusalem. The parade is led by a centurion, seated upright on his Arabian mount. As the sun reflects off his helmet, it appears as if God himself is marching a legend of angels toward the heavenly throne. No power on heaven or earth can stand against this holy expedition.

The sentry turns once again to view the whole city. From the north he can already see a steady stream of travelers. He thinks to himself, “They must be from Galilee”. Then he spies some commotion below. A second parade, with none of the grandeur of his comrades, seems to have formed toward the east gate. Children and parents began to line the streets in anticipation of something spectacular. It is only Sunday and already the spectacle has begun. What a joke that someone would attempt to rival the magnificence of Pax Romana.

From far below, the crowd began to chant, “Hosanna, Hosanna”. The sentry was not fluent in Aramaic, but he knew the meaning of the phrase. “Save us! Save us!”

“How ironic”, he thought. The crowd was shouting for salvation and they were missing the entrance of the world’s greatest saviors who were now entering the West Gate. Maybe he should redirect them to the other side of the city. As he pondered that thought, the sentry witnessed the object of their adoration. A young man, wearing a simple robe, was riding a young colt into the city. The man looked almost clownish on the back of the adolescent animal. Was he their savior? Was this some kind of Jewish joke? Didn’t these folks realize the real show was on the other side of town? Oh well, it was only Sunday; soon there would be a dozen other spectacles. The sentry’s thoughts were interrupted when his replacement arrived. He didn’t even think to mention the impromptu parade.

I have always found Palm Sunday to be ….. awkward. It is the story of a desperate people crying out to be saved, not fully understanding the salvation that was being accomplished right before their eyes. What was it these people wanted? Why did they so quickly turn on Jesus five days later and demand his crucifixion? Who did they believe Jesus to be? Was he a prophet, a teacher, a rabbi? Why did Jesus insist on riding that young colt into the city? It had to be more than a fulfillment of those verses from Isaiah. The contrast between the two kings is far too obvious. Caesar was represented by his legions. Caesar’s representative wore purple, carried a sword and rode a commanding beast. Caesar conquered with might and power. Caesar ruled through fear. God was represented by one lowly, empty-handed man, riding a colt. Think about it. Who was going to draw the larger crowd? Who was going to command the greatest attention? Who was going to be around tomorrow?

The problem with Jesus is we don’t get what we are looking for? Imagine if Jesus had showed up with a battalion of angels and wiped out a whole legion of the Roman Empire with a flick of his wrist. Now that would have gotten Caesars attention. It would have been Moses verses Pharaoh all over again. Perhaps that was the problem. Remember the original Passover? God showed a mighty hand. God disrupted nature, God destroyed families, and finally God liberated the Israelites from the power of Pharaoh by destroying an entire army on the banks of the Red Sea. You think the Hebrews would have been impressed. When God said, “Now go, sin no more,” they should have responded in a way that would have eliminated sin from all human records. But you remember the story. In a matter of days, the Hebrews were back to worshiping other gods.

This time, God had a new plan. This time, God was not going to depend on the fickleness of the human spirit. This time, from beginning to end, God was going to play the drama out in a way that would confuse us, bewilder us and finally convert us. This time God was going to overcome power with humbleness.

Yes, you heard me right, I said “humbleness”. Those wonderful and theologically sound men and women who pick the lectionary texts included Philippians 2:5-11 in our Palm Sunday readings. Paul wrote, “Though he was in the form of God, Jesus did not regard himself as equal with God. He emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in human likeness. Jesus humbled himself and became obedient, to the point of death, even death on the cross.”

What kind of plan was this? Who in their right mind is going to follow someone who picks death over life? Who among us is willing to celebrate humbleness as our greatest attribute? Perhaps that is the wrong question. Who among us has not been humbled to a point that we are completely helpless with no place else to turn. We have lost all power in our own ability to change a particular situation. Having no other recourse we empty ourselves and call on God.

Last year, to prepare for the 150 anniversary of the firing on Ft. Sumter, I was re-reading some of the letters of Abraham Lincoln. During the darkest hours of the Civil War, Lincoln took it upon himself to write a letter to every mother who lost a son during that awful conflict. This president, who seldom talked about his faith, wrote to Edwin Stanton, his Secretary of War, “I have been driven to my knees in prayer by the overwhelming and humbling conviction that I had no place else to go.”

Jesus bore the cross, not in fulfillment of a particular commandment, but in response to God’s call to accept a specific fate and perform a specific task. This left him completely overwhelmed and humbled.

Is it any wonder that on the Sunday before the crucifixion there were two parades? And is it any wonder that remembering this “Sunday” is a bit awkward. The solution of the world was seen on a white horse, in a purple robe with a placard that read “Peacemaker”. That image remains the answer to almost all our earthly problems, until we are driven to our knees by the loss of a job; or perhaps a routine doctor’s visit reveals a terminal disease; or we are stunned by the end of a relationship; or we are sobered by the reality that we are enslaved by an addiction. We understand power. We use it, we wield it, we even destroy others with it. But where do we go when we are empty. What do we do when we realize our own resources are inadequate? What happens when of all the verses in the Bible that could pop in our head, the one that God makes available to us is, “Those who want to save their lives will lose it, but those who lose their lives for my sake will find it.”

Hosanna! Save us! That is the message of Palm Sunday.

Hosanna! Save us! This is the prayer that crosses out lips when we have tried everything else.

Hosanna! Save us! This is our cry when are overwhelmed, even humbled to the point we fall to our knees, empty and afraid.

Hosanna! Save us! Not with the sword, but with the humility and grace of that solitary figure on a donkey.

Every Palm Sunday there are two parades offering salvation. One goes though Rome. The other goes through Calvary. One celebrates the sword. The other observes the cross. One makes promises it can never keep. One keeps promises God will never break.

Hosanna! Save us!

Hosanna! Humble us!

In the name of one who became obedient,

Even to death. Amen.