Palm Sunday 2020
Palm Sunday
April 5, 2020
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O Lord, my strength and my Redeemer. Amen.
Every year that I’ve been here on Palm Sunday we have gathered in the narthex, passed out worship bulletins and palms, and then walked right back out the front doors in procession, following a bagpiper. Sure, in church-language, we call it a procession. But it’s really a parade. We come, dressed in our vestments, in our Sunday ‘best,’ and we wave our palm branches – sometimes even handing a few out to the people gathered, watching, on the side of the road. We process past the library, past the Chinese restaurant, past the Pizza place, the 9/11 memorial, the pool, the park, and then arrive back into our sanctuary to continue our worship.
Parades are a big deal here in Chatham. For the 4th of July parade, people begin setting up their chairs, saving their spots days ahead of time. And as I think about it, Palm Sunday might be the one service all year that everyone arrives on-time – or even a little early. Everyone loves a parade.
The same was true in Jerusalem, as we heard in our Gospel reading from Matthew. As Jesus and his disciples approached Jerusalem, the people rallied. They’d heard all about Jesus’ miracles, and their hope was that he could miraculously save them from the Roman occupation; that he could feed them if they were hungry, heal them if they were sick, or turn the tables on the things which made their lives miserable. So they waved their palms, threw down their cloaks, and cried out “Hosanna!” (which means “Save us!”). An impromptu parade.
Well, of course, this year – the year of the Coronavirus pandemic – there are no parades. There are no gatherings. No palms. No organ playing “All Glory, Laud and Honor.” No bread and the wine. In fact, during this pandemic, we have processed out of the building and into our homes. And shockingly, the most loving thing we can do is cancel the parade, and keep this church building empty.
But what I want to impress upon you today is that that doesn’t mean that Jesus isn’t here to save us. And it doesn’t mean that Jesus isn’t present with us even as we are keeping our distance, in our own homes.
In fact, quite the opposite.
I realized this as I was out in the fresh air, taking my long walks, my heart screaming “Hosanna!” begging Jesus to save us. That’s when I began to notice the crowd of daffodils along my path. It’s when I started seeing rainbows painted in the windows along my way. When chalked messages of hope started to lead me on. Of course, Jesus is unmistakably present with the medical workers, the EMT’s, nurses and doctors as they work their long and dangerous shifts. But Jesus also makes his humble way through the parade of grocery workers and drivers delivering food to homes. The Jesus parade is still marching – through people sewing masks, supportive group texts, in the parade of faces on Zoom, and in our lists of gratitude . . . and of course, every time we feed the hungry, house the homeless, and care for the most vulnerable. These are the drumbeats of God’s coming kingdom. You know, I’ve never really thought much about that passage from Luke’s gospel where Jesus tells the Pharisees that he could not silence the crowd because “the very stones would cry out” (Luke 19:39-40). Well, it’s true! I hear them. On this Palm Sunday, listen for it – even the stones are shouting!
So, yes, this Palm Sunday is unlike any Palm Sunday before – and I pray to God, unlike any Palm Sunday to come. But what hasn’t changed is that Jesus is still moving forward – UNYIELDING to the world’s deep darkness, showing us that no matter how dark our days are – or how dark they become – the Jesus parade continues, and we never walk alone.
Amen.