Palm Sunday 2020

Sermon Notes, Palm Sunday, 2020 “Then what shall I do with Jesus who is called Christ?” They all said, “Let him be crucified!” 23 How is it that we, whose sins have been forgiven by the atoning death of Jesus on the cross, must come back to this moment of our convicting failure again and again and again? Our sins are not only forgiven, they are forgotten. But on Palm Sunday the vilest of our sins is paraded before us so that we may never forget. Forgiven yes, forgotten no. On past Palm Sundays when we read the passion narrative together, there would always be a slight gasp or sob from someone caught up in the story. Someone who realized, rightly, that the cry, “Let him be crucified,” could have come from their lips just as angrily as it came from the crowd before Pilate. Today, when we are apart, we may feel that shame even more. It’s not a crowd reaction. We don’t succumb to the bullies among us. We can’t blame the government. Each of us says for himself, “Let him be crucified.” So each of us must come to our own reckoning. Again, we’re struck by the incredible power of scripture to speak to us across the centuries. Hebrews 4: 12, 13. “For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight. Everything in uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account.” So we have to answer Pilates’ question for ourselves. “Then what shall I do with Jesus who is called Christ?” We can’t disavow, “Crucify him.” Even the Hosannas we shout on Palm Sunday are no antidote for this rejection. But here’s the irony: our answer, and Jesus’ resulting crucifixion, opens the door to our salvation. Our cry to crucify him is the password letting us enter the passion narrative not as spectators, but as participants. We aren’t just watching what happened, it’s happening to us. God, in his great mercy, doesn’t drop the curtain on our cry to crucify him. It’s not the last act of this drama. What follows is hard and painful. Our cry cues Judas’ betrayal, Jesus’ trial, Peter’s denial, the whipping and the crown of thorns, Jesus’ stumbling walk to Golgotha, and finally the cross itself. But even all that is not the last act. When we say, “Let him be crucified,” God responds with, “Yes, and let him rise from the dead.” And not even that is the last act. Having called forth the crucifixion that convicts us, having witnessed the resurrection that saves us, we come back again to Pilate’s question. “Then what shall I do with Jesus who is called Christ?” Now is the time for a different answer. Now is the time to name him for who he is eternally. Not just for each of us singly, alone in our homes, staring into our computers, but for all the world and for all time. There’s no better answer than that given by those who watched at the foot of the cross. “Truly this was the Son of God!” What shall we do with Jesus who is called Christ? Name him. Proclaim him. Obey him. Follow him. Trust him. That’s our role in this Holy week drama. We can’t gather as we would like. But we can do apart everything we did together. We can cry over our complicity. We can agonize over what our rejection cost Jesus. We may wish it were not so but we can’t erase our lines in the script. It is because we painfully remember our sin that we joyfully embrace the one who redeems us. May the sin of our rejection be forgiven by God and not forgotten by us. In the Name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.