Peace, all. Here's a Palm Sunday Sermon for 2023. Enjoy.
Phone folks, if you're reading from your phone, turn your phone so it's horizontal, and things'll fit much better.
~ Tom
Watch for My Signal: A Sermon for Palm Sunday 2023
Watch for my Signal
“I remember standing on a street corner in Selma [Alabama]
during a voting registration drive.
The [community members
that we were working with there were]
lined up [in front of] the courthouse,
under the American flag;
the sheriff and his men,
with their helmets
and guns
and clubs
and cattle prods
[were also lined up]
and
a mob of idle white men
[were] standing on the corner.”
“[After some time] the sheriff raised his club.”
“[Suddenly, he] and his deputies
beat two [young] black [children]
to the ground.”
“Never will I forget the surge in the mob [that day].” [x2]
[For] authority had given them their signal.”**
I can’t remember if I’ve shared this quotation with you all before or not.
But I have shared it a lot.
It is a text to which I return time, and time again
especially
as a person who has some
(even if very limited)
authority in this world.
The quotation itself is an excerpt
from an essay written
in 1968
by James Baldwin
as he reflected some years back
upon the time that he spent
volunteering with SNCC,
alongside the likes of
Stokley Carmichael
and
Martin Luther King Jr.
Even though the story is short
(as is the whole essay of which it is part)
every time I read it
and
every time it comes to mind
I am moved.
I am moved by the horrors of our collective history.
Amen?
And I am moved by that last,
very haunting phrase.
That one where,
speaking of a raised baton,
Baldwin indicates what happened:
the mob attacked because
authority had given them their signal.
Mammon, Magis, Mobs
In Chapter Six of Matthew’s Gospel,
which we read
a number of months ago now,
we encountered Jesus
as he was speaking to some people
who happened to be quite rich.
(I like to imagine the story in a group setting, at least).
Though they are rich,
we learn in the story,
that they are unhappy–
or at least anxious.
And, as a result,
they come to Jesus.
And they ask Jesus how to achieve
a life
that would be
spiritually abundant
and a life
that would
become, perhaps now, perhaps later
something that is
eternal.
Jesus responded.
“Give all of your possessions away,” he said.
Or:
“Sell them and give the money to the poor.”
“Then, come along with me. Let’s go!”
“You cannot serve both God and wealth.”
“You cannot serve both the God who
raises up the crucified people of the world
and the God called Mammon/Wealth who crucifies them
in exchange for profit and personal gain.
For their missions are opposed.
Just a few chapters before that
in Chapter 2 of Matthew’s Gospel
from which we read a bit more recently
we encountered
the Magi,
the wise men,
the Zoroastrians
the astrologers
those who traveled to Bethlehem from
"the east."
We even had a banner
hanging right over here on the wall
depicting the magi following a star.
And a few of you even blessed the church
in remembrance of their journey.
And, as you’ll remember:
in Chapter Two of Matthew’s gospel
at last, their journey ends.
They arrive.
As they do
they meet Herod
the king of the Judeans.
And while they are with him
Herod decides to commission them
to help him out
by disclosing
the whereabouts
of the infant Jesus
once they
themselves
find where he is laid.
Herod wished to pay homage to him
he said,
even though, secretly
Herod planned to kill him.
So:
as a request from a person in power
is usually a demand in disguise,
the magi agreed.
Thankfully, as the story unfolds
the magi are warned in a dream
to go home by another Way
to take an alternate route
and to avoid proximity to Herod
as they journeyed
back East.
And so they do.
And
by taking that narrower Way
that road less traveled,
no doubt,
they model for all of us
and to all who read their story
what it looks like
to be faithful
and to be steadfast
first and foremost
both
to Jesus
and
to the heavenly realm of Love.
That’s Us!
As in the story of the Magi
and [I think]
as in the story of the rich folks
including that
rich young ruler
who asked for Jesus’ advice
the you in today’s reading,
the you that is presented with the possibility
of choosing another
better way
the you written right here into the text,
is plural.
That is it is really better translated as
yous as we sometimes say in Chicago.
Or y’all as they say down south.
And it is my very strong opinion
that
whenever a Gospel writer uses that word (y'all or yous guys)
that
the writer is indicating that Jesus,
in the story,
is not only speaking
to the crowds
and
to his disciples
in the context
of the first century
but
that we are to assume
that Jesus
is also
talking
to us:
We
who are trying
our best
to be disciples
of Jesus' Love.
Likewise, the questions and praises
lifted up in the stories
I think
are not just the questions raised by those characters–
but, rather, those questions are also our own.
If this is true, if I'm reading it alright, then:
Those crowds shouting Hosanna in Matthew 21?
That’s us, Matthew claims.
That’s us
waving palms.
And placing our coats on the ground.
That’s us.
We are the people showing up
in the streets
climbing trees to get a better view.
Looking for healing. Or for salvation.
Or for food.
Or for something, perhaps
that we are unable to name.
That’s us, arriving with praise
like honey
dripping from our lips, singing
Blessed is the One
who comes in the name of the Lord
HOSANNA IN THE HIGHEST!
That’s us.
Amen?
The Batons Will Rise Again. And Again. And Again.
That’s us.
And yet
And yet
nonetheless
at the raising of a sheriff’s baton
at the first drop of water t
o touch Pilate’s hands
as he washes them
clean
at the first anti-Jesus
pro-Barabbus
whisper campaign
planted in the ears and tongues
of those are who gathered ‘round
we, also, are
those who quickly turn
from praising
to condemnation
and cursing
and betrayal.
The story of Holy Week is our own.
Violent and murderous.
Shouting, crucify!
A lynch-mob.
That’s
us.
The killer and the lover surging and swirling
and no matter how deeply they are buried,
living inside of each
and
every one
of us.
To Whom?
All of this
is us.
For this reason
the question presented to us by Jesus, the Word today
is quite similar
to the question asked
by James Baldwin
about Selma and the voters
and the mob;
and to the one presented by Jesus
to the upper crust,
as well as to the one that was laid at the magi’s feet
as they approached that ancient fork in the road:
There are signals and signs all around us
Matthew indicates.
There are people
and products
and politicians.
There are corporations.
And carcerations.
And mobs.
All of them raising crosses
and batons up into the skies.
Each pressing thorns.
Each pounding nails
into naked flesh.
Is this the road you wish to follow?
Do you really think this
will lead to a life that is abundant?
A life that holds something of eternality?
Matthew and Jesus and James Baldwin ask.
Is this really the way you wish to choose?
Or:
will you take another route?
Will you follow me?
Will you be born anew
into solidarity
with the poor
with the downtrodden
with the oppressed?
and with all of the Crucified people
who are suffering all over this earth?
Is this really the way you wish to choose?
Or will you be transformed by choosing love?
If you do, I promise:
you will know what
abundance
and what
eternity
really feel like.
Mobs, Crowds, Us: We Are Invited
We are the mob.
And the mob is us.
We are the torturers.
We are the murderous,
brooding
breathing threats.
And Yet,
even so,
we are invited.
We are invited
to lay that all down.
To study war no more.
To leave it behind.
To let the dead bury the dead.
And to follow the God of Love,
who meets us at the cross
who meets us where we have been dead
and con-spires with us
about resurrection
about rising up
about a mustard seed
a little leaven
a dancehall full of lions and lambs
and skeletons
instead.
This is the question
that is laid before us
every morning;
and every minute of every day.
And Lent is a great time to RSVP.
Amen?
Let's do that. As best we can.
Not alone.
Not in isolation.
But to gether.
Y'all. Yous guys. All of us.
Let’s do it together.
For
[and I never thought the day would come
when I'd quote Robert Frost in a sermon:]
as Robert Frost would remind us
that road less trodden
less traveled
will actually make
all
of the difference.
Amen.
**James Baldwin, “Black Power,” in The Cross of Redemption: Uncollected Writings, (New York: Vintage International, 2011), 100.
***Lutheran Friends, if you did not receive here the grace you were hoping for, fear not. As worship continues, we will find that, though our choice each day is to turn to and participate in Love, God chooses to Love us and to participate in our lives, nonetheless--a reality we bear witness to in sharing communion. God, grace, etc. embraces us however and whoever we are, as we are. I don't usually make disclaimers, y'all, but I think I am making it to myself as much as I am to you! Peace, all!
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