Don't Give Up the Journey

This is a sermon I've had in my head for the past four Palm Sundays - but this is the first time I've felt ready to preach it. 

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“Don’t Give up the Journey” – Luke 19:28-40

Rev. Erin Dickey – April 14^th, 2019

Our scripture this morning comes from the Gospel according to Luke, chapter 19, verses 28-40:

²⁸ After Jesus had said this, he went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem. ²⁹ As he approached Bethphage and Bethany at the hill called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples, saying to them, ³⁰ “Go to the village ahead of you, and as you enter it, you will find a colt tied there, which no one has ever ridden. Untie it and bring it here. ³¹ If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ say, ‘The Lord needs it.’”

³² Those who were sent ahead went and found it just as he had told them. ³³ As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?”

³⁴ They replied, “The Lord needs it.”

³⁵ They brought it to Jesus, threw their cloaks on the colt and put Jesus on it. ³⁶ As he went along, people spread their cloaks on the road.

³⁷ When he came near the place where the road goes down the Mount of Olives, the whole crowd of disciples began joyfully to praise God in loud voices for all the miracles they had seen:

³⁸ “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!” 

“Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!”

³⁹ Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Jesus, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples!”

⁴⁰ “I tell you,” he replied, “if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.”

The word of God for the people of God. 

Praise be to God. 

Will you please pray with me?

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of each of our hearts be acceptable in Your sight, our Rock and our Redeemer. In these ancient words, may we find a living word. Amen. 

Despite popular belief, Mardi Gras is not a location. You do not go to “the Mardi Gras.” 

Second, Mardi Gras happens all over Louisiana, not just in New Orleans. While New Orleans is the often the first, and only, city people think of when they hear about Mardi Gras, pretty much every city in Louisiana celebrates the entire season of Mardi Gras with fancy balls, parades, festivals, king cake, and good food. Because of this, parades were second nature to me growing up. I have been in several and been to even more. 

We used to do a classic car parade with my Grandma where we would sit in the rumble seat of her 1928 Ford Model A. 

We had parades at school where the French immersion kids would circle the playground and throw candy and beads to the other students. 

We had high school homecoming parades, Christmas parades, St. Patrick’s Day parades… 

There is even a Mardi Gras parade for dogs called “Krewe de Barkus”!

Yes, people in Louisiana can find almost any excuse to throw a parade and because of that, this Palm Sunday passage always seems like a bit of a homecoming in so many ways. Prior to 2015, this passage was one of celebration for me. I didn’t always connect it with the events of Holy Week but instead like the parades of my childhood which were full of celebration, screaming, waving, and pure exuberance. In a way, Palm Sunday felt somewhat out of place. We have this celebratory day and then suddenly go in to Jesus’ final meal and his death. 

However, four years ago, there was a great shift that allowed the Palm Sunday narrative to find it’s way back into my understanding of Holy Week. I’ve shared over the past two and a half years that one of the most pivotal moments in my life and in my faith journey was losing my cousin, Philip, during a motorcycle accident while he was stationed at Camp LeJeune as an active duty Marine. Losing someone who is active duty and transporting their body home is an incredibly long, tedious, and sorrowful process. 

Because Lake Charles only has a small regional airport, it could not accommodate the plane needed to transport Philip home for the last time, so he was flown into Houston which is a little over two hours west of us. Our entire family and several dozen of his friends made the drive to Houston to meet him on the tarmac and begin the journey of bringing Philip home. The drive there was a little surreal and as I sat in a limo with my cousins and several of Philip’s friends, it didn’t quite hit WHAT we were doing until we got to the tarmac. The drive back home was just as surreal but this time in a much more stoic way. We knew exactly where we were going and why. 

As we crossed the state line between Texas and Louisiana, we were greeted by a group of Veterans on their motorcycles who escorted the hearse, two limos of family and friends, and the other 15 or so cars of loved ones that had joined us on the tarmac, for the remaining 25 miles until we made it to Lake Charles, to make the loop in front of our high school, and down the street to the funeral home. 

We didn’t know what to expect when we drove into town, but as we started to turn down the street where our high school was, our soccer fields, and even his house, we began to see hundreds upon hundreds of people lined up along the streets, waving flags, cheering, and holding candles. There was a 30 foot sign that had been made by the high school students that said, “Welcome Home Phil” and fire trucks whose ladders made an arch for us to go under. Though that week had been the worst week of my life and was more painful than anything I could have imagined, the pain in that moment was fleeting and instead I just felt so much gratitude. Gratitude for my family and my cousin, gratitude for our community, and gratitude for the celebration that was before us as Philip made his final homecoming. Even though that day and that week had been so hard, that moment was one of celebration.

And that is when it clicked that although it was January 30^th, that day was Palm Sunday. 

Palm Sunday was Jesus’ final homecoming – a day mixed with feelings of grief and pain but also a day filled with gratitude for the community from which Jesus came and the community he had made, gratitude for those small moments of joy, and gratitude for the long journey that had led him to this point. 

And that is what Palm Sunday is for us. When we put it back into perspective of what Palm Sunday means in the grand scheme of Holy Week, it’s a time for grief and gratitude to co-exist. It’s a time where we reconcile the feeling of sorrow and the desire to celebrate. It’s a time to examine not just that moment, but the whole journey. 

We need a Palm Sunday because our journey, and Holy Week especially, is one of dichotomies and tension. Much like the crowd described in our passage – many of those cheering on Sunday as Jesus arrives will also be ones cheering for his crucifixion on Friday – they’re caught between parallel emotions and beliefs, unsure of how they all fit together. 

We too are faced with mounting tension along the journey.

We may have a hard time celebrating today because we know what the rest of the week will hold. Holy Week is like climbing through a valley. We begin at the top, celebrating the arrival of Jesus and waving palms. But then we climb down into the shadows and relive those final days. We know that on Thursday we will gather and commemorate the Last Supper. We will break bread together, just as Jesus broke bread with his disciples. We will wash one another’s hands and feet just as Mary washed Jesus’ feet and Jesus washed the feet of his disciples. 

On Friday, we will take intentional time to relive the Passion of Christ and to pray through the stations of the cross. 

But then we make our way back up from the grave and ascend from the valley to great celebration of wonder and hope, of victory and grace on Easter morning. Holy Week is a journey. 

Our passage this morning relives the journey of Jesus, not just from Palm Sunday, but going as far back as the oracle of Zechariah which said, “Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion, shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt the foal of a donkey.” 

We hear echoes of Psalm 118 which says, “Blessed in the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”

And it continues on to recall Jesus’ birth as we hear the words of Luke 2, “Peace in Heaven and glory in the highest Heaven!” 

Palm Sunday was not just about the parade; it was about Jesus’ descent into the valley of Holy Week and the journey that led him there. 

So what does your Holy Week journey look like?

Are you stuck in the dichotomy of gratitude and grief? 

Are you art the top of the valley, or are you trying to emerge from the shadows?

Wherever you may be along the journey, in the valley, or on the mountain, I hope that you will join in on the celebration and experience the gratitude that comes from taking a step back and looking at the journey. The voices that shout as Jesus enters Jerusalem are a witness of the journey it took for Jesus to make it to this day and paint the story of his life, legacy, and ministry. 

The final line of today’s passage, in true Jesus style, leaves us with a sense of wonder mixed with confusion and maybe even a little empowerment. After the Pharisees see and hear the accolades of Jesus’ disciples, they tell Jesus to control them. To which Jesus says, “If they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.”

Jesus says that even if his disciples are silent, the world will still know of hid Good News. 

Even if the disciples are silent, God’s love is not. 

Even if the disciples are silent, the very creation of God – women, men, humans, children, animals, oceans, wind, and yes, even stones will call out and share the good news that Christ is here, Christ is with you, Christ is not going anywhere. Even if the disciples are silent, God still speaks, God still tells the story of the journey to Palm Sunday. 

So wave your palm branches and shout, “HOSANNA!” Do not be afraid to celebrate, even in the midst of pain or grief. 

We must celebrate the journey, the whole journey, and praise God that we do not have to travel it alone. 

Whether we are going through the valley of Holy Week or coming home for the final time, we are promised to never go at it alone. 

We are promised that just as we celebrate the entry of Jesus, so God celebrates each of God’s children as they make the journey home. Amen.