Palm Sunday 2025 God with us

 Palm Sunday 2025

Sermon delivered to Christ Church (Anacortes)

The Rev. Keith Axberg, Retired

Give ear O heavens and I will speak; let the earth hear the words of my mouth, for I will proclaim the Name of the Lord and ascribe greatness to our God.

Collect: Almighty and everliving God, in your tender love for the human race you sent your Son our Savior Jesus Christ to take upon him our nature, and to suffer death upon the cross, giving us the example of his great humility: Mercifully grant that we may walk in the way of his suffering, and also share in his resurrection; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

When I was a young lad, there used to be a few minutes each morning when we were in our homerooms where our homeroom teacher or one of the students would read the announcements. These generally included things we needed to know, like what they were serving for lunch, where the school team was playing (and when), whether the busses would be on time or not, and then a line or two about current events.

I am at the age now where I have decided that history is divided into two periods. There’s the stuff that happened before I was born. That’s “history,” and stuff that’s happened while I’ve been around. That’s “current events.”

World War Two? History. Civil War? History? Middle Ages? History. Vietnam? Current Events. Civil Rights? Current Events. Watergate? Current Events.

For my grandkids, those things are history, but for me, they are part of the fabric of my life and memory. I didn’t march with Martin Luther King in Selma Alabama, but I did march with him on the television (in living black and white). I didn’t go to school with Ruby Bridges (surrounded by the National Guard and federal agents), but I did walk up those schoolhouse steps (on the TV). I didn’t go to the moon (although I’ve always been a bit of a space case), but I did walk on it with Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin there on Apollo 11 (June 1969).

Christ Church's Altar

My sense of current events spans about 60 years, and I was thinking about that with the Gospel, because when Luke was piecing together the book that bears his name, a lot of his research involved talking to Gospel principals, like Simon Peter, Andrew (the fisherman), John the Beloved and, quite likely, Mary, the mother of Jesus. He was writing about 50 or 60 years after the events of Jesus’ life and ministry – the sort of timespan you or I would be familiar with or identify with.

There are far too many details in the Passion Narrative for me to talk about. It would take from now until next Sunday, and by Friday you’d probably have ME hanging up there on a cross. The point is, though, that these are the sorts of details we glean when talking with witnesses to the events of holy week.

Riding into Jerusalem on the back of a borrowed donkey. 

People singing Hosannna (which means, GOD, SAVE US!) and waving palms. Supper in a room Jesus commandeers for the occasion.

Cryptic talk of betrayal. 30 pieces of silver. A sword. A garden.

Disciples falling asleep while Jesus prays.

Soldiers, torches, threats of mob violence, a villain’s kiss.

An Arrest. A trial before the Sanhedrin, a visit to Herod, a trial before Pilate, a mob crying for blood, a little girl scaring a profane manly man, a rooster cockle-doodle-doodling.

These are the memories of a people traumatized by the events of that holy week. Sure, it was a few years ago – maybe even 5 decades or more (for some of them), but it sure feels like yesterday as they share those memories with Luke.

And what does it mean? What does it all mean for the likes of you and me?

We live in a world ruled by fear and hate, where might makes right, and any threat to the status quo is squashed beneath the hobnailed boot of Rome (or ICE) at the insistence of the powers that be.

Saint Paul tells us (Phil. 2:5ff): Here’s the point: 

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,

who, though he was in the form of God,

did not regard equality with God

as something to be exploited,

but emptied himself,

taking the form of a slave,

being born in human likeness.

And being found in human form,

he humbled himself

and became obedient to the point of death--

even death on a cross.

What does that mean for us today?

Let me take you back to another current event (for many of us in this room). John F. Kennedy was President of the United States and traveled to Germany in June 1963 .

“Speaking to an audience of 120,000 on the steps of Rathaus Schöneberg, Kennedy said,

‘Two thousand years ago, the proudest boast was civis romanus sum ["I am a Roman citizen"]. Today, in the world of freedom, the proudest boast is "Ich bin ein Berliner!"... All free men, wherever they may live, are citizens of Berlin, and therefore, as a free man, I take pride in the words "Ich bin ein Berliner!"’” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ich_bin_ein_Berliner#)

Berlin was a city divided by a great wall, not to keep people out, but to keep the people of East Berlin IN. East Berlin had been transformed into a prison. The people yearned to be free, yearned to be reunited with their brethren on the other side of the wall. The Cuban missile crisis was still really fresh and raw, and what Kennedy said, he didn’t say “as an individual,” but as an American, on behalf of all Americans. “We are one of you, we are one with you, we are citizens standing beside you.”

Jesus was tearing down the walls that separate heaven from earth, and that threatened both the political and the religious authorities. Jesus was proclaiming a new reign, where Pax Romana (enforced by force of arms) was being replaced by Pax YHWH (supported by arms of love).

Time and time again Jesus says, Look around you. The kingdom is here. At hand. In hand. God is here, not at the top of a heap you need to scramble up. No, God is here with you. Is your world crumbling? God is here digging through the rubble with you, through you. Are you hurting? God is here, holding your hand. 

We have a God who does not ask for our papers or credentials. We have a God who doesn’t give one wit about our heritage or bloodline, or what continent our ancestors hailed from. We have a God who doesn’t ask who we love, or how we present ourselves to the world, or whether or not we can give birth or even if we want to. We have a God who couldn't care less about our heavenly or earthly rap sheets, or our sins of omission or commission, or the decisions we made that may have been good or less than stellar. We have a God who considers a child to be as valuable as an adult, an unmarried single mother as worthy of God’s presence as the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, a tattooed lady as important as an orange despot.

We have a God – we proclaim a God – who says, “I’m one of you. I’m one with you. We are citizens of heaven together.” 

And that’s what this week is about. Holy Week. God with us – not against us. Amen

An Update on the Third Act

 

"It is the greatest of all mistakes to do nothing because you can only do a little. Do what you can.” Sydney Smith

I am pleased to report that I am still on the green side of the grass. One of the few perks of retirement is coming to realize we are human beings and not human doings. All my working life I made to-do lists, tickler files, and a variety of post-it notes to remind me of all the various things I needed to do. I was basically a go-go dancer, but with a collar.

My pace is slower, of course. It has taken me a few years, but I’m discovering I don’t have to be constantly doing something (beyond pulse and respiration) to be alive. When I reach the end of the day, I don’t look back to see how much I’ve done or not done. Generally I scratch my head and simply wonder, where did the day go? 

The fact is I do what I need to. I engage in “activities of daily living,” taking care of routine ablutions, consuming calories sufficient for the day (or more, according to my bathroom scale), drinking coffee, catching up with friends online, and keeping up on the housework enough to where I don’t need to bring in a bulldozer to handle the dusting.

Yesterday the little lady and I zipped down to the orange big box store and picked up some garden mix and plants. We live in a “zone” where it is still too early to do much in the garden, but warm enough where we can show the world we’re still alive and kicking. 

I went to my book club after the garden-run; we ignored the book for the most part, shifting our conversation to different matters of importance. We enjoy the books we read and the lively discussions of history, spirituality, and philosophy that flow from our studies, but we don’t mind shifting gears to check in on one another to see how we’re doing. We’re all retired, and over the years our organ recitals have become more extensive, and that’s OK. 

Yes, we are readers, but we’re also friends. Doing our assigned readings is good, but being together is even better. 

We’ve given each other permission to grow old (not that we have many options), but it’s nice having permission to let things slide, to do what we can and leave the rest for another time. Sometimes we need the permission of others because we don’t often want to give ourselves the OK to slow down, stop, or leave things alone.

I am generally my own harshest taskmaster. I have often preached (praught? Why isn’t the past tense of preach praught, like the past tense of teach is taught? Another mystery to explore). Anyway, I digress (something else we increasingly do as we age). I have shared often the story from Exodus, where slaves in Egypt suffered under the lash of the whip and the tyranny of Pharaoh. 

God sent Moses to demand release for God’s people. “Tell Pharaoh to let My people go!” commanded the Almighty.

What God said to Pharaoh, God says to us, too. I am often my own worst Pharaoh! Do this! Do that! Make bricks, and while you’re at it, gather your own straw (and don’t be late serving me supper, either)! I need my friends to be Moses, to give me permission to put down those bales of hay, to climb out of that muddy pit, to walk away from the fiery brick-maker’s furnace.

I never was one to boss people about, and yet ironically I quite regularly boss myself about hither, thither, and yon. I am blessed to live amongst people and friends who know how to tell me to just stop all that nonsense, to not be a Pharaoh!

I’m in that period of life often called “the third act.” Work and school lie in my wake. I suspect that means an Iceberg lies dead ahead. Hmm. I wonder if I should even use the word “dead.” Well, whatever lies ahead, I’ll not fret, for the One who tells me not to be a Pharaoh has also promised to walk beside me as I pass through the valley of the shadow. That’s quite comforting here in this, our valley (and that ain’t no act).

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)