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PALM SUNDAY
March 29, 2015
Philippians 2:5-11
Mark 11:1-11

Most of you know that Sue and I drive back and forth to our cool summer haven in upstate New
York every year, sometimes more than once making that long round trip. And now that we have
our first grandchild, who lives with her parents outside Philadelphia, not to mention other
offspring, all of whom seem to be settling in the northeast, were wearing out our tires even
faster, with an increasing number of trips up that way.
The most direct route, and sometimes the fastest, is right up I95, but there are a couple of huge
problems with it. 1. Its an ugly, heavily traveled road, with what seems like thousands of gigantic
trucks barreling down on us ceaselessly, and 2. theres getting through or around Washington,
DC, which sets the standard for traffic delays. So, early on, weve found that unless we have
intentional stops to make along the I95 corridor, even though its longer by 50-100 miles, we
prefer a more roundabout way - I26 to Columbia, where we pick up I77 heading north through
Charlotte and on up to the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains, where we turn onto I81 and head
along Virginias spine into Pennsylvania and the northeast. Its a much more beautiful, relaxing
drive, with considerably less traffic . . . unless it isnt . . . unless we encounter an accident with
several hours delay or severe weather or some other unanticipated contingency, in which case
we realize how much better off wed have been just slogging it out on I95.
Whats the point here? The road we choose isnt always the road that chooses us.
Different roads offer different expectations, different consequences, and often the actual journey
ends other than what we anticipated. Sue never tires of saying the joys in the journey, but Id
add the joy . . . or the misery.
As Jesus rode into Jerusalem, what road did the crowds waving their palms and shouting
hosannas imagine he was on? The royal road to rebellion, I imagine, to deliverance from the
heavy hand of the oppressive Romans. The road to freedom . . . and a new king, new
government. Maybe they should have been a little less naive . . . a little more perceptive, placing
their bets on what they actually saw rather than what, in their frenzy, they hoped to see. After all,
a victor enters his conquest in a chariot or mounted on a great steed, not sitting on an ass.
And here we are, with all the benefit of hindsight . . . we know exactly what his road is . . . we
know where its headed . . . and what a tough road to hoe its going to end up being. We know it
isnt headed towards the temple or the presidium, except for brief, inquisitional pauses. Its

headed instead straight for Gethsemane . . . for the cross. Instead of the road to power, its the
road to humility. Instead of glory, it leads to death. Instead of freedom, sacrifice.
What a disappointment for the cheering multitude lining the street. They had no hindsight . . .
only hopes . . . hopes that were quickly dashed, as they watched their savior scourged, mocked,
hung and killed. No wonder they turned on him. And no wonder he ended up in just a few days
not glorified but alone and forsaken.
Well, too bad for the suffering Jews of Jerusalem, but at least we know better. We know the
story isnt going to end this Friday . . . that its going to burst through into Easter - into ultimate
triumph . . . resurrection . . . a victory that so outstrips the glory of Rome that theres simply no
comparison. Go ahead and render to Caesar all you want; Gods kingdom is not of this world.
But we are still of this world, arent we? At least until were not, until things change, until the day
we stop breathing, we may be given a foretaste of the heavenly banquet every day, but we never
get that far from the the reach of the cross. And no matter how acute our hindsight is, theres a
wealth of evidence to suggest it doesnt afford us very much. Were still vulnerable to hoping for
a magical kind of salvation, and when that anticipated glory pops like a balloon, where are we
then? Our waving palm fronds become a mockery.
I think thats the whole point of this strange observance called Palm Sunday. Here, almost at the
end of Lent, when at least some of us have worked hard to slog our way through the wilderness
- through the rigors life invariably throws our way - what have our efforts brought us? What
reward? What gain? We preach Christ crucified, to Jews a stumbling block and to
Gentiles foolishness, St. Paul writes to the Corinthians. If this Holy Week at the end of Lent
means anything, it means our efforts are foolish. It means all that sacrifice hasnt earned us
anything to bank on . . . no improvement of our lifes station, no better luck playing the lottery . . .
no escaping the hard road still lying in front of us.
So we gain nothing from Lent, right? Nothing from sacrifice, nothing in fact from faith itself . . .
from preaching Christ crucified. Well, no. If we believe that, then what are we doing here? And
what has brought millions, billions of people for thousands of years to a similar place to the one
we occupy right now, preaching Christ crucified? If were willing to open our minds and look at
our lives through a different lens from what we usually look through, this is what Paul says we
gain. A stumbling block. Foolishness.
If you pause for a moment and think about it, that word foolishness can take on all sorts of
meaning. After all, foolishness covers a wide gamut of human behavior and outlook - everything
from arrogance and pride to humility. If we accept Pauls assertion, also to the Corinthians, that
we are fools for Christ . . . then isnt there a crucial difference between fools who think theyre
wise and fools who freely acknowledge their own foolishness?

If Im stuck in an hours long traffic jam on Interstate 81 somewhere in Virginia, fuming that my
brilliant choice of the better route has gone up in smoke, the greatest resource I can call on is a
little humility. I can rage at the traffic gods and their complete obliviousness to my needs. I can
disdain all those ghoulish rubberneckers taking forever to drive by the accident on the other side
of the road so they can soak up an irresistible view of disaster. Or, I can go the other way. I can
laugh at my foolishness . . . laugh at the notion that Im some kind of travel guru whos always on
top of the best way to go . . . laugh at my presumptuousness in thinking even for a second that
the rest of the world is going to bow down to my divine outlook and behave the way I think it
should behave.
And lets not forget that all this is a metaphor for something much greater than the kind of
relatively minor frustration Im describing here. We all hit our traffic jams of one sort or another
almost daily, including the tie-ups on our road of faith.
Let me try to get to the point with a little help from Lewis Carroll in this famous passage from
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS:
"I don't know what you mean by glory,' " Alice said.
Humpty Dumpty smiled contemptuously. "Of course you don't - till I tell you. I meant there's a
nice knock-down argument for you!' "
"But glory' doesn't mean a nice knock-down argument'," Alice objected.
"When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said, in a rather a scornful tone, "it means just what I
choose it to mean - neither more nor less."
"The question is," said Alice, "whether you can make words mean so many different things."
"The question is," said Humpty Dumpty, "which is to be master, that's all."
Which is to be Master is what the disappointment of Palm Sundays expectations is all about.
You could even say its what faith is all about . . . what life is all about. Which is to be our Master.
Ourselves, money, ideology . . . or God?
If anyone here has recently gained a sense of your own humility, your own foolishness, then Id
say youve had a very good Lent. After all, without humility, proclaiming Gods greatness is just
empty rhetoric . . . just making words mean whatever you want them to mean. And without
owning our own foolishness, were deaf and blind to the Wisdom of God.
Gods ways are not our ways. His road is neither the one wed choose for ourselves nor the one
wed choose for him. But heres the real mystery of the Incarnation . . . the miracle of the
Incarnation: Even though we didnt choose, dont choose, wont choose the road that Jesus
Christ walks this week, he chose our road . . . and he continues to choose it.

As we ease on down the road, lets do it with our eyes open. Lets recognize that
whatever Easter were reaching for goes along a similar path to the one our Lord is
struggling through this week. Its a road that will always have its manifold dangers
and disappointments . . . and one whose rewards will surely defy our expectations.
And as we travel that road, I pray we wont lose sight of the truth that we dont
need to travel it alone. If its a road lined with hazards and disappointments, its still
a road paved with love.
Amen.