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Rez is a community where Jesus welcomes, shapes, and sends disciples for the good of our neighborhood. No matter where you are in life, this is a place for you.
Life Together In The Goodness Of God
A very special event for you this morning and a real special day for this Holy Week. Every year it seems like Holy Week sneaks up on me and I'm not sure what the problem is. Even with all of these weeks of Lenten preparation, which seemed to drag on forever, it still catches me off guard. Does anyone else relate to that? Can you feel that, at least a little bit? I think this year for me, every year I've got a reason and an excuse, right? But this year, it feels like there's so much trouble swirling in the world. And so much trouble even swirling in my own life. I got my own issues too, right? On top of all of that. And Holy Week seems like this abrupt pivot, this turn. And every year, and especially this year, I have to remind myself that Holy Week is not an escape. It's not some sort of spiritual distraction from the troubles of the world. But in fact, I think it's the most honest engagement with those troubles. And friends, that's really good news, actually. We are led by Jesus of Nazareth, not away from the troubles of the world or our own, but directly into them, through them, in fact. And this morning, I want to begin reliving, not just remembering or reading or hearing that story, but ourselves reliving that story with Jesus of Nazareth together. When Jesus entered Jerusalem, as we just relived out in the courtyard together, Matthew tells us that the whole city was in turmoil. The Greek word here, esteste, is like seismic, is where this comes from. It can be translated like stirred or shaken. And in fact, it's the same word later on in the crucifixion reading, the passion reading, when it says that the earth shook, seismic. The beginning when Jesus entered Jerusalem and at his crucifixion. This is a super significant moment. There's a reason that we're connected this way. Amid the turmoil that Jesus entering Jerusalem, people in the streets turn to one another and say, who is this? Who is this? What an interesting question. What a seems like kind of an obvious question, but actually if you sit with that, in that experience of the earth shaking and things in turmoil and all the events that we just experienced, what an appropriate question. One that we might ask ourselves this Holy Week. The crowd almost gets the answer right. They say this is the prophet, Jesus of Nazareth from Galilee. Almost, almost. In part true, yes, but not quite the whole truth. Now, after generations, if you can step into what it must have been like to be in Jerusalem in that first century with Jesus entering, the Jews with generations of oppression and occupation by the Roman Empire, there was this swelling hope. And by the time Jesus of Nazareth entered the city, that hope was electric. You could feel it. The branches they waved were a symbol of military victory used to celebrate the last time an occupier had been driven out by the Maccabees. Hosanna, that word literally means God save us, save us. It's this desperate plea, a street level protest. And if you marched yesterday, maybe this is a fresh image for you. God save us. Maybe not what we think about on Palm Sunday, a protest, a march, a cry to God for salvation. But Jesus was not that warrior king that Israel expected. He was something quite different when he arrives. He doesn't come with tanks, a warhorse. He doesn't come with threats or military power. He comes on a borrowed donkey from an unnamed village that we know nothing about. The prophet Zechariah had written, look, your king is coming to you, humble and mounted on a donkey. And mounted on a donkey. How low is that entrance? Paul, he gives us the same humble portrait. This is the one who did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited or held onto, but became obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Who is this? Who is this? This is the one who refuses to hoard power, unlike the kings of the earth. This is the one who empties himself, serves all people, and endures human vulnerability, even when he didn't have to, all the way and to the extent of suffering by suffocation, nailed to a piece of wood publicly on a hill. This is not a king who dominates. It's a king who dominates or retaliates. It's a king who lays down power. That kind of king that is one that almost no one knows what to do with. In fact, who is this? That question reverberates. This is why I think Saint Oscar O'Mara, I read his sermon on Palm Sunday back in the 70s, and he said, on Palm Sunday, that cry can by Good Friday become a petition for execution. Hosanna and the Highest turns quickly to crucify him. It only takes a week for us to turn. It only takes a moment for that crowd to turn in the same way. And Holy Week asks us to stay close enough to Jesus, even amidst that turn, through all of the drama of this week, to finally see who he really is. Because most people knew his name, Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus of Nazareth. Far fewer understood the way that this king would reign and how he would come. Not by dominance or force or seized power. Many today who sit at tables of power would think of someone who comes to dominate, to hoard power, to take by force what's theirs, to win in whatever means is possible. And they even use the name of Christ as it suits them. While refusing the humble path that Jesus actually walks and invites us to walk with him. But Holy Week will not let us have it both ways. We don't get to use Christ's name in the halls of power or when it suits us best. And then betray him and not follow his lead. Holy Week says, take on his name and obey his invitation to follow. And in that tension, as we ask, who is this and should I follow this king? We find ourselves amidst the crowd, I think. We're no different, are we? I'm certainly not. We want a victory on our terms. We want deliverance when we want it, the way we want it. We want a God who wins the way we understand winning. We want a God to get in the face of our enemies. And confront them. But this king, he's kind of squirrely. Not in our control, not on our terms. He keeps arriving on a borrowed donkey. Refusing to defend himself when spat upon. Refusing to strike back when struck. Refusing hatred even when hated. The question Holy Week puts to us is what is the truth? The question Holy Week puts to us is whether we will stay with him, even through all of this, close enough, long enough that we might see who he really is and be changed by his presence. I sit with this and I ask questions. Why am I so surprised that this is who Jesus is? I've done Holy Week decades, you know, of Holy Weeks. Why am I surprised when Jesus invites me to do the same as what he's doing? Why does that feel like such a surprise when Holy Week comes and Palm Sunday comes and then Good Friday is here before you know it and that turn happens and I forget the way of Jesus. That hard, that difficult way of laying down my pride to take the harder path of obedience. To refuse, to retaliate and punch back or snap back. And this is the, this is the toughest one for me to love my enemies. Even when I am filled with rage. Wouldn't it be easier to just do it the way the world does it? I know the struggle far too well. It's so hard to refuse to strike back and instead to follow Jesus, to trust him. So hard to love your enemy and even to pray for those who persecute us. So difficult actually, when that actually happens in real life. But here friends, in the midst of that struggle and the difficulty of that invitation, here's what I've, not easily, but here's what I've come to believe and trust. That following Jesus will lead us to do what he has done for us, right? Sean, why is it a surprise that when you follow the one who lays down his life for his friends, who loves his enemies, who prays for those who persecute him, who doesn't retaliate, why are you surprised that that's the way you were invited to go as well? That's what I've come to believe. That's what it means and looks like to follow Jesus. Not to parade around and say I'm a Christian alone, but to actually obey and walk that hard path with Jesus. It's that refusal to make things right by force or dominance or by being clever, you know, and like wielding my own sort of power. But actually in those moments to stop and trust in the same humble, self-giving love that Jesus has shown to me, that Jesus has proven to me, delivers. Of all people, I should be able to testify of the liberating love of God's self-emptying love for me. And that past, it may sound weak to the world, but it is not weak. This is the power that overcomes the world, friends. It requires letting go of outcomes as we want them. It requires a whole lot of trust that God will truly deliver us as king. Even when we can't see it and even when it's difficult to see it, we can't see it and even when it's difficult to stick with it, even especially, friends, when trouble surrounds us. So hard to trust sometimes, isn't it? But that's what these palms mean. We hail him as king, not just with our lips, but we pledge to follow the road he actually walks. That's the invitation of Holy Week. This is the God whose love reaches those at the bottom. And actually, this makes it even more compelling to me. Whose love stands with those on the receiving end of our government's cruelty. Whose love takes up the weight that the oppressed feel on their backs. This is that God who descends in human vulnerability all the way to the bottom, that he would free and relieve and deliver all of us. And today, this God begins that journey of liberation. Paving a highway through valleys of death and mountains of pride. And he paves that way through his own body, through his own suffering and death. So that question, who is this? If you have ears to hear, if you have eyes to see, you might be able to answer who this is. But only those who follow closely with him will know more than just sort of the Sunday school answer, will sort of know in their hearts, in their bodies, in their own hands tacitly. I know this person. I know his ways. And what's shocking to me in Matthew's gospel is the one who provides that answer is the instrument of the empire's violence, the Roman centurion. Standing at the foot of the cross, close enough to stand there, long enough with this crucified messiah, he finally says, truly, this man was God's son. And so you and I, we, this morning we come to this table in the same way, standing at the foot of the cross, the cross that we made. The cross that we made, hopefully standing close enough and long enough, hearing the words of Jesus of Nazareth and his invitation to us that we might actually come in contact with him in a deeper way and be able to answer that question, who is this? And we come not only to receive that answer in our bodies, but to consume that answer with our bodies, in his body and blood given to us. And hopefully our eyes would be opened in the breaking of bread. Every time we gather here, we are like the centurion, following him through the palms, following him through our own betrayal, through the darkness, through the troubles of the world, and even through God's silence when we need God most. We arrive at this place where glory is not revealed in sort of showy triumphalism, but in a broken body given for the life of the world. So friends, this is a delicate space. It's a tender moment. Let us come. Let us come close. Let us stay here long enough that we might not only sense God's presence, but we would see with our own eyes who this King really is and behold his glory. Amen. Let's take a moment of silence and ask the Spirit to come speak to us.