A Sermon for Palm Sunday

The Parade

Luke 19: 29 - 40

 I love a parade. There’s something magical about a parade. Apparently lots of people love parades. Years ago Ludlow Porch, the humorist radio talk show host, broadcast his commentary of a parade in downtown Atlanta. A traffic jam resulted when a large number of people showed up to witness the festivities. The only problem was there was no parade. Mr. Porch was making everything up. He was in a windowless studio many miles away from the place where the parade was supposedly taking place. 

Everybody loves a parade. Big parades, small parades. There’s something special about parades. I’m old enough to remember when the Barnum & Bailey Circus used to come to Atlanta. The parade of the animals resulting from the elephants, horses, and lions and tigers in cages moving from their transport to the holding areas in the basement of the Atlanta Municipal Auditorium was a spectacular sight as I watched from my grandfather’s shoulders.

For someone like me who loves parades being the Chaplain of the Riverside Military Academy was just a delight. We had a military parade almost every Sunday afternoon. 

Parades, from circus elephants, to marching bands to cadets marching, rifles on shoulders, in military precision I love parades.  

It’s strange that for someone who loves parades so much, with the exception of a couple of times when I worked for Uncle Sam, I’ve not been a participant in a parade. Well, there was that time when in the seventh grade I went with the School Safety Patrol to Washington D.C. There we marched down Pennsylvania Avenue, as much as seventh graders who’ve never marched a day in their life can march, past the White House where President Dwight Eisenhower was sitting in some stands. He looked as confused as I felt. But other than those few times I’ve never really been in a parade. I’ve never sat on top of the backseat of a convertible demonstrating my parade wave. I’ve always been an observer. I’ve never been part of a real parade.

Though I really love a parade, I’m just an observer, I’m just one who watches from the side of the parade route. I’m not even one who applauds as the various participants pass by. I’m not one that yells out to the celebrities riding on the backseat of those convertibles. I just stand there, usually at the back of the crowd quietly watching, and when the end of the parade passes by I go home, pretty much unaffected by the passing parade. 

I don’t know when the parade begins. I don’t know when the parade ends. I only know what is visible in that one block where I stand as the parade passes by. I feel the excitement of other onlookers. I often register the pride of the people in the parade, but I’m just there to watch.

Two thousand years ago, on this very Sunday, on a road leading to Jerusalem’s gate, there was a parade. It wasn’t that big a parade. There were no Roman legions keeping step to the cadence of a war drum; there were no elephants or horses decked out in battle dress, no chariots, no parade princess.

There was a celebrity, however, riding on a donkey. There was the cadence of the Hosanna choruses. No colorful banners decorated the viewing stands, but palm leafs were waved in spirited participation.

We don’t really know how many spectators there were for this procession. But we can be sure the vast majority of them were not shouting Hosanna nor waving palms. Most of them were just watching, parade watchers the way I’m a parade watcher. And when the parade passed by the block where they stood watching, they turned to rejoin the trivia, the drudgery, the hopes, and the joys of their everyday lives. Down the way they could hear the echoes of the Hosannas nearing the city gates. But the parade, for them, was marching toward some distant memory. 

I love a parade, but I’m just a spectator and a dispassionate one at that. When the parade passes by I disconnect and go about my business.

You’re like that aren’t you? Be honest with yourself. When we come to this Palm Sunday, this Sunday of Jesus victory parade into Jerusalem, you’re not one of those who wave the palm leaves, are you? You’re not one of those who covers the parade route with your coat, are you? You’re not one of those who sing out “Hosanna, blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord”, are you?

You see, I’m asking you that question because I don’t want to be alone here. I don’t want to be the only one who hangs back. I’d like a little company in my tendency to watch Jesus pass by. I’d like a little company in being dispassionate about this parade. “Hey, look, that’s Jesus, the prophet riding that donkey. Look at that. What’s up?”

Wow, that was something, wasn’t it. Did you see all those people waving those palm branches? Did you see the disciples? They looked proud as punch. Did you see Jesus? Holey Moley, that was Jesus, right there in front of me. Man, I wish the kids had been with me. 

Well, the parade’s over. He’s gone out of sight. Back to work. Whew, I didn’t realize I’d been standing on the side of this road so long. Can’t make a living watching parades. Still, it was interesting.

Now back to the grind; now back to the day-to-day routine. Now back to the spouse and back to the sameness. But it was a good parade. I wonder what brought that on?

So, I turn and go about my daily business. The parade’s at my back now. Oh, I’ll tell the wife and kids about it when I get home. And I’ll tell them I saw Jesus. They’ll probably wish they’d seen him, too. 

I love parades. I love big parades like the one in Atlanta on the 4th of July. And I like smaller parades, like the Christmas parade here in our town. And I like really small parades like the one I saw where Jesus was riding the donkey. 

But as I said earlier, I’m a dispassionate observer. I like the parade but that doesn’t mean I’m all caught up in the excitement of it. I’m content to stand on the side of the parade route and witness what’s happening. But, well, you know what I mean, don’t you? You’re a lot like me, aren’t you.

You keep your cool when Jesus comes near, don’t you?  You’re like me, aren’t you?

Of course, because I’m just a spectator in this parade of salvation, because I continue to be so dispassionate about it, because I cling so tenaciously to the back of the crowd. Because I don’t step out from my place and become part of the parade or at least follow along behind to see where it’s leading, I’m going to miss that supper with Jesus, the drama of the Garden, the agony of the time in Pilate’s court, the weight of the cross, the passion of the Christ, and experience a love that knows no bounds.

But you’re like me, too. Aren’t you? You’re going to stand here at the back of the crowd, just watching, aren’t you?

Or are you?

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Comments

[SingingOwl]

Thank you, Parson. This made me cry.

Our sermon this a.m. was about Cain and Abel. Seriously. Everything that has happened there for the past year has just made me more and more uncomfortable and out of place. The pastor and the associate pastor (his wife--both are ordained) are long-time friends, and we love them. BUT I do not belong there. I'm only going to church because I feel obligated to. I left the service and went downstairs when I realized my bad attitude wasn't going away. Spent some time being demanding with God ;-) . Like, GOD! Either help me be content or show me what to do next. AH, did not mean to leave such a long comment. May this week be blessed, and may Easter Sunday be awesome with a full house and visitors who actually come back!