The Faithfulness of Jesus

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 13, 2025

Year C: The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday

Luke 19:28-40

Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Luke 23:1-49

The Faithfulness of Jesus

Today is the most disorienting day of the Christian year.

It’s a disorienting day with a confusing name.

We call today “The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday.” 

Even our worship on this day – usually so orderly, dignified, predictable - is kind of disorienting.

Some of us began this day outside, where we heard about the first palm parade in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, and then our palms were blessed.

There was a sense of excitement as we started our parade, singing our songs, waving our palms, singing “Hosanna!”  - “Save us!” - as we slowly made our way to the church.

But then we arrived here in this holy place and the mood quickly changed.

And maybe before we realized what was happening, a day that started with an almost festive atmosphere ends with death – a horrible and seemingly quite final, death.

Two thousand years ago, Jerusalem was an occupied city, ruled by the brutal Romans and their various local collaborators, including religious leaders who desperately wanted to keep the peace, or what passed for peace, anyway.

Two thousand years ago, in Jerusalem, it was nearly the Passover, that great Jewish feast recalling God leading God’s people from slavery to freedom, the start of a journey from oppression to the promised land.

Of course, the Romans and their local collaborators were well aware of the festival and its meaning, and were always on high alert during these holy days, ready to crush any uprising, determined to snuff out any would-be kings – or any potential messiahs.

By the time Jesus arrived in Jerusalem just before this particular Passover, his fellow Jews were so hungry for God to act once again – ready for the start of another journey to freedom.

Word had surely gotten around about Jesus of Nazareth – true, he was not quite the messiah that anyone had expected – not very much like Moses or King David – but there was no denying the power of his healings and the wisdom of his teaching.

So, some thought – hoped – expected - that this Jesus of Nazareth was about to start an uprising that would restore Israel’s independence and glory.

Not unlike our little palm parade this morning, there was excitement in the air in Jerusalem that day two thousand years ago.

In a time of turmoil, the people were eager to welcome their new king into his capital city.

But then everything seemed to go so terribly wrong.

It’s usually assumed that some of the same people who had welcomed Jesus with waving branches and by placing their cloaks in the road later turned against him and called for his death.

Maybe they were disappointed that Jesus turned out to not be the kind of messiah they thought they wanted or needed, or maybe they were just swept up in the frenzy of the crowd, finding themselves saying and doing things previously unthinkable.

We know how that can happen.

Today, after two thousand years of mostly bad history and in a time of rising anti-Semitism here in our own country and around the world, it’s especially important to make clear that this is not a story of Jews versus Christians.

It’s important to make absolutely clear that “the Jews” of two thousand years ago were not collectively responsible for the death of Jesus and the Jews of today certainly carry no guilt.

With an assist from their fearful local collaborators, the Romans killed Jesus.

Just like so many people in his own time and so many people today, Jesus was a victim of state-sponsored violence.

Besides, when we cast blame on long-ago people, or their modern-day descendants, we conveniently let ourselves off the hook.

On this most disorienting day we draw near to the mysterious heart of our faith: God enters the world in and through Jesus, inviting us to walk in love.

And we reject him – over and over we reject him, choosing instead hatred and violence.

And yet, God does not give up on us.

Reflecting on the story of Jesus in Jerusalem in a time of turmoil two thousand years ago, I’m always struck by his faithfulness.

We often talk about our faith in Jesus but we should probably talk more about the faith of Jesus.

When the crowds hailed him as he entered his capital city, desperately hoping that he was the king to oust the Romans and their collaborators, Jesus resisted the temptation to give the people what they wanted.

In a time of turmoil, Jesus remained faithful to God’s mission.

And later, when his friends deserted him and the powers of the world had their way with him, dishing out their worst, Jesus resisted the temptation to fight back, to reveal his divine power.

And near the end, as his life was slipping away, Jesus resisted the temptation to condemn the people who had turned against him, to curse his friends who had abandoned him.

Instead, Jesus endured the suffering, revealing the depths of God’s love for us.

In a time of turmoil, Jesus remained faithful to God’s mission.

Not unlike the people of Jerusalem two thousand years ago, today we are living in a time of turmoil.

And it is tempting to be unfaithful to our mission and live like pretty much everybody else.

But, as disciples of Jesus, as the Body of Christ in the world, we are called to walk in love, as Christ loved us.

So, in our own time of turmoil, let’s keep our hearts fixed on faithful Jesus, and, especially during this holy week, together, let’s follow him to the cross, the tomb, and to the new life of Easter.

Amen.

Life and Love, Shared With Us

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 24, 2024

Year B: The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday

Mark 11:1-11

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Philippians 2:5-11

Mark 15:1-39

Life and Love, Shared With Us

Today is the most unsettling day of the Christian Year.

On this day, we begin with what’s usually called Jesus’ “triumphant” entry into Jerusalem.

At last, the long-awaited King has entered his capital city!

And at first glance, his entry does seem triumphant.

There are crowds along the way, laying their cloaks and their palms before the King.

They shout “Hosanna!” which means “Lord, save us!”

“Lord, save us!”

They shout “Hosanna!” because at least some of them think that, finally, God has sent a King like David, a military leader who will expel the Roman occupiers and restore Israel’s independence, renew its glory.

At first glance, the entry of King Jesus into Jerusalem does indeed seem triumphant.

But perhaps careful observers noticed that this might not be such a triumphant entry after all.

Where was the military escort?

Where were the dignitaries gathered to welcome the King, to pay him homage?

And why was this King riding a donkey?

I mean, every other new King – most every other new leader, even today – is all about gathering and accumulating – gathering supporters, followers, power –accumulating money, weapons, loyalty – gathering and accumulating as many and as much as possible to intimidate opponents and cement dominance.

But this King Jesus does just the opposite.

This King is just the opposite.

Oh, it’s true, he attracted some followers – an unimpressive group overall, and most will run away from him at the first sign of trouble.

No, as King Jesus enters his capital city, he’s not set on gathering and accumulating – he’s there to love and to serve, to give himself away.

Emptying himself.

It was just before Passover, so Jerusalem was teeming with pilgrims, its population probably swelled by around three times its normal size.

It was a festive time and it was also a tense time.

The Roman occupiers were on the lookout for any signs of protest or rebellion – any hint of trouble that they would swiftly crush with brutality and efficiency, with nails and wood.

And the Jewish leaders were desperate to keep the peace, to prevent anyone from sparking a devastating conflict with the Romans.

So, even without a military escort, and even with the donkey, powerful people were probably aware that some people were hailing a teacher and healer from Nazareth of all places as King of Israel.

And so, soon enough, the machinery of the state swung into action, sealing the fate of King Jesus.

The people, as always, wanted to back a winner and, well, Jesus must have looked like the biggest loser in town.

So the emptying of Jesus continued – no more palm-waving crowds, few if any followers or friends, expectation and excitement replaced by rejection and mockery.

And a final emptying on the Cross – the emptying of blood, and life, and even, it would seem, the emptying of hope.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Emptying himself.

On this unsettling day we remember an unsettling time in Jerusalem, two thousand years ago.

What began full of hope and promise – what began with palms and hosannas, ends with suffering, disappointment, and death.

Emptiness.

Or, so it seemed.

If Jesus is who we say he is, then back in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, God personally experienced rejection and pain and even death – emptiness.

But, at the same time, God is never empty.

God is always full of life and love.

Sometimes – often - it feels like winter will last forever.

Like death gets the last word.

Like all hope is lost.

But it’s not true.

Spring arrives.

God is never empty.

God is always full of life and love.

Later, later, the first Christians saw this, they understood this – they even sang about Christ Jesus, this King who loved and served, who emptied himself – emptied himself on the Cross – this King who was gloriously replenished – exalted - by God on the third day.

But that’s for next week.

For now, we remain at the foot of the Cross.

And on this most unsettling day in our most unsettling world, we may be feeling quite empty.

But just wait.

Because:

God is never empty.

God is always full of life and love.

Life and love, shared with and through Jesus.

Life and love, shared with us.

Love and Sacrifice

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 2, 2023

Year A: The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday

Matthew 21:1-11

Isaiah 50:4-9

Psalm 31:9-16

Philippians 2:5-11

Matthew 27:11-54

Love and Sacrifice

If we’ve done our job right, you should be feeling a little unsettled right now.

Maybe a lot unsettled.

Because today is the most unsettling day of the Christian year.

Many of us began today’s journey outside.

Unlike the people of Jerusalem two thousand years ago, we knew that our journey would lead quickly to the Cross.  And yet, there was still a sense of excitement and, even, strangely enough, joy.

Everyone loves a parade, after all, and the presence of two donkeys made it even more fun.

So, like the people of Jerusalem two thousand years ago, we carried and waved our palms, we sang our hosannas, and we made our way.

Two thousand years ago, Jerusalem was a city shaken by turmoil.

The Jewish people chafed under oppressive Roman rule.

And, especially during the days before Passover when Jewish pilgrims arrived from all over, there was an unsettled air in the city – a combustible mix of hope and anxiety. The unsettled people dared to hope that their God of liberation was about to act again.

Just as God had freed God’s people from slavery in Egypt, just as God had returned God’s people from exile in Babylon, maybe God was about to overthrow the Romans and put a new king on Israel’s throne.

No surprise, there were some would-be messiahs around, eagerly auditioning for the part of savior.

But some people thought that this Jesus of Nazareth just might be that new and long-awaited king.

Now, it’s true that he was from out in the sticks and he clearly was not a mighty warrior, but hadn’t he given sight to the man born blind and hadn’t he raised Lazarus from the dead?

And, besides, everybody knew that God had a long history of choosing highly unlikely and seemingly unqualified people for the biggest jobs.

So, maybe, just maybe, these unsettled people thought, maybe Jesus was their King, finally entering his capital city.

Well, the mood in the city quickly changed.

The Jewish authorities were desperate to keep an uneasy peace with the Roman occupiers, a peace threatened by talk of Jesus as King of the Jews.

And the Romans – Pontius Pilate sounds kind of wishy-washy in the Passion Story but the historical reality was quite different – the Romans probably calculated that Jesus and his band of followers were no threat to their power – but it was their practice to brutally crush any sign of protest or dissent, a pointed warning to any troublemakers.

The unsettled people quickly realized that Jesus of Nazareth was not going to lead an army into battle and drive the Romans into the sea.

Instead, to everyone’s disappointment and disgust, Jesus submitted to Roman authority.

And, since no one likes a loser, the people turned against him.

And Jesus, abandoned by his friends, mocked and rejected, feeling forsaken by everybody, maybe even by God the Father, died a horrifying and shameful death on a cross, beside two bandits.

And that was the end of the story.

Or so it seemed.

Each year on this day, and during the week ahead, we remember the events in Jerusalem two thousand years ago.

We use symbolic actions like carrying palms and participating in the Passion Story not as some kind of historical reenactment but as a way for us to enter into the story as fully as we can.

To be honest, this year I find that it doesn’t take much effort to enter into this story, because, just like the people of Jerusalem two thousand years ago, I feel unsettled. 

We, too, live in a land shaken by turmoil.  

Just about every day, we are reminded that there are many angry, frightened, disturbed, and armed-to-the-teeth people all around us – people who, on a regular and sickening basis, act on their delusions and hatreds, act on the lies they’ve been so cynically fed, and they take innocent life – innocent life at the Covenant School in Nashville, innocent life at so many other schools, and at houses of worship and movie theaters and clubs – not to mention the lives violently taken on the streets and in the homes of Baltimore and in cities and towns across our land.

And, almost as terrifying as the violence itself, we are growing numb to it, becoming fatalistic – we hear and maybe even believe that there’s nothing to be done, this problem just can’t be fixed – so, arm yourselves and circle the wagons – and, maybe, let’s falsely blame some of the most vulnerable people among us as the source of all our trouble.

And so, in our unsettled time, in our land shaken by turmoil, some of us look for a would-be messiah - someone to solve our problems, to drive out our enemies, to return us to bygone days of supposed glory.

But as Christians – and two thousand years after the events in Jerusalem – we really should know better by now.

There is no savior but Jesus – King Jesus riding a humble donkey – riding among us unsettled people, riding right into our place of turmoil.

King Jesus offers only himself.

King Jesus offers only love and sacrifice.

Let’s face it, love and sacrifice - that never gets the crowds pumped up. But it’s the only way – it’s the only way out of the mess we’ve gotten ourselves into.

King Jesus calls us to follow his example, to offer ourselves, because it is truly the only way to new life. 

Today we feel so unsettled and our land is in turmoil.

But, despite our many troubles, we must not lose hope. 

After all, two thousand years ago, the people of Jerusalem were sure that they had seen the last of Jesus of Nazareth. 

Amen.

In a Time of Turmoil, the Faithfulness of Jesus

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 10, 2022

Year C: The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday

Luke 19:28-40

Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Luke 23:1-49

In a Time of Turmoil, the Faithfulness of Jesus

Today is the most disorienting day of the Christian year.

In fact, today is such a disorienting day that we can’t even settle on just one name.

Instead, we call today “The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday.” 

Even our worship on this day – usually so orderly and dignified – is kind of disorienting.

Some of us began this day outside, where we heard about the first palm parade in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, and then our palms were blessed and distributed.

There was a sense of excitement as we started our parade, singing our songs, waving our palms, shouting “Hosanna!” as we slowly made our way to the church.

There was even a donkey, just like at the first palm parade in Jerusalem long ago.

But then we arrived here in this holy place and the mood quickly changed.

And, maybe before we realized what was happening, a day that started with an almost festive atmosphere ends with death - an unspeakable, and seemingly quite final, loss.

Two thousand years ago, Jerusalem was an occupied city, ruled by the brutal Romans and their various local collaborators, including religious leaders who desperately wanted to keep the peace, or what passed for peace, anyway.

Two thousand years ago, in Jerusalem, it was nearly the Passover, that great Jewish feast recalling God leading God’s people from slavery to freedom, the start of a journey from oppression to the promised land.

Of course, the Romans and their local collaborators were well aware of the festival and its meaning, and were always on high alert during these holy days, ready to crush any uprising, determined to snuff out any would-be kings – or any potential messiahs.

By the time Jesus arrived in Jerusalem, his fellow Jews were so eager for God to act once again – ready for the start of another journey to freedom.

Word had surely gotten around about Jesus of Nazareth – true, he was not quite the messiah that anyone expected – not very much like Moses or King David – but there was no denying the power of his healings and the wisdom of his teaching.

So some thought – hoped – expected - that this Jesus of Nazareth was about to start an uprising that would restore Israel’s independence and greatness.

So, not unlike our little palm parade this morning, there was excitement in the air in Jerusalem that day two thousand years ago.

In a time of turmoil, the people were eager to welcome their king into his capital city.

But then everything seemed to go so terribly wrong.

It’s usually assumed that some of the same people who had welcomed Jesus with waving palms and by placing their cloaks in the road later turned against him and called for his death.

Maybe they were disappointed that Jesus turned out to not be the kind of messiah they thought they wanted or needed, or maybe they were just swept up in the frenzy of the crowd.

We know how that can happen.

Today, in a time of rising anti-Semitism here in our own country and around the world, it’s especially important to make clear that this is not a story of Jews versus Christians.

It’s important to make absolutely clear that “the Jews” of two thousand years ago were not responsible for the death of Jesus and the Jews of today certainly carry no guilt.

The Romans killed Jesus.

Just like so many people in his own time and so many people today, Jesus was a victim of state-sponsored violence.

Besides, looking to cast blame on long-ago people, or their modern day descendants, conveniently lets us off the hook.

On this most disorienting day we draw near to the mysterious heart of our faith: God enters the world in and through Jesus, inviting us to walk in love, and we reject him – over and over we reject him, choosing instead hatred and violence.

And yet, God does not give up on us.

Reflecting on the story of Jesus in Jerusalem in a time of turmoil two thousand years ago, I’m struck by his faithfulness.

We often talk about our faith in Jesus but we should probably talk more about the faith of Jesus.

When the crowds hailed him as he entered his capital city, desperately hoping that he was the king to oust the Romans and their collaborators, Jesus resisted the temptation to give the people what they wanted.

In a time of turmoil, Jesus remained faithful to God’s mission.

And later, when the powers of the world had their way with him, dishing out their worst, Jesus resisted the temptation to fight back, to reveal his divine power.

And near the end, as his life was slipping away, Jesus resisted the temptation to condemn the people who had turned against him, to curse his friends who had abandoned him.

Instead, Jesus endured the suffering, revealing the depths of God’s love.

In a time of turmoil, Jesus remained faithful to God’s mission.

Not unlike the people of Jerusalem two thousand years ago, today we are living in a time of turmoil.

With so many loud and angry voices clamoring all around us, with the shedding of blood close to home and far away, it is tempting to just be like most everybody else – to despise the people who are different, to always put our interests first, to look away from the suffering and despair endured by people from Baltimore to Ukraine, to judge others without mercy.

But, as disciples of Jesus, as the Body of Christ in the world, we are called to walk in love, as Christ loved us.

So, in our own time of turmoil, let’s keep our eyes on faithful Jesus, and, especially during this holy week, together, let’s follow him to the cross, the tomb, and to the new life of Easter.

Amen.

Crisis: A Time of Decision

The Church of St. Paul and Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

April 5, 2020

Year A: The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday

Matthew 21:1-11

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Philippians 2:5-11

Matthew 27:11-54

Crisis: A Time of Decision

            In this time of crisis, there is so much that we miss.

            We miss our usual ways of doing things.

            We miss work and school.

            Maybe maybe most of all, we miss being with our people – we miss just being together with family and friends, neighbors and parishioners.

            Technology like what we’re using right now is great but it doesn’t quite cut it, right?

            Sue and I are doing our best, but this morning I’m missing our usual way of beginning this service.

            I’m missing our gathering in the garden, with some people lining up carefully along the walks and others roaming around aimlessly.

            I’m missing handing out the palms to all of you and I’m missing our ragtag little palm parade singing “Ride On, King Jesus” not quite in unison, slowly making our way into the church where we transition to “All Glory Laud and Honor” – with a little time in-between that’s usually a kind of mash-up of those two hymns.

            People who arrive late are often confused by what’s going on, wondering where they should stand or walk, looking around anxiously, trying to find their place in this once a year service, hoping that there are still some palms left for them, too.

            It’s generally a confusing start to the service.

            And, being a bit of a control freak, in my first couple of years here I tried to impose some more order on all of this but then I realized that it was hopeless – and, more important, I recognized that the confusion and disorientation are a big part of what this holy day is all about.

            The confusion is even in the name of this holy day: The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday – a kind mash-up, just like our two opening hymns.

            We begin with a triumphant parade as this most unlikely King enters his capital city.

            The people shout for joy, eager to welcome Jesus of Nazareth, or maybe just swept up in the excitement of a parade.

But, the mood quickly changes as Jesus is arrested and soon enough the people shout again, not with joy this time, but out of anger and disappointment.

A journey that had begun with so much hope now seems to end in despair as Jesus dies alone, crying out, quoting Psalm 22, “My God, my God! Why have you forsaken me?”

Yes, even in the best of times, this is a most confusing and disorienting day.

And, of course, we are not in the best of times.

But, maybe our own troubles, our own sense of disappointment, our own despair – our own time of crisis - can actually help us see more clearly the events of two thousand years ago – and what they mean for us today.

Jesus entered a city in crisis.

The city was under Roman occupation and governed by Jewish authorities trying their best to keep the peace no matter what, knowing that the Romans wouldn’t hesitate to brutally crush any sign of rebellion.

Jesus entered a city in crisis, a city on edge, a city filling up with people preparing for Passover, people remembering God’s long-ago acts of liberation and looking for God to unchain them once again.

Jesus had been teaching and healing for a few years, getting at least a few people to wonder if he might be the one who was to come and save his people.

But when he entered the city in crisis, when he rode the colt in the palm parade, he made his decision – whatever name we give to this disorienting day, it was and is a time of decision.

By entering the city in crisis, Jesus decided to see his mission through, all the way to the cross and beyond.

By riding in the parade, Jesus decided to humble himself, not using his divine power or authority, but instead submitting to the authorities of the world.

Jesus decided to humble himself – humbled himself so fully that he cried out in despair, for a time seemingly unable to feel the loving presence of his Father.

Jesus decided to humble himself, dying alone on the cross.

Crisis: a time of decision.

But, it wasn’t just a time of decision for Jesus.

No, everyone in this story had to decide, too.

The crowd gathered along the parade route welcoming Jesus and the crowd that rejected him.

The Roman and Jewish authorities that chose to destroy an innocent and holy life rather than risking their own power and security.

And, yes, it was a day of decision for Jesus’ disciples, too – the disciples who had been given front row seats for all the teachings and healings – sight for a blind man, the raising of a dead man – the disciples who had spent so many days with Jesus, coming to recognize that he was their friend, teacher and Lord, the One who had been so long awaited.

Yes, it was a time of decision for the disciples, too – and one decided to betray Jesus and another denied him three times and the rest decided to save their own skin by making themselves scarce.

All who remained were a few brave and heartbroken women, keeping their distance, looking at the cross where it must have seemed like hope itself had died.

Crisis: a time of decision.

And now here we are in our own time of crisis.

We miss so much – we miss each other – we miss our little chaotic palm parade – we miss hearing lots of different voices read the Passion – we miss a sense of security that is perhaps gone from our lives forever.

But maybe our time of crisis can help us see this confusing and disorienting day more clearly.

Because the truth is, this is a time of decision for us, too.

In our time of crisis we can be like the characters in Jerusalem that day long ago – paying for our security at the expense of others - welcoming Jesus when everybody else shows up for the parade but then turning on him at the first sign of trouble or when things don’t go the way we want or expect – abandoning Jesus when it looks like following him might cost us something.

Or…we can decide to follow Jesus’ lead and ride boldly into the future, knowing that it will often be hard and painful and we will sometimes feel very sad and alone, and yet trusting that God is at work in the midst of even the worst suffering, somehow turning even the deepest despair into the most unexpected hope.

If Gail were here right now, I’d ask to her to play a few notes of, “I Have Decided to Follow Jesus.”

You’ll just have to sing or hum a little on your own, because…

            In this time of crisis, during these most difficult and yet holiest days, let’s decide to follow Jesus - follow Jesus all the way to the cross, follow Jesus all the way to the tomb, follow Jesus all the way to Easter.

            Amen.

From Light to Shadow

The Church of St. Paul & Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

April 14, 2019

Year C: The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday

Luke 19:28-40

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Philippians 2:5-11

Luke 22:39-23:56

From Light to Shadow

            We don’t know what the weather was like in Jerusalem that day two thousand years ago when King Jesus rode into his capital city.

            In my imagination, anyway, it’s a perfect, sunny day.

            The city was already filling up with people from all over the Jewish world, who had gathered for the greatest of all feasts, Passover.

            And now there was the added excitement of the arrival of the one whom many had seen and undoubtedly many more had heard about, the unusual teacher and healer from Nazareth in Galilee, of all places, the one some dared to hope and even dared to say was the long-awaited Messiah.

            Throughout the gospels, Jesus is usually reluctant to reveal his identity, but not that day in Jerusalem.

            He rides into his capital city in a self-aware and bold declaration of his identity and his mission.

            Even after two thousand years, we can still sense the excitement – the Passover crowds, the arrival of the possible messiah, the waving of the palms, the placing of cloaks in the road and the shouts of “Hosanna!” – all on what was likely a sunny day in Jerusalem, a great day for a parade, a beautiful day for a new king to take his throne.

            We tried to recreate at least a little of that excitement in our own chaotic but joyful parade this morning.

            In Jerusalem that day it was light, so light, but, almost from the start, shadows began to lengthen.

            The Pharisees – often, but not always, depicted as Jesus’ enemies – they may have been among the first people to sense the shadows, the first to perceive the dangers for Jesus and for the nation, and so they warn Jesus, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.”

            But, Jesus knows that it’s too late for that now.

            And in Jerusalem that day two thousand years ago and here in Jersey City today, the move from light to shadow is so quick, so frightening, and so heartbreaking.

            The crowd that had just been joyfully shouting “Hosanna!” all too soon becomes a mob crying for blood, calling out “Crucify him!”

            The disciples who had been with Jesus witnessing his teaching and his healing, who had been with Jesus for the more private times that are mostly unrecorded in the gospels and lost to us, the times that must have been so precious to them - the simple moments of friendship and laughter and tears – these same disciples and friends betray him and deny him and abandon him to the cold calculations of the religious establishment and the brutality of Rome and, finally, they leave Jesus to his fate: the shameful death of a criminal.

            From light to shadow.

           

If we’ve lived long enough, we know what the quick trip from light to shadow feels like.

            One moment everything is going along just fine – the sun is shining bright - and then…

 We take one wrong step.

 Or, the phone rings in the middle of the night bringing us terrible news.

 Or, all of a sudden we feel a new kind of pain or a frightening lump.

Or, the boss calls us into the office with a grim look.

Or, one unexpected expense empties whatever little money we’ve managed to save.

Or, old institutions and traditions that we thought were rock solid start to bend and break.

One moment everything is going along just fine and suddenly we discover that what we had thought of as a sure thing was nothing of the kind.

           

From light to shadow.

            You know, the life of Jesus – and especially the story of his betrayal, arrest, torture, and death – tells us so much about God.

            God, who is pure light, is always willing to enter the deep shadows of human life – willing to experience heartbreak and despair and fear and loss.

            In and through Jesus, God moves from light to shadow.

            That’s what happened in Jerusalem on that beautiful day two thousand years ago – that’s what happened when Jesus journeyed from the palm parade to the cross - and that’s what happens to us today when we face the deep shadows of our own lives.

            God moves with us when we make the quick trip from light to shadow.

            Over the next few days, during what we call Holy Week and what the world calls mid-April and some call Spring Break – during the next few days, while most of the world goes about its usual business of trying to fool itself into thinking that security can be achieved by piling up money or power or pleasure or popularity or even good health, we are invited to journey with Jesus from light to shadow.

            And, since we’ve got plenty of shadows in our own lives – plenty of shadows in our own very shadowy world - this journey with Jesus is only worth taking because we know the final destination.

            If we had been one of Jesus’ disciples in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, we would have thought that the cross is the tragic end of our story.

            But, even then – even in the time of deepest shadow - there were a couple of hints that the light is not quite extinguished: there’s the promise of paradise to the thief who repented – and, most of all, there’s Jesus’ words of forgiveness from the cross.

            But, for now, and in the next few days ahead, we sit, we walk, and, we wait, in shadow.