Those who are liturgically inclined will notice that there was no gospel read prior to this sermon. Following the Hebrew scripture, the Psalm, the Epistle, is to be the Gospel --- the Gospel on Palm Sunday is traditionally a reading of the Passion. At this point there is a dramatic shift in the service, from the Gospel heard at the beginning of Jesus triumphal entry into Jerusalem where we entered with palms and praise; to shift our gaze to the events of Holy Week leading to Jesus’ crucifixion.
This year I decided not to shift into the Passion – not yet- we will do that as the week continues. You can consider this the beginning of the service, continued 7pm on Thurs, 10am Friday, throughout the day on Saturday, and ending with worship 10am Easter Sunday. This year most of us have been afforded the gift of time. We have the time to live through the passion story in increments; a gift of slowly letting it sink in.
I believe we have already started this process and journey through our present daily experiences.
Over the past two weeks I have had a number of video check-ins with the Bishop and colleagues. We have commented on how this has been “the Lent-iest Lent we have ever Lent-ed.” For those of us who have accessed worship on Sunday it is that little piece of Easter each week that gives us the hope to continue our walk through the valley; thus the emphasis on praise this morning. In each of the sessions with colleagues, there is at least one person who has to pause when speaking because they are overwhelmed with emotion. When the Bishop gives the blessing at the end of each meeting, few eyes are dry. And I suspect that many of you, as you are going through your day, have moments where a wave of emotion washes over you – perhaps you shed a tear or feel like you almost could.
I believe this is part of the process and journey through our present daily lives – that will help us experience the journey of Holy Week – perhaps for the first time in our lives.
Palm Sunday, Holy Week, Easter Sunday, is a journey through an epic story. It is a story, told in various ways by different Gospel writers; a story that is chalked full of words that ring true.
Notice how I said, ring true...I say this because from year to year preachers, teachers, theologians, and those of us who wrestle with ‘the truth’ in texts, may set aside parts of the story considering them to lack fact and substance; some of us may consider the story simply just a story. ... yet there are words that ring true – there is something about the story and text that resonates with our current situation; the story sifts into our experience and seems to apply even if we can’t explain how or why.
This year there is less parsing of words and meaning when coming to the text; I am not looking for a novel insight to explain why Matthew’s version of the palm parade has a donkey and its colt – this doesn’t seem important. Humans -us- in new routines and living in a heightened anxiousness have had barriers within us crumble and this manifests in stories being less a head exercise and more a heart experience.
I am excited – and perhaps a little apprehensive – to journey through Holy Week in a fragile, less-in-control-kind-of-way. With our guards down, we have the opportunity to hear the story in a new way – to let emotion rule the day, feeling the Word wash over us – and simply let the Word move through us. The Word washing over us in this week’s continuing epic story will pull and draw us into the very depths of ourselves, where it will ruminate; having grasped a deeper ringing of truth it will germinate to burst forth from the tomb and welcome a new dawn of Easter morning.
Could this be the truth behind the poetry of Isaiah: The Lord has given me the tongue of a teacher, that I may know how to sustain the weary with a word?
As many of you know, I am an avid reader. I am out of library books, and instead of ordering electronic books have decided to look at my own bookshelves. I have a special shelf with books that I will return to again and again – generally I don’t read things more than once because there are too many other choices and new things to learn and experience – and there is simply not enough time to read everything. Instead of new, I have returned to a book by Betty Smith called, “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.” This is an old book, published in 1943. It is a story of a girl named Francie, growing up in hardworking, poor, immigrant neighbourhoods in Brooklyn. There are challenges with work, no work, school, no school, a dad who is good, and other times drunk. Why I return to this book – and especially at this time – is because of Francie, her attitude and her outlook on life. One of her practices in the summer is to crawl out their apartment window and sit on the rusty fire escape, with ice chips to savour, and a library book to get lost in. The best part of this spot is the scraggly tree that has grown up the fire escape to provide a curtain, a little shade, a lot of life. The quote on the inside flap from the book is this:
There’s a tree that grows in Brooklyn. Some people call it the Tree of Heaven. No matter where its seed falls, it makes a tree which struggles to reach the sky. It grows in boarded-up lots and out of neglected rubbish heaps. It grows up out of cellar gratings. It is the only tree that grows out of cement. It grows lushly ... survives without sun, water, and seemingly without earth. It would be considered beautiful except that there are too many of it.
These words ring true for me, as words that sustain the weary. The words resonate at a deep level – a level to which I am unable to articulate to you, either their value to me or my experience of the words.
I believe this is what happens with church words too. The words – the Word- affects, influences, touches, impresses, and resonates with us – effecting us deeply. Have you said the Creed, heard the blessing, recited the Lord’s Prayer and experienced them differently over the past three weeks?
That I may know how to sustain the weary with a word - This week our journey will be much in keeping with the style of today’s Psalm, a section of Psalm 31. Psalm 31 is a personal lament written by the psalmist in a time of perilous and perhaps life-threatening circumstances. There is a ringing of truth as the psalmist’s words wash over us:
Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am in distress; my eye wastes away from grief, my soul and body also. For my life is spent with sorrow, and my years with sighing; my strength fails because of my misery, and my bones waste away.
Praise the Lord that a lament does to end here – otherwise it might just sound like the nightly news.
A lament is different, - strategic- the words are a journey to be experienced:
A lament includes an invocation, a complaint, a petition, words of trust, and words of praise.
Through Holy Week we will journey through the five elements of lament – more than once.
As invocation we will call to God, we will pray, we will invite God’s presence to be in our midst.
As complaint and lament we will do a lot of confessing, complaining about our humanness; we will come with hearts full of lament, fears, anxieties, and griefs – for ourselves and for the world.
As petitions we will ask for forgiveness; pray for the world, others, and all God’s creation.
We will hear the repetition of words of trust – comfort – the Creed, the blessing, absolution of sin, peace be with you. We will hear a familiar story that will weave phrases into the deeps of our hearts.
And there will be expressions of praise – today that is in the waving of palms; in singing glory, laud, and honour. Truth ringing in our exclamation:
Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!
God – today we praise you.
This week engage us in the exercise of lament;
To journey with you to the cross.
Wash over us the Word – your epic story- that we experience it in fullness.
As we struggle to reach the sky, grow in the boarded-up lots and out of neglected rubbish heaps deep within us. Have us grow lushly...
Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest.
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