05/30/2026
The Sanctuary Sermon for Palm Sunday 2026 “Fickle, Again” Mark 11, Luke 19, John 12
Today we observe Palm Sunday – the beginning of Holy Week. The day we remember Jesus’ Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem. And once again, I am confronted with my own cynicism and I’ve been thinking a lot about regret this week. Which is a real winning combination, right? Now, this really is an encouraging word, some of you just may have to read between the lines.
In reflection on the triumphal parade this past week, I began thinking about some of the more stupid decisions in my life. Events and choices that when I look back on them, I cringe. The thing I did that one time. The promise I never kept. Shooting out old man Krieger’s light bulbs. I mean there are so many regrets to choose from. Sometimes even my good intentions still ended friendships. We all have regrets but while some of my mistakes are undeniably some real doozies, unlike some of you, the one mistake I never, ever made was sporting a mullet in the 80s. You know who you are.
Let’s look at Jesus’ triumphal entry beginning with Mark;
As they approached Jerusalem and came to Bethphage and Bethany at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two of his disciples, 2 saying to them, “Go to the village ahead of you, and just as you enter it, you will find a c**t tied there, which no one has ever ridden. Untie it and bring it here. 3 If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ say, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here shortly.’”
4 They went and found a c**t outside in the street, tied at a doorway. As they untied it, 5 some people standing there asked, “What are you doing, untying that c**t?” 6 They answered as Jesus had told them to, and the people let them go. 7 When they brought the c**t to Jesus and threw their cloaks over it, he sat on it. 8 Many people spread their cloaks on the road, while others spread branches they had cut in the fields. 9 Those who went ahead and those who followed shouted,
“Hosanna!”
“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”
10 “Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David!”
“Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
Luke 19:39 Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Jesus, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples!”
40 “I tell you,” he replied, “if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.”
John 12:19 So the Pharisees said to one another, “See, this is getting us nowhere. Look how the whole world has gone after him!”
Regrets. I’ve had a few. Seriously though, I wonder if the nature of regret, and the practice of reflection itself, is in some way rooted in the idea that, we think we are different now. And were we in the same situation, knowing what we know now, we would never choose to steal that toy when we were 12, or drive drunk when we were 21 or ever, ever have a mullet.
We like to think it’s true, that given the opportunity to go back and do things differently, we would. We would as improved, wiser people, make completely different choices. Because we are better versions of ourselves now. And I kind of think that’s true and then I kind of don’t.
I mention this because I realized last week how uncomfortable the Palm Sunday story always makes me. It’s a feeling not unlike the regret I feel when thinking back on the stupid things I’ve done. The Palm Sunday story totally makes me put my hand over my eyes with a little slit open to peek through, because I know what’s about to go down. “Look out Jesus! Watch your back, for it’s about to get stabbed!” I suppose the solace is that at least we know how the story ends.
Every year on this, the first day of Holy Week as we read about the fickle crowds waving their palms and laying down their cloaks, shouting, ‘Hosanna in the highest’ to a humble messiah riding into Jerusalem on the foal of a donkey—or a c**t, or an unimpressive animal—truth be known, I cringe. Like I’m just a little bit embarrassed for how sure they seem of themselves and how miserably they are about to fail when put to the test.
I read of the celebration that day knowing how quickly the shouts of the fickle crowd go from, HAIL HIM to nail him. CROWN HIM to crucify. And I think to myself, they’re only hailing him as a king because they don’t get it. They don’t know what’s about to go down, so really, it’s all just empty praise.
That day, the multitude of the disciples—the same ones who will deny and abandon him—were praising God joyfully with loud voices for the great deeds of power they had seen. They were there welcoming their king, shouting, ‘Hosanna in the highest heavens’ and praising, ‘God is great’ but their triumphant celebration feels regretfully treasonous to those of us who know how this is all about to play out.
So, in a way, I find myself wishing I could travel back to that day outside Jerusalem, knowing what I know and try and stop it. Kind of like I want to travel back knowing what I now know to try and stop my 17 year old self from making just about every decision he ever made. Or at the very least, were I one of his disciples I like to think I’d be more reasonable and not lose myself in ecstatic praise of the messiah on a donkey right before turning my back on him.
That’s what is so melancholy about Palm Sunday to me. We know what’s about to happen. The betrayal, denial and abandonment are just ahead. The monkey trial and the kangaroo court deliver beatings then there’s the torturous carrying of the cross, the nails and the sour wine and the spear. So, all that joyful shouting just feels a wee bit embarrassing in the shadow of what’s to come this week.
We may be tempted to think that we are different from the faltering disciples. because we are in the special position of knowing what’s about to happen. But the thing is, I wonder if they did too.
At least they did if they were paying even the least amount of attention to Jesus. He told them more than once that this was all going to happen. Then he’d do something really amazing, like heal someone or some other act of power like forgiveness and his followers would forget and be like, Oh yeah, the king has come! And then he’d take the opportunity to say that he is going to be betrayed into the hands of the authorities and then suffer and die.
We don’t know more than they did because he kept telling them this was about to happen. And before we blame the disciples for not stopping it, we should remember that there was one guy who stepped in, one guy who did what my instinct would be, which is to try and put a stop to such a pathetic and preventable death. Remember? It was Peter. What’ch you talkin’ ‘bout Willis? Peter. Peter did what my impulse would be, which is to say, God forbid.
Don’t go into Jerusalem, Jesus. Because that’s where the prophets get themselves killed and you’re too good to lose. Too peaceful. Too holy. Too pure. Too loving for that kind of thing. Surely, you know what they say about cooler heads prevailing. Think about it, for you’re too smart to put yourself in a tight spot. Let’s not go there. Surely, we can do something about this.
But Holy Week was an unstoppable march of events and when Peter tried to talk Jesus out of it, Jesus didn’t put his hand on Peter’s shoulder and say, You know something? You’re right, Peter. What have I been thinking? Nope. Not even close. Jesus said with steely eyes and without hesitation, “Get behind me Satan.” Because no amount of improved humanity could have stopped it. No good intentions, no nobility, no sin avoidance, no piety.
Nothing could have stopped this Pascal mystery of God and humanity. No amount of super-good discipleship, or wisdom, or hindsight would make a speck of difference to God’s determination to draw all people to God’s self through Jesus lifted high and on a cross.
See, we are no different than the shouting crowds—those that do the right thing for the wrong reason or those who do the wrong thing for the right reason.
There is no better class of improved people. In my experience, there are just people and say it with me… they’re the worst. Oh, the humanity.
And as soon as we think the good news is that we know better than those caught up into the tragic events of that first Holy Week, we are mistaken. As soon as we think the good news is that we now know how to do the right things for the right reasons, well, we just might be mistaken.
Because it had to happen like this. When the Pharisees told Jesus to stop his disciples from such an embarrassing display, he said that were they to stop even the stones would cry out. So there had to be crowds who shout praise and friends who betrayed and followers who denied and women who wept and soldiers who mocked and thieves who believed.
It would have happened like this even if the Jesus event were happening now instead of then. Even if we knew everything in advance—were we the ones on the street, we too would shout ‘Hosanna’ and a few days later cry out, ‘Crucify him’. And that’s the good news when it comes down to it. Because these people of the Holy Week story are ‘we’ people. We have met the enemy and he is us. And ‘we’ people are the likes of which God came to save. God didn’t become human and dwell among us as Jesus to save only an improved, doesn’t make the wrong choices kind of people.
There is no improved version of humanity that could have done any differently. So go ahead. Don’t wait until you think your motivations are correct. Don’t worry about coming to church today for the right reasons. Wave branches this week. Shout praises. Eat a meal. Have your feet washed. Grab at coins. Shout crucify him. Walk away when the c**k crows. Because ‘we’ as ‘we’ are, are not some improved version of ourselves. ‘We’ are who God came to save. Hosanna. You see, the whole world has gone after him and nothing can stop what’s going to happen.
According to Matthew, when he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.” Yes. Yes, he is. But I think there is more to be said. So, I want to add a few things.
This is the one God sent because God “so loved the world.”
This is the one who promises, “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”
This is the one who says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying burdens, and I will give you rest.”
This is the one who says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.”
This is the one who says, “Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”
This is the one who says, “I am the good shepherd.”
This is the one “who calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.”
This is the one who says, “I am the light of the world.”
This is the one who says, “I am the resurrection and the life.”
This is the one who comes that we “may have life and have it abundantly.”
This is the one who is “making all things new.”
This is the one who says, “Remember, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”
I hope you hear the heartbeat of Easter in the list of who this one is, because I’m going to invite you to do something. The Lord’s Table has been set at the foot of the cross for us this morning. As we sing in worship that Christ is King, you’re invited to come and receive the bread and the cup at your descretion. You’re also welcome to symbolically nail your fickleness, your regrets, doubts and turmoil of the human heart to the cross. Or not. If you’re not comfortable in leaving your seat, no worries. At the conclusion of the service you’re still invited to come to the table and take communion at the beginning of Holy Week.
Whatever your Holy Week is – whatever it brings you, takes from you, or asks of you – its heart is waiting for resurrection.
Like myself, you my cover your eyes while peeking through, but do not for one minute close them or turn away from your Holy Week, because this one who enters the turmoil of Jerusalem, this “one who comes in the name of the Lord” – this is the one who will rise to new life on the third day.
And you know what? He plans on taking you with him.
This is the Word of the Lord for the day.
