04/05/2020
Palm Sunday, 2020
Before we moved to Manhattan we lived in the "upstate" little village of Warwick, NY. Amy drove (or took the bus) every day for 6 years into the city. But once a week I would drive her just to spend time with her and prepare for the week's sermon. Our approach to the city was along the Palisades Parkway.
If you've ever driven to the city that way, you'll know what I'm talking about (if not, close your eyes and imagine a scenic parkway you are familiar with). The Palisades meanders along the Hudson River through NY and NJ, winding along at a speed limit that gives the Parkway Police plenty of opportunity to pull over those NYC workers who are running late. There are no trucks, no commercial vehicles, no busses, just cars. In the spring and summer, the trees are so full you cannot see Yonkers, the Bronx, Manhattan, or the river. It's the most pleasing and calming of drives (as long as you obey the speed limit).
Then, as if almost by magic, the George Washington Bridge appears above the trees. In just that last mile you catch a glimpse of not only the bridge and high rises next to it on the Jersey side, but you begin to see the river and in the distance, Manhattan. It's absolutely stunning. Today, when we travel upstate and come back that way, I often think, "Ahh, now I am HOME."
Today is Palm Sunday. It's the day Jesus entered Jerusalem for the last time, on his way to the cross. He knew what was coming, no one else there did. The writer of the book of Luke tells us, "Jesus wept" upon seeing the city. He did not tell us why.
Jesus was greeted by crowds of admirers, a throng of people that could not gather today with our social distancing. He was on the back of a small c**t. People were throwing their garments on the ground ahead of him, waving the branches of palm trees (our custom today). Their shouts of "Hosanna!!!" were an indication of WHO they *thought* was coming, a King that would defeat and destroy the Empire, restoring the independence the Jewish people had long sought. They had no clue what the week would hold, but for today, this day, they were hopeful, excited, thrilled beyond belief. And in the midst of that, Jesus wept.
Though the geography was different, I can imagine that today Jesus might have traipsed along the Hudson, a trail that preceded the Palisades Parkway. His approach would hide from him the city he was coming into, a city focused today on fighting the Empire of COVID19. And at a point along the journey, NYC would come into view, and he would stop, and weep. But why?
Pastors don't often preach the weeping part on Palm Sunday; we want our message to be upbeat, gleeful, joyful, anticipating a difficult week that will end in a victorious resurrection moment. We preach about the palms, then our kids hand them out at the end of the service for everyone to take with them (including the kids who use them to torment their siblings on the car ride home). But we don't preach about weeping.
Today, the city I call home weeps. We weep for sickness, we weep for death. We weep for families struggling to see an end; we weep because we cannot meet and greet and hug and kiss a cheek. We weep for the stories that have been told of recovery; we weep for the stories that will have a different ending. We weep for friends we cannot share a meal with, we weep for the friends who will move away during these days. We weep for the nurses and doctors and hospital workers and NYPD and FDNY and EMS and essential workers; we weep for our political leaders trying to lead well. Today, we weep. And Jesus weeps with us.
Jesus wept for a city he loved greatly, and a people that meant the world to him. He would weep for our suffering today; of that I'm certain. He would weep for NYC, and the world.
May we find Christ in the weeping moments this Palm Sunday, 2020.
Pastor Bruce
