“Into Jerusalem”
April 13, 2025
Rev. Rebecca Migliore
The march to Jerusalem has reached a critical point. Jesus has been warning the disciples that he is headed there, and will probably be involved in a show down where he will be arrested, beaten and killed. But they don’t creep into the city. They don’t don sackcloth and ashes. They approach it with heads held high. They put together a little parade. They make sure Jesus isn’t just walking among his disciples but seated on an animal, a colt, the way a rival king might be. They even spread their cloaks on the colt, and others, seeing this spread their cloaks as well.
Palm Sunday is the day we remember Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem, that holy city. Here in the gospel of Luke, we don’t have any palm branches waving, we have cloaks that are being spread on the ground before him—a sign of regard, a red carpet so to speak. And as they approach the city from the Mount of Olives (the direction that the prophet Zachariah has God approaching Jerusalem on “the day of the Lord,” they shout, not Hosanna! but “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!”
“Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” A little harder to say than, Hosanna! But it should strike a familiar chord in your ears. I bet, if I say, “I will huff and I will puff and I will …” You knew what comes next—and you probably knew the fairy tale that it came from. The Three Little Pigs (which just popped into my mind, maybe because I played one of the three little pigs in one of our Children’s Theatre productions) is a master class in storytelling. The set-up is easy. The repetition of conversation between the Big Bad Wolf (Mr. Jan) and the three pigs allows for everyone to know what is going to be said next! And, of course, there is a happy ending, for the pigs.
Why am I talking about this? Because “Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven” is being used by another master storyteller (this time, the writer of the gospel of Luke). In talking about peace and glory in the highest heaven, he is harkening back to the Christmas story, and the angels’ announcement to the shepherds out in the fields. They were announcing the birth of a savior, of Emmanuel, God with us. And here, Luke uses the refrain to announce the entrance of the savior, of Emmanuel, God with us, into Jerusalem.
If one were disinclined to believe in Jesus and Jesus’ ministry, you might see this story as a piece of political theater. I mean, how is it that there is a colt just waiting to be used on that day? How is it that all they have to say is “The Lord has need of it” as they “borrow” this animal that has never been ridden. How is it that they put together a reenactment of a conquering king? Who starts the shouts? Of course, we could say that Jesus would foresee what was going to happen—except that as we approach Maundy Thursday (or the preparation for the Passover) the same thing happens. The story is that Jesus tells the disciples to go to a certain street and there they will meet a man with a jug of water and follow him to a house where you will ask the owner to show you upper room where we can have our Passover. It certainly seems that someone is doing a lot of backstage planning. Well done!
Except Luke isn’t going to let us think just that. He doesn’t downplay or try to hide the human side of things, (he tells us these stories of the colt and the room being ready or seen beforehand) but this movement of the One of God is more than just a human invention. That’s where the near repetition of the angel’s refrain reminds us that the cosmos is involved in all this. Angels and all the heavenly host have been celebrating since before Jesus’ birth. Now the human element is echoing their cry of celebration that God has come down from heaven to bring peace and justice (Shalom) to God’s world of humans. To God be the glory!
And, just in case the hearer doesn’t get the idea that this is a cosmic moment—the rocks get into the act. When the religious authorities try to quiet the crowds, try to stop this seeming challenge to the powers that be, Jesus says, “If the cries didn’t come from my disciples, the very stones would shout out!” As I was imaging this scene what came to my mind was the picture “Starry Night” as I remembered the announcement to the shepherds, and any number of beautiful pictures of not just pebbles, not just small stones, but boulders, or even mountains as well. Some of us, some of creation, might not recognize what God is doing, but the hills and mountains do, the babbling brooks do, the birds add their song, and the animals trumpet and roar and slither and bark and meow as each adds their voice to the message—God is here!
It is creation responding to creator, and it points us to the inevitable conclusion. That the forces of evil—those who listen to the murmuring of greed, who collude with illness and death and brutality and all that is against the song of the angels, are truly puny. They are puny in the face of the purpose that God created for us—peace, and shalom, and rejoicing in God. All that human misery that thinks it is so powerful is really not in the face of the grandeur of the mountains, the power of the rapids, the exquisite beauty of a cherry blossom. And so when it comes down to the fight, to the bout of good versus evil, of right versus wrong, of life versus death—we know who will win.
I know it feels like a dark time in our country, maybe even in our lives right now. I know we as the Christian church, and as UPC, don’t know what our future might be. Maybe this Palm Sunday we don’t even feel like shouting. And that is okay. God’s coming isn’t dependent on us. It doesn’t need us to find the colt, or throw our cloaks or lift our voices, or prepare the supper, or even to show up at the cross. We may do all of those things, or none of them, God still comes. In the middle of the night, God comes. In the midst of winter, God comes. At the bright noon day, God comes.
And even if we give no glory at all, creation chimes in its voice. Creation will pick up our slack. The truth of God being with us, God caring about us, God bringing God’s kin[g]dom to this world cannot be stopped.
But sometimes we need a token to remind us of this. And that is what the rock you were given is. A reminder of this day—a day when rocks cry out. A reminder of the true reality—God is with us, and God’s kin[g]dom has already broken into our world. Hold onto your rock. When it is hard to believe, clutch that rock. Encircle it with your hand. Notice how it radiates your heat. It is singing just for you. It is singing the song that angels have sung, and heaven has rung and no one can silence.
We may not know how, and we may not know when, and we may feel we spend far too long in the valley of the shadows—but the ending should not be in doubt. The big bad wolf can huff and puff and blow to his heart’s content—but there will be a dwelling that will stand against it all. There will be victory. That is what we have to cling to as we pass through Palm Sunday and head into Holy Week and the gathering of storm clouds, the darkening skies, the weighted-ness of betrayal and denial as well as brutality and death.
We know what the next week will be like. We know what the streets look like after a parade. They are strewn with the detritus of people before the street cleaners come. They seem empty and sad. And soon there will be the clinking of silver coins and the marching of soldier’s feet, and the sadness of a kiss, and the agony of betrayal, and the tears at the cross, and the anointing at the tomb. Creation will stand with us as this happens. Creation will groan alongside us. As Jesus is dying on the cross, the sun will fail to shine and darkness will come over the whole land.
And yet, can you hear it? Even when the whole world is still, the song goes on. Even when the whole world is silent, the rocks continue to shout. Even as we walk the path with Jesus, we hold onto the truth, symbolized today as a rock in our hand.
We remember the truth of God, we remember the utter truth of all time and space. We remember that we are an Easter people. That God has taken the worst that this world, that Jerusalem, can imagine, and turned it upside-down and inside-out, as God always does.
We know the end of the story. The huge rock that enclosed the tomb will be rolled away. Death will not have the final say. Yes, we are still waiting for Peace and Shalom to settle on this speck in the vast universe. Yes, we are still waiting for the whole world to “echo the song that now the angels sing.” We know we live in the in between time. And we know we need to hear the story again and again and again. So that we can join the refrain. So that we can lift our hearts and lives in proclaiming that: We can be sure that there is nothing and no one who can separate us from the love of God. And that these three things abide: faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is God’s love.
Happy Palm Sunday!
Blessed Holy Week.
May we find our faith to be as steady as a rock
May we cry out
“Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord.
Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!”
And may we be held always in God’s hand.
Amen and amen.
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