Sermon Preached by The Rev. John S. Nieman
St. Andrew’s Episcopal Parish
March 25, 2018 Palm Sunday/Year B
Texts -- Mark 11:1-11; Isaiah 50:4-9a; Psalm 31:9-16; Philippians 2:5-11; Mark 15:1-47
Two weeks ago I was home on a Saturday morning when the doorbell rang. I knew right away who it was. The Jehovah’s Witnesses came a calling. Which is fine with me. The man just wanted a moment of my time to tell me about a special event that will happen at the Kingdom Hall in Newcastle this coming Saturday. It is an annual remembrance of the death of Jesus Christ. He handed me a bi-fold telling of the event, and extended a personal invitation. Now whenever this kind of interaction happens, I have a momentary internal debate about whether or not to tell him – you know – who I am. Sometimes I simply take the literature, hear the person out, and send him on his way. This time I politely told him. “I’m an Episcopal Priest, and our church is about to embark on a week-long series of worship services that are all about telling the story of Jesus death. It’s what we do every year, from Palm Sunday through Holy Saturday.” As I said it, it occurred to me how much of a mystery we are to each other. And I hoped I might dispel some of the misperceptions he might have about us “catholic-looking” Christians. Yes, we Episcopalians do in fact remember Jesus death – big time! And we begin today. Palm Sunday is a little unusual in that it is the one day of the year when we hear two readings from the same gospel, this year from Mark. First, we hear the story of Jesus’ beginning his final approach to the city of Jerusalem, sending some of his disciples into a small village in order to untie a colt upon which he will enter the city. Jesus rides into Jerusalem to the sound of glorious praises: “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!” This is what we read outside a few minutes ago, and it’s the story most of us associate with Palm Sunday.
Then, each year on this day, we also hear a portion of the passion narrative, the story of Jesus’ betrayal, his being bound and taken away finally to die tied to a cross. This is the story most of us associate with Good Friday. But since the cross of Christ is so central our understanding of God’s grace, the Church has found it fitting to put it at the beginning of Holy Week, as well as the end. Indeed, today is called not only Palm Sunday, but also the Sunday of the Passion.
Now Mark is not known for being the most eloquent of the gospel writers. In fact he writes in the common street language of the day. But his gospel is special because it was written first. Mark was the first one to pull together all of the traditions about Jesus and make some sort of coherent story out of them. He was a pioneer in that sense. He put words and images together in such a way that our imaginations are ignited. The two passages we heard today bring to our attention a cluster of images that capture the meaning of the week that begins today, what we call “Holy Week.” The images are that of tying and untying, of being bound and being set free.
"‘Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it.’ They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. As they were untying it, some of the bystanders said to them, ‘What are you doing, untying the colt?’ They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it.” Or as another translation puts it, “they let them go.” They released them.
This is not a story about some sort of uncanny power of mental telepathy that Jesus uses to try to impress people. It’s a story about untying, a story about being untied – literally, to be loosed from bonds. It’s a story about being set free. Untie the colt, Jesus says. Untie us, we pray.
And Jesus enters Jerusalem. Jerusalem is where the ultimate tying and untying would take place. Jerusalem is the city toward which Jesus deliberately and willingly turned. It is also the city where he would be crucified, literally tied to a tree. And finally, Jerusalem is the place where God would break into human history and untie everything. Jerusalem is where God in Christ would set the whole world free.
“The chief priests and the elders come to the garden,” and what do they do? They bind Jesus, they tie him up, and lead him away to Pilate. Pilate, holding two people prisoner, Jesus and Barabbas, allows the crowd to decide which of the two would be untied, released, set free. And “Pilate, wishing to satisfy the crowd, released for them Barabbas; and having scourged Jesus, he delivered him to be crucified,” that is, tied to a cross. Hanging there, arms and legs bound, Jesus is taunted by people wanting to see him prove his Kingship precisely by freeing himself. “You who would destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save yourself, and come down from the cross!” Untie yourself! Set yourself free!
These images of being tied up and then untied, of being bound and then set free, form an appropriate refrain for a Holy Week Litany. Untie us, Lord. Untie us from anything and everything that destroys us, that hurts us,that blinds us from the abundant life that you have promised us. Untie us.
Untie us from destructive relationships; relationships that bind us to patterns of behavior that not only destroy ourselves, but also those who surround us, most especially those we care for and love the most: our spouses, our children, our parents, our brothers and sisters, our friends. Untie us from those games we play with each other, the roles we act out, the patterns of behavior we’ve become so comfortable with, but which have put our true selves into bondage. Untie us from the unwillingness to ask for forgiveness, to seek reconciliation, to let go of hurt and resentment. Untie us.
Untie us from our unhealthy addictions – to work, to money, to possessions, to substances that destroy our bodies. They’re all ways of escaping, of deadening the pains that we bind us. Untie us.
Untie us from our fears – our fear of losing control of our lives, our fear of losing the ones we love, our fear of disapproval, our fear of death. Untie us.
Untie us from thoughtless reactivity, from gross incivility and cruelty, from quickness to issue threats. Untie us from the greed that steals the environment from the generations that will come after us. Untie us from the habit ofwielding weapons of violence in the face of our enemies before having conversation with them. Untie us from the habit of valuing quick profits more than the education of our children. Untie us from the willingness to tolerate a level of poverty that betrays a callousness that should make every person of faith weep. Untie us from the grotesque habits of racism, sexism, homophobia, and xenophobia that, like a stubborn stain, just don’t seem to go away. Untie us, Lord.
Christ turned his face toward Jerusalem and allowed himself to be tied to a cross so that the world, so that you and I, might be untied. This Holy Week, may all of us also begin to turn our faces. May we begin to recognize and name the ties that bind us. For it is only in seeing that we are tied, that we can begin to allow God to untie us. The cross is the ultimate gift: it is God’s gift of freedom to all of us. Untie us, Lord.
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