April 4, 2004 — Palm Sunday
Christ Lutheran Church, Columbia, MD
Pastor Jeff Samelson
John 12:12-19
Where’s Your Faith on Friday?
Grace and peace to you from God our Father and from our glorious King and Savior, our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
The Word of God for our meditation this Palm Sunday is John’s account of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, 12:12-19:
The next day the great crowd that had come for the Feast heard that Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem. They took palm branches and went out to meet him, shouting, "Hosanna! " "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!" "Blessed is the King of Israel!"
Jesus found a young donkey and sat upon it, as it is written, "Do not be afraid, O Daughter of Zion; see, your king is coming, seated on a donkey’s colt." At first his disciples did not understand all this. Only after Jesus was glorified did they realize that these things had been written about him and that they had done these things to him.
Now the crowd that was with him when he called Lazarus from the tomb and raised him from the dead continued to spread the word. Many people, because they had heard that he had given this miraculous sign, went out to meet him. So the Pharisees said to one another, "See, this is getting us nowhere. Look how the whole world has gone after him!" (NIV)
This is the Gospel of our Lord.
Dear Friends in Christ:
There’s a haunting spiritual that takes us to the foot of the cross on Good Friday and asks, “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” But that’s Friday — what if you were there on Sunday? What if you had been part of that cheering crowd? Let’s picture that for a moment.
Children — imagine you were one of the kids lining the streets of Jerusalem that Sunday. You would have been filled with all kinds of excitement. You may not have understood exactly what was going on, but you would have known enough — the king was coming, he was here, he was right in front of you! You would have shouted out with all the grown-ups around you, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” On your way home that day all you’d probably be able to talk would be — “I saw the king today — and I think he saw me, too, ‘cause he smiled right at me! The king of the Jews came today!”
Men — imagine you were a traveler in Jerusalem that day, come in from the countryside a little early for the Passover. You knew about this Jesus, but there was something special going on today. For months people all over Judea and Galilee had been talking about Jesus, wondering if maybe he could be the Messiah, the long-awaited king who would save his people and re-establish David’s throne. You couldn’t argue with his miracles, and it was clear from his teaching that he was a leader with confidence and courage. You’d heard that he actually was a descendant of David, and so when you heard the noise and saw the crowds, you ran to see him, and you gladly joined in their shouts of joy and welcome. Because he had come — the Son of David had come to claim his rightful place as king of the Jews, and he would be your king.
Women — imagine yourself as a resident of Jerusalem that day — a businesswoman who prided herself on knowing just about everything that happened in your city. You were excited to hear that Jesus had come again, and you were very hopeful that he really would be the king and Messiah everyone said he was. It would really be good if someone else were in control of Jerusalem. The Romans took too much of your profits as taxes, and the Pharisees were bad for business, but you had seen Jesus stand up to them. It seemed that finally something good was going to happen for the Jews. And so you closed up your shop and joined the crowd, joined their happy hosannas, and you pledged yourself to your new Messiah and Savior.
Or maybe we should just imagine ourselves as one of the 12 disciples. They were probably the closest to understanding what was really going on, but that’s not saying much. The dominant thought in most of their heads probably would have been something like, “Well, it’s about time!” They had decided he was the Messiah a long time ago, and it was good to see the people of Jerusalem finally coming to the same conclusion and cheering their master. And you have to imagine that the disciples would have been feeling at least a little bit of personal pride as they entered the city with Jesus — at least some of that glory had to rub off on them. But still, the disciples probably understood by now that their Master’s purposes here weren’t entirely political or temporal. They believed — Jesus wasn’t just coming “in the name of” the Lord — he was coming as the Lord. And he was their Lord.
So that was Sunday, if you were there with the crowds and the palms and the hosannas. Monday might have been a let-down for you. Because Jesus didn’t dispatch any Romans, raise an army, or demand an audience with Pontius Pilate. Sure, he went into the temple again and kicked out the moneychangers and cheats, but that wasn’t particularly king-like behavior. It was a start, but you’d have to start wondering if maybe you’d all been a little premature with your cheering and your trust the day before.
And Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday would only have raised more questions. Your pledges of allegiance, your royal welcome — all that faith you put in the man from Nazareth on Sunday would seem somehow out of place as you saw that all he seemed to want to do was talk religion. The king may have come, but his kingdom was nowhere to be seen.
And then came Friday — Good Friday. Well, what was going on in Jerusalem then? What was going for you? Where was your faith in your king on Friday?
You children — you would be confused, because you welcomed a king on Sunday but saw no sign of him on Friday — only a broken and bleeding, pitiful man on his way to die on a cross.
Our traveler — you, good man, on Friday, would probably be content just to observe what’s going on. You wouldn’t be a part of the mob outside Pilate’s palace, calling for Barabbas’ release and Jesus’ crucifixion, but you wouldn’t exactly be trying to stop them from killing your king, either. You’d keep your mouth shout, but you’d find your way to Golgotha eventually, and there you would silently watch as your one-time Son of David hangs on a cross.
And our businesswoman — Friday would perhaps find you outside Pilate’s palace, on the fringes of the crowd, because you’d want to know what’s going on. And as the mob grew, you would find yourself caught up in it, and you’d find it hard to resist joining their cries of “Crucify him! Crucify him!” You’d feel bad about it later, of course — both because you knew it was unjust and because you’re disappointed. You had so much wanted him to be your and your people’s savior, but reality just seemed to be more than he could handle.
And the disciples? Well, on Friday Judas was already heading out to hang himself, feeling the guilt of what he’d done but despairing of forgiveness. And Peter was weighed down with shame and guilt after having denied his Master three times the night before — when his Lord had needed him most, and after he’d promised it would never happen. Most of the rest of the disciples were undoubtedly hiding out in that upper room, afraid that their association with Jesus might get them crucified, too. Of the disciples, only John seemed to show any courage or faith on Friday — only he showed up at Calvary to watch and pray as his Master suffered and died.
That’s a lot of Sunday to Friday stories. And only one of them is even the least bit positive. What happened? What went wrong? On Friday, Jesus was still everything and all he’d been on Sunday — Lord, King, Messiah, Son of God and Son of David. But things had changed for his followers. So what happened in between the palms and the cross? Where was Sunday’s faith on Friday?
Some would say that we should be asking ourselves that same question. We have the same problem today — in fact, this is probably the number one criticism people lodge against confessional Lutherans — and against many other churchgoers. And I’ll go even further and guess that this is probably the number one criticism you and I have of ourselves: Our Sunday faith doesn’t match up with our Fridays. We talk a great talk on Sunday morning as we sing our hosannas and bless Christ’s name, but fail to follow through with our lives the rest of the week.
You know what I mean. It’s the child who says, “OK, Mom, I’ll do it,” and then forgets to do it. It’s like you when you made that solemn promise to your spouse, and a short time later find yourself sneaking around to hide the fact that you’ve already broken it. It’s like that project or job that you volunteered for at work — or here at church — that you just can’t bring yourself to actually work on. It’s that pet sin that you repent of every week, with tears, that you return to every week as though the Lord isn’t watching.
When we think of the great betrayals of history, we tend to think first of acts of extreme and active treachery — we think of Judas and Benedict Arnold. But if there were any way to evaluate such things, we’d probably find that the greatest betrayals have involved people who simply didn’t show up — people who were inconsistent or unreliable, pledging one thing and doing another. Like the allies who were supposed to be there to guard the king’s flank as he led his army into battle, but whose words of friendship and allegiance one day were forgotten the next — the battle was joined, and he looked for them, but they were nowhere to be seen. Or like the spouse who says all the right words of love and devotion but who gets going when the going gets rough.
But isn’t that just what we are like on far too many Fridays — and Thursdays, and Mondays, and even Sunday afternoons? It’s the same thing that happened with the people who lined the streets of Jerusalem on Palm Sunday — it’s the disconnect between what you say one day and what you do the next. Your faith is eager and thankful on Sunday — but where is it on Friday?
There are all sorts of reasons for this kind of inconsistency, aren’t there? But they’re all just reasons, not excuses — they’re selfish and self-centered. You “forget” to do something because you don’t really want to do it. You break a promise because it’s too much trouble to keep it. You fail to follow through on a commitment because you found something else you’d rather do.
This lack of integrity is bad enough in human relationships, but it’s a foolish and frightening failure when it intrudes on our relationship with Christ — and it does, just as surely as it did for the people along the Palm Sunday parade route.
You see, we can’t plead ignorance. We can’t say we don’t know any better, because we do. We have confessed that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the Living God. We have put our trust in him as our Lord and Savior. We have worshipped and welcomed him as our eternal King. And out of love for God and in thanks to him for our salvation, we have committed ourselves to lives of worship, lives of service to his church and other people, lives of devotion to his Word, and obedience to his commands. If you have been confirmed, you made a solemn promise of these things, and every Sunday we review them for everyone.
But we are too often like Peter, or the fickle crowds, or even Judas, and too seldom like faithful John on Friday. We forget about Christ’s cross, and we set aside our own because something else comes up. We fail to follow through with the worship, the service, the devotion, and the obedience Christ deserves and which we have promised to give.
So what do we do? Do we despair, like Judas, when we realize our betrayal? Do we hang our heads in shame and guilt like Peter, when we realize how we have daily denied our Lord? Or do we coast through the week, deliberately ignorant of our inconsistencies, like so many of the palm-strewing, Christ-crucifying crowd of Holy Week?
The answer is: none of the above. And we certainly don’t decide simply to try harder, because we understand all too well by now that we don’t have the strength or power on our own to keep sin and unbelief out of our hearts and lives. When we find that our faith fails us on Fridays, we don’t turn away from Christ in shame, but turn to him and take hold of his cross. That’s what this was all about! We repent of all our failures, and we find forgiveness in the blood he poured out for us and for the whole world on that Good Friday. We trust that Jesus our King is also Christ our Savior, and that he has done everything for us — not only suffering and dying in our place, to pay for our sins, but even being perfectly obedient, perfectly reliable, and perfectly responsible in our place, and then giving us that perfection in exchange for our sins.
When we consider all he’s done, and how faithful he has been to us, we want nothing more than to be faithful in return. And so what do you do? You test yourself regularly, to make sure that your faith is a factor — to make sure that your faith is a factor on Friday, and every day. That’s part of Christian maturity — to examine your motives, your actions, and your decisions constantly, to make sure Christ is still a part of them. When you cast your vote in an election, for instance — are you voting for the candidate who’s best for you, or best for the country? When you negotiate a contract (there was a big grocery contract in the news this week) — are you seeking only what’s best for you, or what’s good and fair for everyone? When you spend time with friends, or a girlfriend or a boyfriend, would Christ be pleased with your language and your behavior? Test yourself every day to see if your faith is a factor.
Because you want the answer to the question, “Where is your faith on Friday?” to always be the same. Your faith is in Christ. You trust him and what he did for you on the cross. You find your confidence in the amazing and unlimited grace of God. You take your failures seriously, but you take Christ even more seriously. When he says, “Your sins are forgiven — your broken promises, your weakness of faith, your backsliding, your selfishness, everything — it’s forgiven. Your guilt is gone. Believe in me, and I will give you eternal life in heaven,” — when Christ says that to you, you believe him, because you know the Lord is trustworthy even when — or, rather, especially because you are not trustworthy.
But of course you don’t “stop” there. You’re not satisfied with the Sunday to Friday cycle of belief and unbelief, sanctification and sin, and so you respond to the Lord’s love and forgiveness with love and thanks. You fill your life with the gospel, your return daily to your baptism, you partake of the Lord’s Supper, you pray for the Holy Spirit’s strength and wisdom, and you grow. You struggle against sin, you serve your Lord and his church, you encourage your fellow believers, and you make your entire life one of worship and praise. Not because you have to, and not to make up for your past failure, but because God has loved you with his incredible love.
So where — where is your faith on Friday? Only one place — the same place it’s in on Sunday. Your faith is in Christ, your glorious King and gracious Savior. Amen.
And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.
