The latest Sermon

By: Rev. Karie Charlton

Matthew 21:1–11

Psalm 118

When I was a child, I remember Palm Sunday as a day when we paraded around the sanctuary, waving palms while those in the pews sang “Hosanna, Loud Hosanna,” a hymn about children singing to Jesus. I always thought it was a bit silly.

I thought Palm Sunday was about cute kids waving branches. I didn’t realize it was about desperate people crying out for their lives.

As a child, I wondered why people in the Bible story were praising Jesus in the street. My young mind decided it must be because Jesus didn’t have a church, so they met him wherever he was. I imagined a parade made up of disciples and people Jesus had healed—like a big “thank you” for being amazing.

And maybe that was part of it. But as I grew older, I began to notice something different. The people were not only thanking Jesus—they were asking him to save them.

And that is much harder to imagine.

Growing up in church, I learned that confession and assurance of pardon were the moments when sins were forgiven. The idea of Jesus saving us from sin didn’t seem to fit with a crowd shouting in the streets. I wouldn’t stand in public and cry out to be saved from sin—I would go to church.

So what in the world was happening on that first Palm Sunday?

Matthew’s Gospel shows Jesus fulfilling prophecy and acting in king-like ways—riding into Jerusalem on a donkey. People lay their cloaks on the road as a sign of surrender. They shout, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” and “Hosanna—save us!”

But Jesus has no official power. He isn’t a king, a political leader, or part of the religious establishment. He has no authority over taxes or temple practices.

So while some people are excited, others are asking, “Who is this? Who does he think he is?”

Not everyone in the crowd is celebrating. Some are curious. Some are anxious. Some are angry.

So what is Jesus doing?

This is not just a parade—it’s a protest.

And Jesus has taken a side.

Jesus is defying the empire.

He is disrupting the status quo.

He is ushering in the reign of God—and that will unsettle those in power and lift up those who are oppressed.

Scripture tells us the city is in turmoil.

The city is stirred, shaken, agitated. The word Matthew uses means to be rattled, thrown into turbulence. It is the same word used when the earth shakes on Good Friday and when the guards tremble with fear on Easter morning.

We know what it feels like when things are shaken—when a city, a community, even our own lives feel unstable.

We see it in division, in anxiety, in systems that strain people to the breaking point.

Turmoil can drive us away from God—or it can open us to God’s presence.

Jesus doesn’t avoid the turmoil. He enters it.

On that first Palm Sunday, he not only rides into the city—he goes to the temple and drives out those who have turned a place of worship into a place of exploitation.

This is not just a parade—it’s a protest.

God, in Jesus Christ, is shaking things up.

And as Holy Week unfolds, people are forced to respond. Some open their hearts. Others react with fear, trying to control what they can or retreat from what they don’t understand.

And this is where Palm Sunday stops being their story—and becomes ours.

Because we know how people respond when things fall apart.

Some grasp for control.

Some lash out.

And some choose transformation—changing themselves and working toward a better world.

On Palm Sunday, those with nothing left to lose—the poor, the oppressed, the desperate—cry out:

Save us from oppression.

Save us from systems where some always have too much and others never have enough.

Save us from exploitation and fear.

Save us from the harm done to us—and the harm we participate in.

Hosanna. Save us.

Meanwhile, those in power see a threat. They fear losing their position. They benefit from systems that keep others down, so change is not in their interest.

Then, as now, there are enough resources to go around.

The problem is not scarcity.

The problem is that those with power are not willing to let go.

And like today, people are divided against each other so that nothing changes.

But Jesus has taken a side.

He stands with those crying out.

He stands with those who have no power.

And when I think about that first Palm Sunday, I remember that God entered a city in turmoil and chose to stand with the vulnerable.

Psalm 118 reminds us this is who God has always been.

It invites us to join the procession—the protest and the praise. A single voice cries out, and the community joins in, proclaiming that it is God’s love—not our distress—that endures.

We are those people.

We bring our stories.

We stand together.

We take part in God’s work—feeding the hungry, healing the sick, lifting up the oppressed, caring for the poor.

And when more voices are included, we hear more clearly what God is doing.

When everyone is valued, we are better able to care for one another.

But this kind of community disrupts the status quo.

It challenges systems built to keep power in the hands of a few.

There will be times when we feel like giving up—especially when we benefit from those systems.

But when we participate in systems that harm others, we harm ourselves.

Because we are deeply connected—in both our pain and our love.

There will also be times when we feel alone.

But we are not alone.

Like the psalmist, when we are overwhelmed or afraid, we can find rest in community.

Rest when you need to.

Join in when you can.

Trust in the love of God.

Trust in the love of your community.

Love is stronger than death.

Love endures forever.

We shall not die, but live—and declare the works of Love.

So today, we are invited to respond.

Open your heart.

Stand with the oppressed.

Choose love.

Because this is not just a parade—it’s a protest.

And Jesus has taken a side.

Amen.

Charge

Go now remembering this:

this is not just a parade—it’s a protest.

And Jesus has taken a side.

So open your hearts,

stand with the oppressed,

and choose love.

Join your life to the cry of “Hosanna—save us,”

and be part of God’s work in the world.

Blessing

May the God who enters our chaos go with you.

May Christ give you courage.

May the Spirit sustain you in love—

a love stronger than death.

Go in peace to love and to serve.

Amen.

Holy and loving God,

We come before you today as people who know both celebration and struggle.

We wave our branches and sing “Hosanna,”

and yet in our hearts we are also crying out,

“Save us.”

Save us, O God—

from all that harms and divides,

from systems that wound your people,

from the burdens we carry and the fears we cannot name.

You entered a city in turmoil long ago,

and you did not turn away.

You stepped into the chaos,

stood with the vulnerable,

and proclaimed a different kind of kingdom—

a kingdom of justice, mercy, and love.

So enter our lives again, O God.

Enter our communities.

Enter this world that so often feels shaken and uncertain.

Be with those who are suffering today—

those who are grieving,

those who are sick,

those who are overwhelmed or afraid.

Be with those who are oppressed,

those who feel forgotten,

those who cry out for dignity, safety, and hope.

Give us courage to follow where Christ leads—

to stand with the marginalized,

to challenge what is unjust,

and to love more boldly than we thought possible.

When we are tempted to cling to comfort or control,

open our hearts.

When we feel alone or weary,

remind us that we belong to one another.

Root us in your enduring love—

a love stronger than death,

a love that will not let us go.

And as we journey through this holy week,

shape us into people who do not just praise you with our lips,

but follow you with our lives.

We pray all this in the name of Jesus Christ,

who comes to save, to liberate, and to love.

Amen.