Palm Sunday

Today's text is Mark 15:42-47, read by Steve Pokin. This morning's sermon was delivered by the Rev. Dr. Phil Snider.

Lead Pastor: Rev. Dr. Phil Snider (he/him)

Associate Pastor: Rev. Emily Bowen-Marler (she/her)

Youth Director: Paije Luth (she/her)

Children’s Church Coordinator: Valerie Bush (she/her)

Executive Assistant: Wacey Rivale (she/her)

Transcript

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Our reading this morning is from the Gospel of Mark, chapter 15, verses 42 through 47. When evening had come, and since it was the day of preparation, that is, the day before the Sabbath, Joseph of Arimathea, a respected member of the council, who was also himself waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God, went boldly to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. Then Pilate wondered if he were already dead, and summoning the centurion, he asked him whether he had been dead for some time. When he learned from the centurion that he was dead, he granted the body to Joseph. Then Joseph bought a linen cloth and taking down the body, wrapped it in the linen cloth and laid it in a tomb that had been hewn out of rock. He then rolled the stone against the door of the tomb. Mary Magdalene and Mary, the mother of Joseph, saw where the body was laid. May we hear what the Spirit is saying to the church?

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So here we are on Palm Sunday, the beginning of Holy Week. This week moves very quickly, as did the last week of Jesus' life. On Palm Sunday, for those who take the teachings of Jesus seriously, today's a good day to remember that Jesus' famous entrance into Jerusalem, in which the people waved the palm branches to welcome him, it was a demonstration in protest of the violent empire and authoritarianism associated with Rome, and it is one of the very first recorded political protests in history, a precursor to no kings, if you will. And while Pilate was entering the other side of the city, Pilate was representing the spectacle, the excess of empire, riding in on a war horse, surrounded by legions of Roman soldiers, all in an effort to show the authority and the power of the emperor and to intimidate anyone who tried to get in its way. So Jesus on the other side of the city, as we all know by now, enters on a donkey, not a war horse, a donkey, in order to directly and comically mock all of those who think that God's power comes through violence and authoritarianism rather than through compassion and love. As you can imagine, this does not make the authorities happy. Early in the weak political and religious authorities, you might say the ancient Department of Injustice, they conspired together to silence Jesus, to stop Jesus' movement in its tracks before it gained too much momentum. So things escalated. By Thursday, a plan was in place for Jesus to be located and arrested. He went on trial and he was condemned to die in the Roman form of execution, which is crucifixion, death hanging on a cross. I don't know why Christians call it Good Friday. Because it doesn't feel very good. But on Friday of the week, Jesus is executed by Roman soldiers who are just following orders. And all of that brings us to this morning's scripture passage from Mark, which oftentimes gets overlooked during Holy Week. Joseph of Arimathea, he was one of the religious officials who did not want to conspire against Jesus, but felt close to Jesus. He asked if he could take care of Jesus' dead body. He remained with Jesus on that first Holy Saturday. He cared to Jesus, he attended to Jesus. As did Mary, the mother of Jesus, and Mary Magdalene, a friend of Jesus, who also accompanied him to the tomb. This scripture passage invites us to reflect on what Christians call Holy Saturday, the time after the death of Jesus, but before his resurrection. As the theologian Hans Urz von Balthazar writes, there is a total end and there is a total beginning. But what comes in between them? Because a lot of our lives is spent in the in between, the middle ground, if you will. Christians tend to, on Holy Week and other times, rush from Good Friday crucifixion right on to Easter Sunday resurrection and pass over Holy Saturday entirely. Sometimes the pain is too much to bear. But Holy Saturday invites us to pause, to be present to the in-between, to the middle, in the midst of sadness and loss, like Joseph of Arimathea, the woman who followed Jesus to the tomb. Holy Saturday then and now is love remaining present with the crucified bodies in our world. Not glossing over the loss, not pretending like it's not real, but love remaining present with the crucified bodies in our world. In Shelley Rambeau's book titled Spirit and Trauma, she writes, between death and life, there is a testimony to spirit, to a love that survives and remains not in victory, but in weariness. Testifying to a story of love surviving rather than triumphing. It's love remaining present in the face of sorrow, in the midst of suffering. It's love remaining present. Even as cruel bathroom bills are passed around the country, it is love remaining present. Even as bombs are dropped in our name. It is love remaining present. Even as modern departments of justice strip rights away, it is love remaining present. Even as we say goodbye to those we love, it is love remaining present, abiding. Love bears witness. Love remains despite all of the forces that try to conspire against it and kill it. Love remains. And on Holy Saturday, we are invited to attend in the spirit of love. Sometimes it's going to be publicly. Maybe like at a protest against authoritarianism. But sometimes it plays out privately. In in ways that that maybe no one will ever even know. Like the loved one who visits their beloved every day. Even though their beloved can't remember who they are and can't remember their name. They visit they attend with love because love remains. And in ancient stories related to Holy Saturday, and this even gets picked up in the creeds of Christianity, there's the idea that before Jesus is resurrected, there's a descent into hell. Jesus goes into hell. And in these ancient Holy Saturday stories, Christ harrows hell. Which is to say, Christ goes into the spaces of hatred, exclusion, oppression, and cruelty. Christ goes into those places and horrows them, breaks the chains that bind. Because the power of this love is stronger than every empire, every Pharaoh, every Caesar, every emperor, every king, every dictator, every despot. In the ancient times or the modern times, this love is stronger than any force that tries to contain it, even the forces of hell. In ancient Christian tradition, Christ descends into hell to break the chains of cruelty, to break the chains of oppression. As St. Paul says in the book of Romans, nothing can separate us from such love. Not death, not power, not height, not depth, not principalities, not rulers, not demons, nothing can separate us from this abiding love. And God's love will not rest until the hells of our world are no more. The hells of transphobia, queer phobia, white supremacy, misogyny, the glorification of violence and greed and cruelty, the callousness, coldness, selfishness that drives such cruelty, the fears and insecurities that cause hurt people to hurt people. God's love will not rest until those things are overcome. On Holy Saturday, according to the ancient stories, Christ goes down into hell where love can redeem even the worst of things, providing possibility and promise for the future, for love will not rest until all of those things are overcome. It is not just about resistance, it is about resurrection, new life, the harrowing of hell and everything that binds, breaking the chains of oppression. But in the meantime, on Holy Saturday, the in-between time, we remain. We remain. No matter how much this world tries to harm or hurt, kill or destroy, we remain. Because love remains, and love is present, and love is stronger than any force that tries to contain it, even the power of death. Thanks be to God. Amen.