Appreciating essential workers beyond clapping

Sermon on John 12:12-19

Thanks for watching this truly playful version of the King of Glory with me. Ever since I saw Stephen Colbert perform that song, it’s what I associate with this song. As you saw it’s a pretty old video from the series Strangers with Candy. At the end of each series, someone would be dancing in the credits. And one night they didn’t have anybody, so Stephen spontaneously offered to do it. To a song, he had learned at church. Stephen is a devoted Catholic. And he made up this liturgical dance right in the moment. Which makes it the perfect Palm Sunday dance. 

It’s as unprepared as taking branches of palm trees and greeting Jesus. You just do what feels right in that moment. And then you go with the flow. And people remember it years later.

Now, the dance isn’t fancy as you all just witnessed. It’s rather silly. It’s totally improvised. Stephen obviously had fun doing it. And it sparks joy watching it. Just like waving palms on a day that to others looks like an ordinary Sunday morning. 

As we all know, Jesus came in riding on a young donkey. You have probably all heard at least one Palm Sunday sermon from the perspective of the donkey in your life. Maybe a Christmas sermon as well. Since that is the other time a donkey carries Jesus into a town towards an event that will significantly change the world. Christmas and Easter are our two main reasons for hope in this world. And so, it’s no coincidence that Palm Sunday in a way resembles Advent. With lots of Greens in the Sanctuary, with joy and hope for a great celebration to come. And the donkey carries God. First into Bethlehem to live. Then into Jerusalem to die. 

It’s safe to say that Jesus sat on a donkey on purpose. To fulfill the messianic hope set into prophets and kings by the Jewish people. Daughter of Zion, Jerusalem, don’t be afraid. Look, your king is coming, sitting on a donkey’s colt. That’s John’s reminder that Jesus is the Messiah, using the authority of Zechariah, an old prophet. Who prophesized this interesting mix of a king: Triumphant and victorious, and humble. Not to be confused with gentle, meek, and mild. Like a toothless hero who receives the praise of children. That’s the Jesus we might sing about in some of our hymnals. But that’s not the Jesus we meet in the Gospels. And it’s definitely not the one Zechariah was thinking about. For three reasons.

First: The Hebrew word for humble frequently refers to impoverished, socially vulnerable persons. Zechariah intentionally identifies the messianic king with the poor and oppressed. With the opposite of kings and power, actually.

Second: Jesus might have come to bring peace. But he didn’t bring it totally peacefully. One of his first actions in Jerusalem was his rant at the temple, violently cleansing it. 

Third: Jesus knowingly rode into Jerusalem to become the victim of Roman state-sponsored violence. If humility means keeping one’s head down and avoiding trouble, Jesus did a terrible job. Instead, he ran into trouble with open eyes.

Humble then takes up a whole different meaning. Humble means a poor and oppressed man with a hot temper when it comes to sacred spaces rides into town, knowing that the powers of this place will try to kill him and that they will succeed. 

What does such a king bring? Peace is the answer we usually emphasize. Yet, before the peace comes the disrupting of the peace. People greeting a poor, unhoused man as their king. Showing him their appreciation in waving palms. Which obviously will not make him rich or mighty or even safer, but at least they show him that they really like him. Theoretically. They like the idea of a different king bringing peace. They adore him. Until it costs them more than clapping or singing out of appreciation for that frontline worker of peace. They will hold up signs saying “I stand with Jesus” or “Thank you, Jesus”. And that’s great. Right? That’s what Palm Sunday is basically about. Showing appreciation and love to the people who are deeply invested in saving our lives. 

Which is something we have all been hearing about and maybe even done last year. Remember when a year ago people were clapping at 12 pm for essential workers? Or the howling at 8 pm? That one was really freeing I have to admit. Remember all the signs in the windows to food and mail deliverers? It made us all feel good and caring. And we probably do really care for the people. Like the masses greeting Jesus in Jerusalem.

We just rarely follow through with those great intentions. It’s one thing to appreciate people. It’s another to stand up for their rights, their living wages, and health care. And it’s yet another thing to pay for those rights. At least, clapping is free. Palms are, too.

People appreciated Jesus. They just didn’t want their everyday life changed or even disturbed. They might have been fine with singing day in, day out to the glory of God. They might have even been theoretically fine with loving their neighbors and everything. But putting it all in action would have required change. Of mind and heart and of their budget. Who likes that kind of change… Loving our essential worker sure is great as long as it doesn’t cost us extra. 

Soon, the authorities said: "You see, you can do nothing. Look, the world has gone after him!" The people seemed to be ready for a change. Until they realized the cost to it.

"You see, you can do nothing. Look, the world has gone after him!" What an amazingly true sentence. It’s the way from Palm Sunday to Good Friday in a nutshell. One day the world follows him and the authorities are without power.  "Hosanna! Save us! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord — the King of Israel!"

The next thing you know, the world has gone after him. And he is about to do what they asked him in the first place. To save them all. Just in an unprecedented way. And without them realizing. 

If loving the people who work hard for us doesn’t cost us anything, it sure costs the workers. The people producing our food without health care pay for it. The people working in crowded places, carrying the virus home to doubled up homes, they pay the price. Just like Jesus paid the price. Because someone always pays the price.

The Hosanna, the cry to save us could have meant that the people were ready to change. For a few hours, it seemed like the desperately needed change of minds and hearts had already taken place. Maybe, God could have lived?

Until Hosanna became Crucify him.  The world had gone after him. Because they still obviously needed to be saved. So, God paid the price and died.  Hosanna! The King of Glory has come and we aren’t prepared. We sing and clap and improvise. Until it becomes work for us, essentially. And God takes up the cross of being everything we need. Walking the talk. Carrying us. God, our essential worker, our glorious King, who pays the price. Thanks be to God. Amen.