It's Not Always Easy to Slow Down

Kathi Johnson

25 March 2018 – Palm Sunday

Text: Mark 11:1-11

Our Redeemer Lutheran Church, Grand Prairie, TX

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Last week, I had an appointment down I-35 South, so I drove down to my meeting and headed back to Mansfield right around the afternoon rush hour. Now, I was heading into Mansfield on back roads from I-35, so on the windy Highway 917 that connects Burleson on the interstate to the southern part of Mansfield. I wasn’t expecting much traffic.

But, there the traffic was, anyway. The thing about those two-lane country roads is that if you get behind that one…car…

So I was behind that one…car…the one slowing down to 30 mph at every…single…turn in the road. And I was one car in a line that quickly formed behind this driver. I’d had a long day, and I just wanted to get home. There was nothing I could do but slow down, along with everyone else.

And what came into my mind was a sermon that I preached on my first Palm Sunday here. I preached that day about slowing down for school zones, and how “this slower pace is supposed to be able to give us more time to observe our surroundings, to pay attention to what is around us, and to allow us more time to react if something goes wrong…Most of the time I drive through active school zones, nothing happens. But those school zones are still there, slowing me down, forcing me to observe, pay attention, and react if necessary.”

So, there I was, stuck in traffic and using my own words to make myself feel somewhat better and then…we stopped. I whined out loud, “I’m tired of this and I don’t want to stop!” But obviously I did, because I had to.

Sometimes, we don’t want to stop, and we don’t want to slow down, even.

Yet, Holy Week forces us to slow…way…down. We spend this week looking at the events leading up to Jesus’ betrayal and arrest, his crucifixion and death, his burial, and his resurrection. We travel through these stories very purposefully in this week – and we observe, we pay attention, and we react.

Outside this morning, we read the Palm Sunday narrative from Mark 11 that tells us of Jesus entering Jerusalem on a colt. The crowds of people welcoming Jesus are jubilant – they are spreading out branches and clothes to make a way for Jesus to travel. “Hosanna!” they are crying out – “Please save us!” is what are asking. In this scene, they are calling Jesus “blessed,” and they are hailing him as a king.

I talked a few weeks ago about the high expectations that the disciples and the people have for Jesus. The people are expecting him to act on their behalf, so that they can be rescued from their Roman oppressors. “Hosanna! Please save us!” The people are welcoming their Messiah – the anointed one – the one who will save them.

Their cry to Jesus is: “Hosanna! Please save us!”, and this is our cry, too. It’s been 2,000 years since those crowds shouted out to Jesus, but here we are, still in need. This is still the cry of people who are oppressed. This is the cry of the children who marched around the world yesterday; the children and their parents and grandparents and others. This is the cry of the poor, and the sorrowful, and the overwhelmed.

“Hosanna! Please save us!” is our cry, too. We too need this Messiah – this anointed one – to save us. We are still sinful. We still live in a broken world.

And because there are times that it seems like we are surrounded on every side by brokenness, I don’t really want to slow down for Holy Week this year – I don’t really want to pay attention to the painful words when Jesus tells his disciples that the woman who anoints him is preparing him for his burial.

I don’t want to hear about the Last Supper.

I don’t want to chant the painful words of Psalm 22: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

I don’t want to hear the details of Jesus’ unjust trial, or about his crucifixion, or death.

And yet, I cannot move from the jubilant shouts of today to the triumphant shouts of Easter next weekend. For if there is no death, there can be no resurrection. If there is no resurrection, there is no new life. If there is no new life, there is no hope.

So, for another year, we will slow down together. At times, we might even have to stop. We will remember the stories of the last week of Jesus’ life – we will remember them, and observe the details, and pay attention to the love of his actions, and react to these stories yet again. It is not always easy, and especially not when transitions are cutting deeply into our lives. It is not always easy for us to slow down.

But our hope is found not only in the Easter shouts of resurrection joy, but also in the life and death of Jesus. In his life, he taught us. In his death, he has healed us. In his new life, he has raised us. This is the faith that we believe and proclaim. This is the faith we are called to live.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

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