An updated and slightly longer version of last year’s 60 second sermon, given as a sermon at St Edward’s, Palm Sunday 2024.
It starts with a rustling. A realisation. A migration has begun. A rumour circling like smoke,
in the ears of the wisened and gnarly, faith ignites: is this the one, the Messiah, a long-awaited hope?
Who is this man? this King? coming on a stolen colt and seeking to take our pole position?
The air is filled with talk of redemption, liberation, salvation for the human condition.
It continues with a bustling. A realisation. A migration of word as clamour arises,
elbows out, head down, scrabbling for a glimpse, seeing this holy man as some sort of prize.
The city descends to just one street. Hundreds, thousands gathering in a sense of celebration,
intrigued and drawn to the excitement like a human murmuration.
Feet are a shuffling. A realisation. Guards migrate to the scene, unsure and suspicious, hovering at the edge in fear,
the migration grows. His approach is surely near?.
Cloaks fall to the ground, as all are carried along in a tide of human exhilaration,
Palm leaves pulled hastily from the nearest tree, waving in spontaneous admiration.
In minds there is a tussling. A realisation perhaps? Honour is given as this party of one is recognised.
Every voice in exultation, Hosanna rings out, passionate hearts for just one moment unified.
But… the sun will set and rise, and a few more, gone now is the awe, honour passes in favour of condemnation
‘Lift him high’ becomes outrage, an angry outcry of ‘crucify’, send him to damnation.
We end with a hustling. A realisation. A migration of my voice, I am in that crowd, what does my voice call out in that street?
And for now I sit with that, awaiting the coming joy, but seeking space and depth, to know my Lord, this Holy Week.
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