Sermon by The Very Rev Chris Yaw, 3/29/2026, Palm Sunday
Lessons:
Matthew 26:14- 27:66
And so the stone has been sealed.
The fate of the meek has been decided.
The verdict is in for the kind, the gentle, the deferential, the selfless, the humble.
We all know that nice guys finish last text!
Loser.
Failure.
Wimp.
That’s what happens to people like this.
They get trampled.
Walked on.
Left on the roadside.
If you’re lucky, someone remembers to bury you.
That’s the story the world tells.
That’s the script we’ve learned by heart.
And we know how this week is supposed to go.
Because Palm Sunday is not just a parade.
It’s a collision.
Purity meets corruption.
Justice meets scandal.
Love meets hate.
Light meets darkness.
And if we’re being honest… we think we know who’s going to win.
The rich.
The powerful.
The popular.
The pedigreed.
Don’t they always win?
Of course, Jesus never had a chance!
I mean… look at him.
He doesn’t ride in on a war horse.
No polished armor,
no gleaming sword,
no military escort.
He chooses a donkey.
A donkey!
Name one king, one general, one 2-Bit, banana Republic revolutionary who ever chose a donkey as their symbol of royalty and strength!?
This is not Alexander the Great.
This is not Caesar.
This is… this is Sancho Panza trying to keep up with Don Quixote.
And his followers?
They don’t roll out a red carpet.
There are no trumpets.
There’s no royal procession.
It’s more like, “Here… take my sweaty t-shirt.”
“Here… I’ve got a hoodie. It’s a little greasy, but it’ll do.”
This whole scene feels… improvised.
Fragile.
A little embarrassing.
In other words -
He’s a loser of a guy,
surrounded by losers,
who will abandon him the moment things get uncomfortable.
Because, given the game, his strategy… his strategy makes no sense.
And you and I know the strategy.
Jesus didn’t spend his three years trying to make money.
He didn’t build a power base or assemble his brown shirts.
He didn’t print handbills or pay for billboards.
He didn’t chase influence or polish his brand.
He didn’t play that game.
He tried something else.
Something risky, something radically different:
Jesus spent his life soaking in Divine Love.
He took those words at heart from his baptism, from the transfiguration, that, "This is my beloved son!"
And he nurtured and cultivated that love within and channeled it outward.
He had little time for CNN or the Real Housewives –
He wasn’t caught up in death-scrolling on his phone or taking a permanent vacation.
Jesus was disciplined and focused on cultivating love –
on his lips,
in his actions,
from his heart:
He let love dictate everything.
Where he went.
Who he touched.
Who he ate with.
Who he defended.
That love moved him to heal the broken, to feed the hungry, to sit with the outcast,
and to look the powers of the world square in the eye and say,
“This isn’t it.”
And because of that…he lost.
At least, he lost at the game the world knows how to play.
Because the world only knows one scoreboard:
power,
control,
security,
winning.
And Jesus refused to play.
He chose a different game.
The spiritual path of love. And let’s be honest… that path is hard...
Certainly because it's laughed at by everyone else
But also because:
It’s uncomfortable.
It’s inconvenient.
It’s unsafe. I
t’s unpopular.
I’m sure you noticed the pain in Jesus’ voice at Gethsemane.
The frustration of having followers who fall asleep.
The fear and trepidation of knowing that your commitment to love was going to cost you your life.
Everyone here knows the difficulty – the pain, the struggle, and the hassle. of trying to do the right thing:
I know you all!
You have told me how difficult it is:
To speak well of people who insult you.
To care for the needs of others when we are just trying to hold it together.
To keep hopeful and encouraging in the face of cynicism and fear.
You don’t get applause for forgiving your enemy.
You don’t get promoted for choosing compassion over competition.
You don’t trend for humility.
Following Jesus does not offer a quick return on investment. Which is why most people… most of us… avoid it.
And that’s the tension of Holy Week.
Because what we’re really watching is not just what happens to Jesus.
We’re watching a choice.
The world is given a choice: follow the path of love, or cling to the path of fear, greed, and power.
And It's a difficult choice!
We waver, we vacillate!
We see it in the crowds.
The same voices that cry “Hosanna!” will soon cry “Crucify him!”
Because love is inspiring… right up until it costs us something.
Yes…
we see it in the mirror.
We know what’s right.
We know what love looks like.
But every day, there’s this gravitational pull toward what’s easier, toward what’s safer, toward what makes us look strong.
Palm Sunday puts it right in front of us:
Will we bend toward what’s easy?
Or will we bend toward what’s right?
Will we follow the donkey…
or will we keep chasing war horses?
Will we make the distinction, as Jesus did,
between being nice and doing good?
Last summer, a couple came to me to be married.
They were delightful!
He was a high-paid executive,
she was a warm, caring, mother, whose kids were in college.
And they asked if I would marry them.
I said sure, and we talked about the process,
which involves premarital counseling,
and a look at past relationships to make sure problems encountered there are not repeated.
After a week, they called me, saying they still wanted me to marry them,
but if we could just bypass those conversations.
Would I be a nice priest?
Or a good priest?
When you are nice, you are kind, thoughtful, and helpful to others - you don't get killed for that.
Jesus didn't get killed for that.
When you're good, you clean up other people's messes, you jump in to settle arguments,
you stand up to bullies, you have the difficult conversations.
This can be dangerous.
Good people standing up for good causes have a history of severe penalty:
Nice can get you liked.
But good can get you killed.
It's because being good will get you respect, admiration, and a following...
Like Gandhi, or Dr King.
And this can become a political threat -
especially if the existing power structure is built upon by greed, corruption, and Injustice.
Jesus didn't get killed for being nice, but for being good.
This is why Holy Week is not just a story to observe,
but a gritty, blood soaked invitation to trade in nice for good.
Where, in your life, do you need the strength, not to be nice, but to be good?
Jesus gives us an invitation to walk the hard road of pure love, even when we know what’s coming next.
Because we do know.
We know about the betrayal.
We know about the denial.
We know about the cross.
We know how this week unfolds.
And still… we follow.
We follow a love that looks like failure.
We follow a path that feels like loss.
We follow a Savior who, by every worldly measure… loses.
But there’s a quiet, stubborn truth whispering underneath all of it:
First – while it is a wildly countercultural path, it is not a stupid one.
Jesus, for all his humility, gentleness, and love, acted with wise purpose, clever conviction, well thought-out execution.
Remember that donkey?
It was fetched from Bethphage, literally ‘house of unripe figs’
to be taken to Bethany ‘house of ripe figs’ –
here we see the symbolism of timing, expectation, and readiness.
You and I note the prophecy to Judas the betrayer -
And then to Peter, ‘this very night, before the cock crows, you will deny me three times."
Then there’s the resolve at Gethsemane, like he actually knows what's coming, ‘Get up, let us be going. See, my betrayer is at hand.”
And then you and I hear Jesus's bold yet deliberate constraint upon his arrest:
“Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels?“
Jesus is not some mesmerized daydreamer.
He knew who he was, he knew what needed to be done,
he knew how to do it, and with great poise, determination, and conviction,
he showed to us the very human faith needed to do it.
Then there's the second stubborn truth whispering underneath:
the story is not over.
What looks like failure is not the last word.
What looks like loss is not the final verdict.
What looks like weakness is not the end of the story.
Next Sunday, something will break open.
Next Sunday, what the world rejected will be revealed as the very power of God.
Next Sunday, love will have the last word.
So yes… let the grief come.
Let the weight of this tragedy, this week settle in.
Let the betrayal,
the fear,
the suffering be real.
But don’t lose sight of the glimmer.
Don’t let go of the quiet hope that refuses to die.
Because the failed strategy of today will be redeemed, rewarded, and recognized.
And the donkey ride… will, after all,
turn out to be a coronation.
Amen.