March 29, 2026
Palm Sunday/Passion Sunday Year A
Matthew 27:11-56
Epiphany, Winnipeg
What happens between the welcoming crowd, watching that triumphant entry into the city…what happens between that crowd and those hosannas and the coats and the branches and everything seems so great…what happens between all of that and a crowd that just says, “Crucify”?
Right off the start we stood with the disciples at the entry to this place and Jesus was clear about what to do: “Go to the village and find a donkey and a colt. Take them, and if anyone asks just say that the Lord needs them.” After that he’s got nothing more to say through that whole procession. No more instructions, he doesn’t make a speech or do anything to add to the fuss. His disciples find the donkey and the colt, put coats on them – a poor substitute for a saddle, if they had such things – and Jesus just sits on the donkey or the colt and lets the story unfold. He just gets carried through the crowd and into Jerusalem and whatever will happen there. He just gets carried along through the crowd while they sing Hosanna, while they sing “All Glory, Laud, and Honour.” The events just carry him along, and he stays silent.
A lot happens after that. Lots of conversation, lots of teaching, a lot of conflict, a Passover dinner, a lot of words.
Then Jesus goes silent. Pilate asks, “Are you the king of the Jews?” and Jesus has three words: “You said so.” And then he says nothing more. Gets carried along, not by a donkey and a colt but by hatred and fear, by courtrooms and punishment, by an empire and by his own neighbours; by a crowd that stopped singing Hosanna and turned around and said “Crucify.” He stays silent through his whole trial, and finally says one desperate, “My God, why have you forsaken me?”
And then he goes silent again.
What happens between Hosanna and Crucify?
In studies and commentaries about the Holocaust, one thing that is often pointed out is the strange mixed lives of those who worked in concentration camps or who made the plans and carried out the plans to try to get rid of the Jewish people. In an evening, off work, they could be at home with the children, maybe play with them and kiss them goodnight. Then there would be time to sit quietly and read classic literature, or go for a walk in the evening breeze and enjoy the beauty of creation, or listen to Beethoven and Bach or play Chopin at the piano. Then it would be a few verses from the Bible, and prayers, and snuggling up in bed with a beloved one. The next morning it would be off to work one more time, overseeing the extermination of hundreds or thousands; all in a day’s work.
What happened between that evening before and the day’s awful work?
On a Sunday morning I could preach about loving my enemies, and on Sunday afternoon I could be all rage inside – yes, I could call it hate - at the ones who bring so much suffering to the world?
What happened between the love and the hate? And it’s not just someone else’s fault…
What is it that happens between countries being allies and then turning against one another? What happens when someone to love becomes someone to fear, when a friend becomes an enemy? When happens in the time between a child playing in a sandbox and that same child growing up and doing time?
What happens when any one of us could be both the one singing praise and the one singing condemnation?
What is it that happens between our Hosanna and our Crucify?
I don’t know.
We could try to explain it all with talk about sin, or maybe psychology and trauma, or social media or peer pressure. There’s something to all of these but none of them cover it all. All we know for sure is that it happens. And someone always suffers.
What makes someone turn? What makes a crowd turn? What happens between Hosanna and Crucify?
I don’t have the answer to that question. But whatever it is, Jesus dies from it.
Between the “Hosannas” of this morning and the “Crucify” of this coming Good Friday, politics will keep on politicking, religion will keep on religioning, and politics will dress itself in religion and that’s always a scary thing. There will or will not be ceasefires and deals struck in any number of places. The usual things will happen in courtrooms and schools and malls and homes, for better or for worse.
All these things will happen between Hosanna and Crucify.
People will go to church and people will not go to church. Bad things will happen. Beautiful things will happen. Someone will have a wedding anniversary and a deep love and friendship will be celebrated. Kids will have a week off school and they’ll play and be free and really have a good time. Someone might go skiing one last time before it warms up for good. It might just warm up for good. Geese will keep coming back, and crocuses will appear any minute, and they’ll surprise you like they always do. Peace might break out somewhere! It just might happen. Or it might not. Or it might!
What happens between Hosanna and Crucify is, well, everything. And in the middle of all that everything in this Holy Week there is one who goes with us. One who will feed us with bread and wine. Sometimes this one who is God-with-Us will just seem to be carried along by events, and it will seem like the world just unfolds or unravels while Jesus rides along on a donkey, just letting things happen as they will. Quietly moving along through the crowd. And it might be frustrating or baffling that he just seems to be riding along…
Sometimes this week this one who is God-with-Us will quietly appear in a person who is poor or sick or hungry or in prison, or in someone who is a stranger to you or to me or to us. Sometimes Jesus will appear in the face of how many who will die this week at the command of strong men who are so sure they are right.
And maybe after the last Crucify is called out on Friday morning, Jesus will just go silent for awhile. No more righteous anger, no more encouraging word, no more wisdom or head-scratching parables. Jesus will just go silent, and we’ll follow Jesus – remember what he said to us? Follow me? – we’ll follow Jesus into the silence and wait.
Wait with the women who watch the cross from a distance and wait with disciples who fled and just can’t bear to think about what’s been going on. We’ll wait with everyone who waits and hopes, and we’ll wait with everyone who wonders if God will ever speak again. We’ll even wait with some Roman soldiers, the last ones we expected to speak good news to us: “This is God’s son,” they said.
We’ll follow Jesus into the silence and wait.