Do any of you have certain movies or shows you’re planning to watch during Holy Week? Personally, I love the musical Godspell. Much of the music comes from our Episcopal hymnal. In his director’s notes, Stephen Schwartz writes that the first act of the show is all about the formation of a community – that through play and the telling and absorbing of lessons, the disciples grow as a unit, and that the application of clown makeup is the moment the community is set apart from the rest of society. But each individual’s journey takes its course over time. Precisely when and why this commitment to discipleship takes place is the important choice each actor must make.
That's from theologian Kathryn Tanner.[1]
We can come to church. We can listen to sermons and attend Bible study. We can ponder Richard Hooker's three-legged stool till the cows come home. We can go to seminary, get ordained, wear the collar — and still, in the end, no one else can hand us our faith pre-assembled. Each of us has to reckon, personally and honestly, with what it means to follow Jesus.
To add to Tanner's insight: I’d say we don't figure this out alone. We figure out who God is, who we are, and how we live in light of our faith here — in community, at this table, in the breaking of bread and the hearing of Scripture, surrounded by people who come from all kinds of different backgrounds who are also still figuring it out. Like Jesus’ first disciples, our faith is offered freely to us before we fully understand it. The liturgy has been shaping us all along, even on those days we weren't paying close attention.
As we stand at the threshold of Holy Week — and as we at St. Mark's stand at the threshold of our own significant transition — I want to ask you, in all sincerity: What is this Christian life about for you? Right now, today?
Is it about belonging to a community that holds you when you can't hold yourself? Is it about service — rolling up your sleeves and doing the work of mercy? Is it about following Jesus into the darkest of places where justice commands our attention?
If we’re looking to define or refine our commitment, now's the time, folks. The passion of Jesus Christ is a defining moment for Christians. Today we’re reading John, first called “the spiritual gospel” by Clement of Alexandria, an early church father. At St. Mark’s, we’ve tried to point out some of the potential stumbling blocks in John’s narrative, especially in light of rising antisemitism. But there’s always more work to be done. More depth to uncover.
I'll confess: Palm Sunday for me feels like a bit of a roller coaster. Some of you know that we have a genuine roller coaster expert in this congregation — Logan Bird can tell you everything about how they're built, which ones are the best, and which ones will absolutely ruin your lunch. So, Logan, I'm borrowing your expertise for a moment.
Palm Sunday begins like that first slow climb. It’s exciting. Jesus rides into Jerusalem — not on a war horse, not in a fancy chariot, but on a donkey. The prophet Zechariah saw this coming centuries earlier: "Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey" (Zechariah 9:9). This is not the entrance of a conquering emperor. This is something else entirely.
St. Paul gives us the word for it in today's epistle: kenosis. Self-emptying. "Though he was in the form of God," Paul writes to the Philippians, "Christ Jesus did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave." . That word — kenosis — is the theological key to everything we will witness this week. God's power looks nothing like what the world expects. God's power looks like a man on a donkey, riding toward his own death, for the sake of love.
The crowd doesn't fully understand this yet. (Do we, really?) They wave their palm branches — echoes of the Maccabean victory celebrations — and they shout Hosanna! We might hear that as a cheer, but it's actually a plea: Save us. Save us, Lord! The air is electric with Passover energy, with rumors about the man who raised Lazarus from the dead, with the nervous attention of both Jewish leaders and Roman authorities who share one overriding concern: crowd control.
This is the top of the first hill. From here, if we dare to lean forward, we can see what's coming next. The drop is going to be fast and steep.
Maybe you're the kind of person who rides with your arms up and your eyes wide open. I'll be the one gripping the bar, white-knuckled, stomach somewhere near my throat.
But here's where the metaphor breaks down — and I think it's important to name this. On a roller coaster, we’re passengers. We strap in, the ride happens to us, and we get off at the end.
When we hear John’s Passion narrative at the end of this service, we are in it. We are the crowd. We are the disciples. We are Peter, who swears he doesn't know the man. We are the Roman and Jewish officials, the women at the foot of the cross. We are - all of them. And all the while, our eyes are locked on Jesus.
Roller coaster ride that it is, Holy Week is an invitation to participate, to stay until the end.
I'd like to invite you to stay on the journey. Come to the services this week. Not as a passive rider, but as a pilgrim. Walk with Jesus through the Last Supper on Maundy Thursday, where he kneels to wash his friends' feet. Stand at the foot of the cross on Good Friday. Sit in the silence of Holy Saturday, that strange, liminal day when God lies in a tomb and the world holds its breath. And then — then — come to the garden on Easter morning, where Mary Magdalene meets a man she mistakes for the gardener, and nothing after that is ever be the same.
Maybe you've already got this Christian life all figured out. But if you're like me — still learning, still being surprised, still being undone and remade by the grace of God — then come along. There's no purchase necessary. No height requirement. Fair warning: it may get uncomfortable. You may feel the full weight of the story pressing up against your own life.
But you may also find yourself drawn into the heart of a divine mystery so deep and so wide that it reframes everything — what power means, what love costs, what it means to be a disciple of the one who emptied himself for the sake of the world.
The journey is about to begin. Not a ride – more of a pilgrimage.
Will you come and see what God has done?💛
Extra Credit: My theology prof on what it means to be a disciple
[1] Kathryn Tanner, Jesus, Humanity and the Trinity: A Brief Systematic Theology, 1. Fortress Press ed., Repr (Minneapolis, Minn: Fortress Press, 2003), xiii.
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