Matthew 21:8-19

8 Now a very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. 9 The crowds that went ahead of Jesus and the ones that followed were shouting, 

 “Hosanna to the Son of David!

  Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!

 Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

10 When Jesus entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” 11 The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”

12 Then Jesus entered the temple and drove out all who were selling and buying in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the money changers and the seats of those who sold doves. 13 Jesus said to them, “It is written,

 ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer,’

  but you are making it a den of robbers.”

14 The blind and the lame came to Jesus in the temple, and he cured them. 15 But when the chief priests and the scribes saw the amazing things that Jesus did and heard the children crying out in the temple and saying, “Hosanna to the Son of David,” they became angry 16 and said to Jesus, “Do you hear what these are saying?” Jesus said to them, “Yes; have you never read, written,

 ‘Out of the mouths of infants and nursing babies

  you have prepared praise for yourself’?”

17 He left them, went out of the city to Bethany, and spent the night there.

18 In the morning, when Jesus returned to the city, he was hungry. 19 And seeing a fig tree by the side of the road, he went to it and found nothing at all on it but leaves. Then Jesus said to the fig tree, “May no fruit ever come from you again!” And the fig tree withered at once.

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Please pray with me this morning, church:

Loving Christ,

As we come to the end of Lenten journeys

And enter into Holy Week,

We join with the crowds in shouting “Hosanna!”—

“Lord, save us!”

Save us, God. Feed us. Nurture us. And sustain us.

By your love.

Amen.

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Good morning, church! Great to see you.

Welcome to Holy Week.

You look great this morning. Sound great, too. How’re you feeling?

Feeling good? Ready to tackle this week together?

I wonder, are you more of a full, expansive experience of Holy Week kind of person? Or more of a Sunday-only, just get me to Easter kind of person? We’ll get to more on this in a bit, but I just think it’s helpful to know what kind of energy we’re bringing to the space this morning.

I said you looked and sounded great this morning…I wonder how you felt? How are your “Hosannas” feeling this year? You know, every year I ask you to really get into the palm processional…to wave your palms, but to really get after it during the refrain of All Glory, Laud, and Honor. Do you do that? How vigorous is your palm shaking?

I used to be timid…like I imagine most of you are…”Pastor Chris, this is my excited waving.” Well, ok. I used to be a little more reserved, too. But then a few years back I taught the young ones about palm waving, and I asked them to help lead us in, and church, I don’t know if you know this about young people or not, but they kind of love to put on a show…and man, did they ever show me up. I thought I was being energetic… Not by a long shot. At least not compared to them.

And that experience has really helped inform the spirit I bring to Holy Week, broadly, and to Palm Sunday, more specifically. Worship doesn’t need to be all buttoned up all the time. Good and proper order, yes. But we can have fun. Worship can be tactile and experiential. We can move our bodies. Shake our rumps as the Spirit moves us. I know, I know…I’ve already gone too far for some you…I hear you…

But I wonder how you feel shaking your palms vigorously and singing “Hosannas”. What energy are your bringing to the space? Are you letting loose and getting into it? Or does it feel a little silly…a little foolish…?

This palm processional is not supposed to be so serious, church. It is a little silly, a little foolish. The whole triumphal entry is a little foolish. But the people’s participation in it…your participation in it…is also incredibly faithful.

Foolish, yes. And faithful.

Whenever Roman officials would enter into cities in the empire, they often rode big, impressive stallions. They wore fine robes and jewelry, crowns. They had accolades shouted at them. Imagine thousands of flowers falling around them. The processional entries were lavish and lauded affairs. Praise and honor being heaped upon the leader or the official or even the Caesar himself on certain occasions.

Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem wasn’t really intended to be a celebration. You’ll notice the similarities to the parades of the empire, but it’s really different. It’s kind of backwards. It’s a mockery of the Caesar and how the Romans would announce their entries into the city.

Foolish. And faithful.

It’s satire, it’s tongue-in-cheek, it’s comedy, and it’s theater.

It is a protest march. A display that flies in the face of the Roman decorum.

And amidst all of this, there’s an air of meaning and consequence. Like with all satire, there’s a sharp edge of truth that is convicting and that dissects right at the heart of the Roman parades that it’s critiquing. Rome operates this way…the kingdom of God operates completely differently.

Roman conquerors ride the white horse, the war-horse. The Messiah comes riding on a donkey proclaiming peace.

The powers of this world are crowned with laurels and gold. The Messiah will be crowned with thorns.

The Caesar is showered with flowers and perfume as he enters the city. The Messiah’s way is paved with cloaks and branches and palms.

The occupying Roman oppressors sit on thrones in magnificent palaces. The Messiah reigns affixed to a cross.

The Roman military machine maintains peace through conquest and oppression. The Messiah commands swords be beaten into ploughshares, spears into pruning hooks, guns into garden tools, instruments of death into instruments to nurture life.

The imperial structure says that some lives are more valuable than others, you exist only within a strata. The Messiah declares that all lives are sacred and all people are beloved children of the Creator, especially those on the margins and those the world sees as less than…preaching love of neighbor instead of outlawing someone’s personhood…a message of love, by the way, which became so threatening to the empire that they put Jesus to death rather than abide such an expansive and inclusive love.

The empire asserts power through might and submission. The Messiah reigns in humility and peace and love, taking the lower place, obedient even unto death.

The kingdom of God sits diametrically opposed to the way the world works and the so-called powerful and mighty. To the world, the kingdom of God is foolishness. It’s backward. It is weak.

And yet, time and again, we are told and shown that God uses what is weak in the world to shame the proud and strong. God uses what is foolish in the world to shame the wise. God takes what is lowly and despised by the world, and raises it up to new life.

Following this Messiah is foolish. but these people who found themselves as part of Jesus’ parade are also incredibly faithful…shouting out “Hosanna!”—”Save us!”—to the one who actually could.

Following this Jesus is not a smart move, dear children. It will not make you friends with the empire and the powers of the world. By every standard of the world, this Messiah is a failure. Arrested…beaten…tortured…crucified…and died. Foolish. Messiahs don’t die.

The power of Christ comes through humility. Not exploiting power, but giving it up. By emptying oneself. By pouring yourself out for the sake of others. Totally backwards from how the world works. 

But through death, this Messiah brings life.

Spoiler alert. 

Friends, we know how this story ends. We know what’s coming next Sunday. We do not live as people who pretend as if we don’t know. We are resurrection people, after all.

And yet, this story is important.

It’s the greatest story ever told. And every part of it is important. I urge you…I implore you…do not skip to Sunday. Enter into this Holy Week. Make time for it.

This story has everything: High drama, friendship, betrayal, violence, and denial. Immeasurable and overflowing love, bargaining, and sacrifice. False accusations, contrived charges, and a sham trial. Intrigue and conversion. Suffering. And death.

And a plot twist that even Hollywood couldn’t come up with.

…But you already knew that…

Still…do not miss this story.

Look, I get it, it’s foolish to set aside time during your week to hear a story you’ve heard countless times throughout your life. You already know the ending, why does the story matter? Church, part of the story is the experience itself. It requires your participation. Your presence becomes part of the story.

Be foolishly faithful with me.

Attend to these mysteries.

Be present. Participate. Enter into the story.

A story of foolishness. A story of faithfulness.

The most wonderful story ever told.

The story of your salvation.

Welcome to Holy Week, church.

Matthew 4:1-11

1 Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the Accuser. 2 Jesus fasted forty days and forty nights, and afterward was famished. 3 The Tempter came and said to Jesus, “Since you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” 4 But Jesus answered, “It is written, 

 ‘One does not live by bread alone,

  but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’”

 5 Then the Accuser took Jesus to the holy city and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple,

6 saying to him, “Since you are the Son of God, throw yourself down; for it is written, 

 ‘God will give the angels charge over you,’

  and again ‘On their hands they will bear you up,

 so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’”

7 Jesus said to the Accuser, “Again it is written, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’”

 8 So again, the Tempter took Jesus to a very high mountain and showed him all the realms of the world and their splendor; 9 and said to Jesus, “All these I will give you, if you will bow down and worship me.” 10 Jesus said to the Accuser, “Away with you, Satan! For it is written, 

 ‘Worship the Lord your God;

  serve God alone.’”

11 Then the Accuser left Jesus, and suddenly angels came and waited on him.

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Please pray with me this morning, church:

Holy God,

Your voice always speaks words of love and life to us.

Oftentimes we struggle to hear your voice over

The loud voices outside of us or even our own inner critic

Which tell us lies and tempt us with untruths.

Speak clearly to us, this morning.

Come close and settle in our hearts today.

Amen.

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There’s a meme out there that’s pretty popular at our house. It’s a simple meme, just words on a background, and it says, “I’m sorry for the names I called you when I was hungry.”

Truth be told, I think you could sub out “hungry” for “sleepy” at our house right now and the spirit of the meme would still hold water pretty well.

But it’s true, as it turns out hunger can stir up some pretty strong emotions in us. In 2018, the fine folks at Oxford recognized this and added “hangry” to their dictionary for the first time. A combination of hungry and angry, it describes the irritability we feel when we’re hungry. And if that’s the case, I wonder what word Jesus would have used to describe how he felt after 40 days…

I said it on Ash Wednesday, but just in case you missed it, I’m going to try and focus us in on hunger during this Lenten season. Think a bit more of a spiritual hunger than a physical hunger, although, like this morning, we’re going talk a little bit about physical hunger as well.

What do you hunger for, church?

What does your heart long for?

What does your heart ache for? What…or who…does your heart break for?

In the 40 days from Ash Wednesday to Holy Week, we travel a familiar path together, marking our foreheads in dust in the shape of the very same cross that we’re journeying toward as we culminate on Good Friday in the crucifixion of Christ. So here this morning, only a few days removed from Ash Wednesday and the beginning of our Lenten journey together, I want to center us close to where I think we’ll end our pilgrimage—our hunger to be close to God.

What does that hunger feel like for you?

Would you describe it as hunger?

Does your heart long to be close to God?

Mine sure does. Although I’ll be honest, I feel like so much stuff can get in our way…phones, calendars, sports schedules, date nights, to-do lists…so then, how do you take time to be close to God? Or maybe a better way to ask…how do you create space in your life for God to come close to you?

When you feel far from God, do you notice it? What does that feel like for you?

For me it’s like a needling feeling or a nagging I just can’t quite get away from, a pervasive feeling that something’s off or missing, but I might not be able to put my finger on it or name it. Kind of like a grumbly tummy.

As humans, we are created to be in relationship and in close proximity to God, but like we heard in the reading from Genesis, ever since the very beginning of our human story, we’ve been discovering new and inventive ways to drive ourselves further from God.

The placement of our gospel story this morning in the Gospel of Matthew is interesting. Jesus’ sojourn in the wilderness comes immediately after Jesus’ baptism by John in the Jordan. So immediately after hearing, “This is my son, the Beloved,” Jesus is led by that very same spirit to the wilderness, presumably to work out what all that actually means.

Have you ever gotten just a gigantic piece of news that it’s so overwhelming that what you actually need to do is just set everything down, walk away from everyone, and just go and be by yourself for a while? It’s almost what I imagine happening here. Jesus is set off to work out what it actually means that he’s God’s Beloved and one to be listened to.

By the way, I imagine Jesus probably prefers the writer of Matthew’s version of events to the author of Mark. Matthew’s spirit “leads” Jesus into the wilderness, nice and gently maybe, whereas Mark’s spirit “throws” Jesus out there. Incidentally the same word used back in Genesis when God drives out Adam and Eve from the garden after the incident we heard about this morning.

So Jesus gets to work figuring out what all this means. Fasting and figuring it out. Also, 40 days isn’t so much like an actual determinate amount of time. 40 is the biblical code number for “a really long time”…think 40 days and nights of rain on the ark, 40 years wandering in the desert after leaving Egypt…40 is just about how long it takes to get to the end of your rope, it’s where you find the outer limits of what you’re capable of doing for yourself.

And after 40 days of fasting, not only is Jesus hangry, Jesus is ripe for temptation.

Enter the Accuser, or the Tempter. Ha’Satahn. The Satan. But not really like pointy horns and a spiked tail that you might be thinking of. We’re not really given a description of this Satan, but I imagine this Tempter looks very unassuming, unexpected almost…a Tempter and a temptation that almost surprise you how crafty they are, and it gets you thinking that maybe what they’re offering doesn’t sound so bad. “Yeah, you know, you’re right…I am the son of God, the Beloved…I could turn these stones to bread, I could throw myself down, I could bow down and worship…especially if I would get some relief from this fasting and this hunger and the weight of everything I’ve just experienced of being told who I am…”

Sometimes temptation isn’t overt and obvious as cheating on a test or putting something in your body you know isn’t healthy for you…sometimes temptation is subtle and unexpected, just a small step off the course you’ve been on. But nonetheless a betrayal of who you are and who God says you are.

It’s a question of voices, right? What voices are you listening to? There’s the voice of God that calls you “Beloved” and calls you “Child.” And there are the voices of the Accuser, telling you you’re not good enough, you’re not worthy, you’re only as good as what you produce, or only valuable if you look a certain way or think a certain way. And listening to and believing those voices sure can be tempting.

And it’s in these moments, which, if we’re being honest, I think happen way more frequently than we think or maybe are comfortable with—it’s in these moments that our hunger to be close or near to the heart of God is strongest, and rightly so.

So what does that look like, church? What might that look like for you in this season of your life, or even just in this season of Lent? How will you satisfy this hunger to be close to God, or listen more intently for those loving words from God in your life?

I threw some ideas out on Ash Wednesday, but just in case you weren’t here or would like a refresher… Maybe that looks like spending some time with Scripture over your morning coffee, or a devotional over your lunch break. Maybe you’ll set aside 1 hour week to volunteer at the East Fort Bend Human Needs Ministry Food Pantry or Resale Shop, or help pack fresh fruits and veggies for Armstrong Elementary’s Brighter Bites program. Maybe settling closer to the heart of God looks like a more intentional practice of worship this season. Maybe it’s inviting someone to worship with you. Maybe it’s coming and checking out our Wednesday evening soup suppers and Lenten worship, and inviting someone new to join you. Those Wednesday night worship and dinner experiences are a super-low barrier to entry for someone new. It’s very easy going, plus, we feed you! Not much of a better deal than that.

Whatever it is, church, I encourage you to explore that hunger inside this Lenten season. Try something new to break you out of old habits and ruts, and explore those parts of you that hunger for God’s presence.

The things we say to one another or even ourselves when we’re hungry aren’t always the kindest words.

God always speaks words of love and life, especially in our moments of hangriness.

Listen for God, church.

Know that you are worthy.

Know that you are loved.

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

[Jesus said:] 1 “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your God in heaven.

 2 “So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Very truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 3 But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, 4 so that your alms may be done in secret; and God who sees in secret will reward you.

 5 “And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Very truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 6 But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to God who is in secret; and God who sees in secret will reward you.

 16 “And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Very truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 17 But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, 18 so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by God who is in secret; and God who sees in secret will reward you.

 19 “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; 20 but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. 21 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

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Please pray with me this evening, church.

Holy One,

As we embark on our Lenten pilgrimage,

our hearts hunger to hear something true.

Something true about us.

Something true about who we are to you.

Remind us that we are dust, God.

Remind us that we are loved.

Remind us that we are yours.

Amen.

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What a way to step back into the pulpit, huh…?

Ash Wednesday seems like an odd way to start back from my time of parental leave (Thank you, church, by the way…I’ve indeed missed you and it’s good to be back…so let’s talk about death, huh!?) An odd way to start back…and yet…I suppose Ash Wednesday is a beginning of sorts… We mark the beginning of our entry into the season of Lent, our starting point as we embark upon this 40 day journey.

Welcome to the beginning.

A beginning when we talk about the ending.

“Remember that you are only dust…and to dust you will return…”

Having recently borne witness to new life being brought into the world…perhaps due to my pastoral sensibilities or something, I’m not sure, but I couldn’t help but be reminded that in just the next building over, there was someone or several someones fighting for their life. And that at the very moment, our brand new son cried out for the first time, someone else took their last breath.

Death is just as much a part of our lives as birth, yet I think we tend to overemphasize one in our consciousness and downplay the other. Perhaps because from the moment we’re born, we begin the methodical and inevitable march toward our ending. Maybe it’s the billions spent on death avoidance and reversing this trek toward inevitability. Whatever the reason, it is true that death may be a more constant reminder for some than for others.

But today, everyone…from newborns to the eldest among us will hear the same words: “Remember, o mortal one, that you are dust…and to dust you will return.”

Something true about us. But also a promise.

This season of Lent, we’re going to be exploring the idea of hunger. Less of a physical or material hunger, and more of a spiritual hunger, although we will talk some about physical hunger. Fasting, of course, being one of the traditional Lenten practices. Throughout the next 40 days, we’ll talk about our hunger to be known, and our hunger to be loved, among others.

Tonight I thought we’d zero in on our hunger to be told something true about ourselves.

There’s a terrifying moment that happens in the hospital room about 24 hours or so after one has welcomed a new child into the world. All the while you’ve been collecting stacks and packets of papers and information, and all of a sudden a nurse comes in and hands you a new packet and tells you this is the information that will go in a database somewhere and is for the new baby’s birth certificate. And there’s a moment of terror when you—you, in your no-longer-a-young-person-but-not-quite-middle-aged self—are given the gargantuan burden of naming something. Like, permanently.

Maybe you and your partner talked it over months ago. Maybe you waited for inspiration to strike before making such a decision. But at any rate, now it’s time. You have to write something down and that is, at least for now, what this brand-new wonderful child will be called.

This is who you are.

It’s a profound responsibility.

I also want to note how much has changed in the three and a half years since we did this the first time. Three and a half years ago, these were paper forms and so my fear was magnified by worrying if some poor clerk behind a desk would be able to read my chicken scratches. Now it’s all online, so my fears were magnified by the worry that I’d fat-finger something on my phone and they wouldn’t release us with the kid because the last names don’t match.

But in the midst of all the worry and fear and anxiety, there’s something beautiful happening…speaking something into existence. This is who you are.

What is your name, child of God?

How do you call yourself?

What are the words that you say about yourself? Are they kind? Or are they more harsh?

What do you imagine God says about you?

We do have a hunger to be told something true about ourselves.

Remember, o mortal one, that you are dust…and to dust you will return.

In a moment, I’m going to invite you into our shared journey of Lent with Confession and a word of promise. I’m going to say the words, “I invite you, therefore, to the discipline of Lent.”

The discipline of Lent. The practice of Lent.

Church, I encourage you to practice Lent this year. Use this set-aside time as an opportunity to set aside time to practice something new or different for you. The traditional Lenten practices are prayer, and fasting, works of charity, and the giving of alms to the poor. How will you practice Lent this year?

Maybe you’ll set aside 10 minutes each morning to pray. Maybe you’ll try out a new devotional and read and reflect and pray over your lunch break. Maybe you’ll commit to 1 or 2 or 3 hours a week at a new volunteer opportunity for you. Maybe the East Fort Bend Human Needs Ministry Resale Shop or Food Pantry is looking just for you to help them out a time or two each week. Maybe you’d like to try packing fresh fruits and veggies for students and their families at Armstrong Elementary through their Brighter Bites program every Wednesday morning. Maybe you’ll fast from harsh rhetoric of yourself. Or harsh rhetoric of your neighbor who doesn’t think like you or believe all the same things as you…maybe you’ll fast from those disparaging comments, either online or face-to-face or behind their back, but instead interpret everything your neighbor does or says in the best possible light.

Lent is that opportunity, church.

To practice living into who you are. And who God says you are.

You are beloved. You are beautiful.

You are fearfully and wonderfully made.

You are redeemed. You are saved.

You are dust.

Dust that God scoops up from the ground, forms, molds, and creates, and breathes life into.

You are dust.