This sermon was written for Coraopolis Presbyterian Church for Palm Sunday, March 29th (and Saturday March 28th). You can watch/listen on their youtube channel.
Matthew 21:1-11 Psalm 118
When I was a child, I remember Palm Sunday as a day when we paraded around the sanctuary, waving palms while those in the pews sang “Hosanna, Loud Hosanna,” a hymn about children singing to Jesus. I always thought it was a bit silly.
I thought Palm Sunday was about cute kids waving branches. I didn’t realize it was about desperate people crying out for their lives.
As a child, I wondered why people in the Bible story were praising Jesus in the street. My young mind decided it must be because Jesus didn’t have a church, so they met him wherever he was. I imagined a parade made up of disciples and people Jesus had healed—like a big “thank you” for being amazing.
And maybe that was part of it. But as I grew older, I began to notice something different. The people were not only thanking Jesus—they were asking him to save them.
And that is much harder to imagine.
Growing up in church, I learned that confession and assurance of pardon were the moments when sins were forgiven. The idea of Jesus saving us from sin didn’t seem to fit with a crowd shouting in the streets. I wouldn’t stand in public and cry out to be saved from sin—I would go to church.
So what in the world was happening on that first Palm Sunday?
Matthew’s Gospel shows Jesus fulfilling prophecy and acting in king-like ways—riding into Jerusalem on a donkey. People lay their cloaks on the road as a sign of surrender. They shout, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” and “Hosanna—save us!”
But Jesus has no official power. He isn’t a king, a political leader, or part of the religious establishment. He has no authority over taxes or temple practices.
So while some people are excited, others are asking, “Who is this? Who does he think he is?”
Not everyone in the crowd is celebrating. Some are curious. Some are anxious. Some are angry.
So what is Jesus doing?
This is not just a parade—it’s a protest.
And Jesus has taken a side.
Jesus is defying the empire.
He is disrupting the status quo.
He is ushering in the reign of God—and that will unsettle those in power and lift up those who are oppressed.
Scripture tells us the city is in turmoil.
The city is stirred, shaken, agitated. The word Matthew uses means to be rattled, thrown into turbulence. It is the same word used when the earth shakes on Good Friday and when the guards tremble with fear on Easter morning.
We know what it feels like when things are shaken—when a city, a community, even our own lives feel unstable.
We see it in division, in anxiety, in systems that strain people to the breaking point.
Turmoil can drive us away from God—or it can open us to God’s presence.
Jesus doesn’t avoid the turmoil. He enters it.
On that first Palm Sunday, he not only rides into the city—he goes to the temple and drives out those who have turned a place of worship into a place of exploitation.
This is not just a parade—it’s a protest.
God, in Jesus Christ, is shaking things up.
And as Holy Week unfolds, people are forced to respond. Some open their hearts. Others react with fear, trying to control what they can or retreat from what they don’t understand.
And this is where Palm Sunday stops being their story—and becomes ours.
Because we know how people respond when things fall apart.
Some grasp for control.
Some lash out.
And some choose transformation—changing themselves and working toward a better world.
On Palm Sunday, those with nothing left to lose—the poor, the oppressed, the desperate—cry out:
Save us from oppression.
Save us from systems where some always have too much and others never have enough.
Save us from exploitation and fear.
Save us from the harm done to us—and the harm we participate in.
Hosanna. Save us.
Meanwhile, those in power see a threat. They fear losing their position. They benefit from systems that keep others down, so change is not in their interest.
Then, as now, there are enough resources to go around.
The problem is not scarcity.
The problem is that those with power are not willing to let go.
And like today, people are divided against each other so that nothing changes.
But Jesus has taken a side.
He stands with those crying out.
He stands with those who have no power.
And when I think about that first Palm Sunday, I remember that God entered a city in turmoil and chose to stand with the vulnerable.
Psalm 118 reminds us this is who God has always been.
It invites us to join the procession—the protest and the praise. A single voice cries out, and the community joins in, proclaiming that it is God’s love—not our distress—that endures.
We are those people.
We bring our stories.
We stand together.
We take part in God’s work—feeding the hungry, healing the sick, lifting up the oppressed, caring for the poor.
And when more voices are included, we hear more clearly what God is doing.
When everyone is valued, we are better able to care for one another.
But this kind of community disrupts the status quo.
It challenges systems built to keep power in the hands of a few.
There will be times when we feel like giving up—especially when we benefit from those systems.
But when we participate in systems that harm others, we harm ourselves.
Because we are deeply connected—in both our pain and our love.
There will also be times when we feel alone.
But we are not alone.
Like the psalmist, when we are overwhelmed or afraid, we can find rest in community.
Rest when you need to.
Join in when you can.
Trust in the love of God.
Trust in the love of your community.
Love is stronger than death.
Love endures forever.
We shall not die, but live—and declare the works of Love.
So today, we are invited to respond.
Open your heart.
Stand with the oppressed.
Choose love.
Because this is not just a parade—it’s a protest.
And Jesus has taken a side.
Amen.
Other worship elements:
Charge
Go now remembering this:
this is not just a parade—it’s a protest.
And Jesus has taken a side.
So open your hearts,
stand with the oppressed,
and choose love.
Join your life to the cry of “Hosanna—save us,”
and be part of God’s work in the world.
Blessing
May the God who enters our chaos go with you.
May Christ give you courage.
May the Spirit sustain you in love—
a love stronger than death.
Go in peace to love and to serve.
Amen.
Pastoral Prayer
Holy and loving God,
We come before you today as people who know both celebration and struggle.
We wave our branches and sing “Hosanna,”
and yet in our hearts we are also crying out,
“Save us.”
Save us, O God—from all that harms and divides, from systems that wound your people,
from the burdens we carry and the fears we cannot name.
You entered a city in turmoil long ago, and you did not turn away.
You stepped into the chaos, stood with the vulnerable,
and proclaimed a different kind of kingdom—a neighborhood of justice, mercy, and love.
So enter our lives again, O God. Enter our communities.
Enter this world that so often feels shaken and uncertain.
Be with those who are suffering today—
those who are grieving, those who are sick, those who are overwhelmed or afraid.
Be with those who are oppressed, those who feel forgotten,
those who cry out for dignity, safety, and hope.
Give us courage to follow where Christ leads—
to stand with the marginalized,
to challenge what is unjust,
and to love more boldly than we thought possible.
When we are tempted to cling to comfort or control, open our hearts.
When we feel alone or weary, remind us that we belong to one another.
Root us in your enduring love—
a love stronger than death,
a love that will not let us go.
And as we journey through this holy week,
shape us into people who do not just praise you with our lips,
but follow you with our lives.
We pray all this in the name of Jesus Christ,
who comes to save, to liberate, and to love.
Amen.
This was another adventure using Chatgpt for editing. Below is what I put into chat. Then I asked it to make suggestions and I used some of them, edited some of the suggestions, and said no to a few. I like this way of prompting because I feel like I have a little more control instead of just letting it edit into a sermon format.
Here is what my response to the suggested edits looked like:
1. Core Movement is “This is not just a parade-it’s a protest, and Jesus has taken a side.” 2. Yes add, “I thought Palm Sunday was about cute kids waving branches. I didn’t realize it was about desperate people crying out for their lives.” 4. Do not add call and response. 5. yes. 6. yes. 7. yes. 8. option A. 9. I do not need to shorten. 11. no.
I’ve tried answering the responses individually, but then I didn’t like the edit and it re-edited parts that I didn’t want edited again… so this time I responded to all of the prompts at one time and I liked the result.
The sentences in quotations were parts that I edited from the chat suggestion but I put the quotes back in when answering so it knew to add that sentence and not the one it suggested.
I also had planned to site the article that inspired some of the sermon but after it was smoothed over by chat I forgot to add the citation. Carol Holbrook Prickett in Presbyterian Outlook Looking into the Lectionary https://pres-outlook.org/2026/03/palm-sunday-march-29-2026/ is where I got the idea about the verb for turmoil and the idea that being shaken by the chaos around us can also break open our hearts to God’s transformative power.
Matthew 21:1-11
Psalm 118
When I was a child, I remember Palm Sunday being a day when we could parade around the sanctuary waving palms while those in the pew sang “Hosannah Loud Hosannah” a hymn that talks about little children singing to Jesus. I always thought it was a silly thing to do in church. And I wondered why people in the bible story were praising Jesus in the street. My little brain decided it was because Jesus didn’t have a church, so they met him on the street where he was. I pictured in my mind that this parade was made up of the disciples and people Jesus had healed or helped in some way. Like a big thank you to Jesus for being amazing.
And maybe that was some of it, but as I got older, I noticed that the people were not necessarily thanking Jesus for saving them but asking him to save them. And that is a little harder to imagine. Growing up in church, I knew that the confession of sin and the assurance of pardon where the places in worship where our sins were forgiven. The theological idea of Jesus saving us from sin didn’t seem to make sense in a street full of people asking for help. I wouldn’t shout in the street to ask to be saved from sin, I would go to church. What in the world was happening on that first Palm Sunday?
Matthew’s gospel highlights how Jesus is fulfilling some of the prophesies about the Messiah and doing king-like things, like riding on a donkey into Jerusalem. People putting clothes on the road symbolizes their surrender to his authority. Some are crying out “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the lord” and “Hosannah, save us”.
Jesus doesn’t have the social/political power to enter the city this way. He isn’t a king or even a local political leader and he isn’t even part of the religious authority in the city. He has no power to say where taxes should be paid and how that money should be used. He has no say over temple worship or how people should live according to God’s word in any official capacity. So, while some people were excited to see Jesus others were asking, who is this? Who does he think he is? What is he going to do next? Those watching him enter are not necessarily all supporters, some are just watching to see what happens. Some are anxious about what he might be doing. Some are angry.
What is Jesus doing?
Jesus is defying the empire. And Jesus is shaking up the statis quo. He is ushering in the reign of God and that will upset those with power, and it will uplift those being oppressed by the powerful. Scripture tells us that the city is in turmoil.
The city is in turmoil. The city has been stirred up, agitated, rattled. “This word itself, it turns out, is a key piece of vocabulary. The Greek word that Matthew employs is eseisthe, a form of the root verb seio. It means to be both shaken and stirred, to be agitated, to be rattled, to be in turbulence and turmoil and trembling. This is a vivid and even violent verb.” Carol Holbrook Prickett in Presbyterian Outlook Looking into the Lectionary https://pres-outlook.org/2026/03/palm-sunday-march-29-2026/ Matthew uses this same verb to describe the earth shaking on Good Friday and the guards shaking with fear on Easter morning. Turmoil can cause us to run from God or to “break us open to God’s presence with us”. Carol Holbrook Prickett in Presbyterian Outlook Looking into the Lectionary https://pres-outlook.org/2026/03/palm-sunday-march-29-2026/
Jesus’ actions on Palm Sunday include this parade and the cleansing of the temple, where Jesus drives out those who have turned a place of worship into a den of thieves. Maybe can think of these actions as protests against the powerful. God, in Jesus Christ, is shaking things up. As what we know as holy week progresses, this shaking up causes people to either open their hearts to the changes God is making or to fearfully try to control their situation or to hide from what’s happening.
I experience Palm Sunday much differently as an adult. Life experiences have shown me that when things don’t go according to plan, people react in different ways. Some seek whatever control they can gain; others lash out at the people around them including those who have nothing to do with the current crisis, and a few make the choice to change themselves and change the world for the better.
On Palm Sunday, those who have nothing left to lose, the poor, the oppressed, the desperate, cry out to Jesus hoping that he can turn things around for them. Save us from oppression. Save us from tyranny. Save us from being exploited. Save us from a system designed to keep us in poverty, illness, and fear. Save us from the sins others have committed against us. Save us from our own sin, save us from our complicity in a system that is killing us. Hosannah, save us, liberate us, set us free.
Those in power, the rulers, the religious authorizes who have aligned themselves with the empire see this protest and think they need to squash it before the crowd around Jesus forces change. They worry about keeping their position at the top of society. They benefit from the oppression of others so it’s not in their interest to make changes to alleviate the pain of their neighbors. It was probably as true then as it is now that there are enough resources to go around, the issue is not that we don’t have enough to help the poor, the issue is that the rich are never satisfied. And also, like today, the wealthy and powerful attempt to pit the rest of us against each other.
When I think of the first Palm Sunday, I remember that God entered a city in turmoil and chose to side with those who didn’t have any power or privilege. And this isn’t the first time God has entered into our chaotic world to work for the good of those who need help. Psalm 118 recounts other times when God has saved people who are crying out for salvation and waiving branches.
As a liturgy in which an individual voice is joined by a worshiping community Psalm 118 invites us to join in the procession, the protest, and the praise. The soloist sings of personal redemption, and the community joins in solidarity, affirming that it is God’s love—not our distress—that endures.
We are the worshipers who join the solo psalmist, adding our own stories and bearing witness to God’s steadfast love. We find strength in one another as we continue God’s work of feeding the hungry, healing the sick, visiting the imprisoned, uplifting the oppressed, and providing for the poor. The more diverse our voices, the more clearly, we can hear the larger story of God’s people. When everyone is included in the community, we are better able to meet one another’s needs and to ensure that all are valued, respected, and loved.
Co-creating a loving community aligned with God’s work can put us at odds with those in power. It disrupts the status quo and challenges systems designed to keep wealth and control in the hands of a few. There will be times when we feel like giving up, especially when we benefit from systems that privilege us because of gender, sexual orientation, race, or economic status. Yet when we participate in systems that harm others, we harm ourselves as well. We are deeply connected—in both our pain and our love. May we choose to remain connected to the Love that endures.
There will also be times when we feel alone in the work of moving toward a better world. But we are not alone. Love reminds us of this truth. Like the psalmist, when we are overwhelmed, weary, or afraid, we can find comfort, solidarity, and rest in community. Rest when you need to, and join in when you can. Trust in the love of God and in the love of your community. Love is stronger than death. Love is what will endure forever. Trust in Love. We shall not die, but live, and declare the works of Love.
Perhaps as people informed by the Palm Sunday story, we can choose to open our hearts to God. We can choose like Jesus to enter the chaos and turmoil of our time and side with the poor and oppressed. We can choose love, eternal love.
Period Pastor Pad 