March 29, 2026
Matthew 21:1-11
Introduction
I wish Palm Sunday was as easy as the people in our first Gospel reading make it look and sound. I wish we could walk in the Jesus parade, wave palms, sing hosannas, offer blessings, and then just go to lunch—because that’s how I remember Palm Sunday used to be. For most of my life I came to Palm Sunday with joy and excitement. There was going to be a parade, and everybody loves a parade. Palm Sunday was a celebration, a party— just like that first Palm Sunday as Jesus rode into Jerusalem and everyone was lining the street, waving palms, and shouting, “Hosanna!”
That’s how I remember celebrating Palm Sunday— we got to join in on the celebration and the party as Jesus entered into Jerusalem, and we too would wave palms and get to shout “Hosanna!” I mean, how great was that?! You got to shout in church and wave palm branches— that sure, you mostly used to annoy your siblings with, but that just added to the party. And then after church, you got to keep your palm branch and go home with a souvenir. And it was great, right? You got to keep the party going on the drive home sitting with in the back seat with your siblings. Until your Dad yelled at all three of you and reached back and disarmed you of your church souvenir.
Again, that’s how I remember celebrating Palm Sunday— joining the party as Jesus entered into Jerusalem, waving palms, shouting “Hosanna!” But nowadays I can’t help but wonder if it would be more accurate to call today Turmoil Sunday. What do you think? Would you be excited about coming to church on Turmoil Sunday? Probably not. But turmoil is how Matthew describes today, saying, “when [Jesus] entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil.”
Move 1
I really do think a new name is needed for Palm Sunday. Not because it’s inaccurate, but because it’s insider language. Non-Christians don’t hear “Palm Sunday” and think, “I wanna check that out.” But “Turmoil Sunday”… I think folks might be curious what that’s all about because most days I feel the turmoil in my life and world and I want someone to address it, tell me a way through it, or at least help me to see I’m not the only one struggling with turmoil in my life. Maybe you do too. But what if Jesus and turmoil are a package deal, a two-for-one? Because again, in today’s Gospel Matthew says that “when [Jesus] entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil.”
We don’t often talk about Jesus as creating or bringing turmoil. I suspect that’s not the Jesus most of us want. It is, however, the one we get in today’s Gospel, and I believe it’s exactly the one you and I, and our world, need today. And I suggest this because I don’t want us to use the palms, donkey, and shouts of “Hosanna” that characterize today as a distraction from, or an avoidance of, the turmoil Jesus brings. I don’t want them to be a sweet, sentimental, and soft opening to Holy Week. I want us to feel the hard opening of Holy Week. I want us to face and enter into the turmoil that opens Holy Week and ultimately our hearts.
And I say this because though I’m not sure when or how it happened, nonetheless somewhere along the way my experience of Palm Sunday changed. It certainly happened when I got older and no longer got to annoy my siblings with the palm branches. But it wasn’t just that. It happened much more gradually, when I started facing up to some stuff in myself because I had a better understanding about Lent and Palm Sunday and Holy Week and Easter and what they want from us. It happened when I started to realize that Palm Sunday was just one day, and so many of the rest of the days felt like Good Friday.
Somewhere along the way I recognized that my life and faith were no longer as simple and easy or as certain and secure as I wanted them to be, as I expected them to be, or as I told myself they were, and neither was Palm Sunday. Somewhere along the way I discovered the fragility and vulnerability that underlie life, faith, and Palm Sunday. And now the Palm Sunday souvenir… isn’t.
Move 2
Here’s what I mean… Historians and biblical scholars tell us that Jesus comes from the east riding a donkey down the Mount of Olives and into Jerusalem. His supporters go ahead of and behind him shouting hosannas and spreading their cloaks and tree branches on the road like a red carpet. Matthew uses words from the prophet Zechariah to describe Jesus as a king, “humble, and mounted on a donkey.” He is, however, a different kind of king. He will leave behind the chariot, the war horse, and the battle bow. He is a king who commands peace to the nations. (Zechariah 9:9-10)
But then historians and biblical scholars further tell us while Jesus was coming from the east Pontius Pilate, the Governor of Judea, would have been coming into Jerusalem from the west, riding a war horse and leading a column of imperial cavalry and soldiers. They’re wearing armor and helmets and carrying weapons. Hooves and feet are pounding the earth like a war drum.
It was a standard practice for the Roman governor and his troops to come to Jerusalem for major Jewish feasts like the Passover. But they were not there out of respect for the religious practices of the Jews. Rather they were there as a show of force, to maintain the status quo of oppression, and to put down any uprising.
Do you see the impending conflict? Can you feel the turmoil of this day? This is a day of confrontation and choices: a donkey or a war horse; palm branches or weapons; laying down one’s life for another or laying down another’s life for oneself. Conflict and turmoil were converging on the first Palm Sunday. But this is not just a historical event in Jerusalem. Conflict and turmoil are converging on this Palm Sunday as well. Today we are all Jerusalem. The conflict and turmoil are within us and our world. And Pilate is as real today as he was the day Jesus entered Jerusalem.
Move 3
We say that we want to follow the way of Jesus. We even began this morning’s liturgy by waving our palms and singing, All glory, laud, and honor to you, Redeemer, King, to whom the lips of children made sweet hosannas ring! That way, however, is easier sung than done.
If we really are going to follow the way of Jesus then we will have to be aware of, and confront the Pontius Pilate in our lives and the world today—because that is what Jesus’ ride into Jerusalem, on a donkey, is about. He is shaking up our world, overturning the status quo, and “making all things new.” That’s the turmoil Jesus brings today. And it’s always in opposition to Pilate.
I don’t think we deny or turn away from conflict or turmoil because we don’t believe or experience them to be true, but because we do experience the truth of them. The enormity of the truth they hold before us is overwhelming, frightening, painful, and sometimes beautiful, that we are unsure of how to move forward.
Which is why we have to look around at everything. Look at yourself, your life, your relationships. Look at our nation and the world. Look at everything that has happened and is happening. What do you see when you look around at everything? What don’t you see? Look at who is present, who is missing, and who is excluded or unwanted. Gently touch the wounds and hurts. Hear the cries, hopes, and needs. Feel the griefs, sorrows, and losses. Name the things done and left undone. Feel the guilt, shame, disappointments. Acknowledge the injustices, anger, and conflicts. Where is there conflict and turmoil? What is in need of repair and healing?
Of all that you see when you look around at everything, name the conflicts and turmoil you don’t want to look at, that you’ve denied or ignored, that you want to close your eyes to and not face. Think of them… and name them… and then ask yourself… What truths are they holding before you today? What do they bring up in you? What are they asking of you? What are they offering you? What are they taking from you or asking you let go of?
I’m not asking you to make a confession or judge yourself, someone else, or a situation. I’m just asking you to see and name conflict and turmoil that is before you today. And I’m asking you to carry that awareness with you through this Holy Week. It’s what Jesus will do.
Conclusion
Turmoil Sunday is a clash and confrontation between east and west, light and darkness, life and death. Yes, these are metaphors about conditions in each of our lives—but they describe our ways of being with, and toward, others and ourselves. All of which makes Holy Week an invitation into conflict and turmoil, where we confront the Pilate in our lives and world.
So where do you see Pilate in your life and world today? What is diminishing your light and stealing your life? What’s the Pilate you see diminishing the light of others and stealing their life? In what ways are you Pilate in someone else’s life? What are you washing your hands of instead of confronting? What’s the Pilate you need to confront today?
I can’t answer those questions for you, but I can tell you I’m asking myself the same questions. They are Turmoil Sunday’s entry to Holy Week— a week of accountability and choices. But the promise of this week is that with each confrontation of Pilate we will “have life, and have it abundantly” for ourselves, one another, and the world.
So what does this Holy Week invitation mean and look like for you today? What is it offering you and what is it asking of you? Is it inviting you into the turmoil and conflict, asking you to confront the Pontious Pilates around you? Or is it still just inviting you to join a parade, a party… and take home a souvenir. Amen.
Pastoral Prayer, March 29, 2026, Palm Sunday
Holy God… Lord of the humble donkey and the raucous parade, we gather today in the echoes of Jerusalem’s streets, where the air once hung thick with a beautiful, holy turmoil. We see the cloaks thrown on the dusty path and hear the “Hosannas” that shook the city’s foundations.
But as the dust settles, we acknowledge the other turmoil of Palm Sunday: the chaos of confrontation. We see the tables overturned in the temple and hear the sharpening tongues of those in power, and we are confronted with the realization the same hearts that wave branches on Sunday are often the same hearts that stir with anger when your truth challenges our comfort.
We confess, O God, that we love the version of Palm Sunday that highlights the celebratory chaos that feels like winning, the excitement of our King finally arriving to set things right.
Forgive us when our own lives mirror this fractured city, and we acquiesce to the turmoil of a world that values power over peace and loud certainty over quiet sacrifice.
Forgive us, then challenge us O God, to see past the waving palms and not get stuck in the parade. Help us see that the palms were not just for a King, but for a Savior who was marching toward a cross.
Then guide us to lay before you the Pilates in our lives— the voices of worldly authority, the pressure to conform, and the systems that tempt us to wash our hands of the vulnerable to protect ourselves— because we really do know these forces dictate our thoughts and drive us toward fear instead of faith, convincing us the ancient lie that conquering is the way to life.
So turn us away from the urge to dominate our neighbors, our enemies, or our circumstances, and remind us that Jesus did not come to occupy a throne of gold, but to occupy our hearts with a love that brings new life to all, and brings it abundantly.
We ask that you would listen to the prayers from our hearts, lifted to yours, in this time of Holy Silence.
We pray all this in the name of Hosanna, the blessed one who comes in the name of the Lord, Jesus our Savior, who taught us to pray, saying, “Our…”