Sermon for Sunday, March 29, 2026, Palm Sunday

March 29, 2026

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott




The Palm and Passion Narrative in Matthew

Matthew 26:14—27:66



Many of us may remember when we only did Palm Sunday on Palm Sunday and the other days of Holy Week on their given day, unlike today, when we get the whole Passion narrative on Sunday. One traditional approach to this whole story is to talk about how the crowd that is with you on a Sunday can have turned on you by Friday. However, today’s Gospel can be seen more accurately as the story of two different kinds of crowds, a Palm Sunday mob scene and the ones that gather on Good Friday.


Jesus is no stranger to crowds, of course. Anyone who can perform the kind of miracles that he does will attract a following. Have they followed him to Jerusalem? Some of them probably have. After all, many of them didn’t have much of a life before Jesus healed them. The healing miracles often come to those who have been abandoned by everyone in the larger community; it makes sense that they would follow Jesus.


There’s another crowd of people who are likely to be following Jesus all the way to Jerusalem. These are people who have been hoping for a different kind of miracle, the restoration of the Holy City, the deliverance of the Temple from the Roman occupiers. These are people who have been trained by earlier generations, steeped in the words of the ancient prophets, trained to be on the lookout for the Messiah, knowledgeable in the ways that deliverance will come. Jesus has spoken to them specifically in words that seem like a mysterious code to us but would have been blatantly obvious to those who have been waiting for a savior. Those people would be tagging along to Jerusalem, wanting to be at the site of what they assumed would be a final triumph.


The disciples come along too, of course. We think of those 12 men, and we know that at least one of them, Judas, has become disenchanted. But we also know that there were more than 12 disciples. For example, we know that a core group of women followed Jesus, and we read the New Testament differently if we’re on the lookout for them. If we read carefully, we can discern a much larger group of people dedicated to the mission of Jesus.


There were plenty of people in that Palm Sunday crowd, and many of them had no interest in Jesus at all. Many people would come to Jerusalem for the highest of Jewish Holy days, most obviously Jews of all sorts, who would want to celebrate at the most beautiful of worship spaces. There would also be Romans who wanted to make sure that nothing bad happened. Then, as now, a holiday is a time that terrorists would see as a ripe target.


In short, there were several groups gathered on Palm Sunday, all with very different and conflicting interests converging on a very small piece of real estate, much like Jerusalem, or many a capital city, today.


But by Friday, most of them are no longer with him. But it’s not necessarily because they lost faith in Jesus.


To be sure, some of the Palm Sunday crowd have fallen away. But it’s unlikely that they’ve all turned against Jesus so much as it is likely that they were not there for Jesus in the first place or that Jesus has to go where others cannot follow. Even had they wanted to journey with Jesus into the inner sanctums of the ruling parts of society, they would not be allowed. Then, as now, verdicts that can impact so many of us are often made in secret.


The Palm Sunday crowd has dispersed by Good Friday. Some have slipped away in fear. Others have gone to be with their families to celebrate the Passover with a meal, just as we saw Jesus do. Others may have assumed that the final deliverance of Jerusalem has been postponed—yet again. Others may have settled in for the night and missed the arrest and trial. Then, as now, verdicts that can impact so many of us are often made on days and times when the public won’t be watching or when another distraction has been fabricated to pull away our attention.


The Palm to Passion story reminds us of the danger of crowds, but it reminds us that not all crowds are the same. In this case, it was a variety of crowds, each convinced of the righteousness of their purpose. Some thought they had the righteousness of Jewish law on their side. Some thought they had the righteousness of Jesus on their side and others thought they had the righteousness of Caesar on their side. All thought they had God on their side.


This time in history is not the only time people have thought they had God on their side. In fact, people have made that mistake so often that there’s a branch of Philosophy dedicated to making sure that conflicts are handled in a way that won’t put our very souls in danger. Just War Theory has as one of its key components that even when conflict seems inevitable, we should approach it with a spirit of duty to God rather than a self-righteous crusaderism that delights in harm to our opponents and enemies.


Prophets throughout the ages have tried to show us how to live just lives worthy of God, and the first followers of Jesus turned back to their prophets to try to understand what they had experienced, prophets like Isaiah or Zecariah. The Gospel of Matthew contains more references back to the ancient prophets than the other Gospels, as we see in today’s texts. Judas was likely not thinking of the duty to fulfill the prophecy of Zechariah 13: 7 “Awake oh sword against my shepherd, against the man who is my associate, says the Lord of Hosts. Strike the shepherd, that the sheep may be scattered . . ." No, Judas was more likely betraying Jesus out of his own disappointment at the different way Jesus understood his mission.


Judas betrays Jesus with a kiss. Then, as now, we remember that it’s possible to profess a love of Jesus that proves to be empty and hollow. Peter betrays Jesus with his words. He betrays Jesus despite the fact that Jesus has warned him of his tendency to deny the one who gives him life. There are so many ways to betray Jesus, and the Palm to Passion story reminds us that human nature hasn’t really changed.


Some people still gather around Jesus to celebrate his teachings. Some come in anticipation of what will follow, what we hope he will do for us. Some come to learn how to pervert the Gospel, to claim Christ’s power for themselves or to thwart Christ’s authority. Should we find ourselves among one of those crowds, with the clear and present awareness that tensions are increasing and conflicts may be inevitable, let us not enter into that conflict with delight about doing harm to our adversaries, but out of the same sense of duty to God that we have seen modeled by Jesus. Let us pray, as Jesus did, that if it is possible let this cup pass from us. Let us trust that God can make new life out of the darkest days of violence. Even when our saints and shepherds are struck down, let the flock scatter, and once again return even larger, in the hopeful words of Zechariah. Let us trust in the vindication of the Lord, as Isaiah promises. The Psalmist knows that though we may feel as useless as a broken pot, that God has a plan and a purpose—for us and for all of creation. We see sprouts of new life across our Holy Week texts and on Easter, just a week away, we will see the shoots of new life that God has planned—for Jesus, for us, and for all of creation.

Sewing on the Machine at Quilt Camp

Yesterday at Quilt Camp, I got out my sewing machine, which might surprise those who know me.  For much of my life, I've sewed by hand.  I'm still deeply committed to sewing by hand, particularly as a self-calming practice.  Stitching a seam by hand not only calms my brain but also settles my attention.

I am the only person at Quilt Camp who does most of her sewing by hand.  I don't have a sewing room, so if I'm sewing, it's likely at the kitchen table which is problematic for many reasons.  But honestly, for many reasons, I actually prefer to sew by hand.

So last night, after posting the below picture, I made this Facebook post:  "Those of you who know me, are you more surprised to find out that I'm still awake at 10 p.m. or that I've been sewing on a sewing machine all day at Quilt Camp?"

All of the piles of blocks behind me were stitched by hand.  But yesterday, I wanted one of the sewing machine experts to see if she could get the bobbin winder to work.  She could not.  So why did I keep sewing on the machine?

One of my Quilt Camp friends had won a batch of quilt blocks as a prize, which we both agreed was a strange prize for a quilt contest, and she was trying to figure out how to assemble them into charity quilts, her task assigned to her as she claimed her prize.  I offered to help.  Here we are, me showing her the long strips I decided to assemble:

I knew that getting the quilt top done during the retreat was my best hope of getting it done, so I just kept sewing and sewing.  And finally, at 9:20, as Duke was winning the basketball game that some of my Quilt Camp compatriots were watching, I did.  However, I forgot to take a picture of the finished quilt top. 

Soon I'll head back to Quilt Camp for the last morning.  I'll get my cloth organized so that I can keep sewing small scraps into log cabin squares, the sewing that I do in the evening as we watch T.V. together.  It's been a good Quilt Camp, but it's time to come back down from the mountain (and I'll be rejoicing that my trip home is very short).

Quilt Camp Midway Report

 Much of yesterday, I would have looked like this:

I've had one of those Quilt Camp weeks where I've had to balance the retreat and the other duties of my life.  Yesterday I had planned to go to the class I'm taking, Lutheran Confessions, by way of Zoom and come to Quilt Camp in the afternoon.  But my professor was having travel related disruptions, so we didn't have class.  I got several additional quilting hours in the morning--hurrah!

I made progress both on my own projects and on one of our group projects:

We were asked to take one of the paper doll forms and add fabric scraps to it to represent ourselves.  We've been putting them on the poster, and as we've been looking at our work, we've been praying for each other.

I loved making my self portrait in threads and fabric scraps:

I am tired, tired, tired.  Ordinarily I might say that I'm tired in a good way.  But last night, as my energy level crashed, I spiraled into a strange thought pattern, feeling like all of my fabric art is ugly, ugly, ugly.  What was that all about?

Part of it is being surrounded by other quilting artists who are all doing very different work from the work I'm doing:

My workspace is full of scraps, and the process of putting them into larger squares usually delights me.  The process still delights me, but I'm less sure how well it all works together.  I put some of my more varied squares together and felt despair.  I've got autumnal squares (think browns, coppers, oranges, yellows) and jewel tone squares.  Last night I thought, I've really got two quilts here--which might not be a bad thing.  But will I ever actually finish?

I'm also noticing a pattern in my larger life.  It's easy for me to do the individual parts, but harder to finish the larger project.  I thought about my writing life and all the poems I've written--but so few larger books.  

On the one hand, I take delight in the process, the creativity itself, the commitment to doing creative stuff every day.  On the other hand, I wonder how it might all be different if I focused on seeing a project through to the end.

Do I let myself off the hook too easily?  Should I be more rigorous?  If I decide I should be more rigorous, is it too late?

Let me remind myself of this article I read in The New York Times, an article that talks about Matisse in his later years, his last years, and an exhibition of his work from this time:  "The show includes more than 300 works on loan from around the world (with some exhibited for the first time) that demonstrate how wide the French master’s oeuvre stretched beyond his best-known paintings — to innovative drawings, gouache cutouts, illustrated books, textiles and stained-glass windows. It also challenges the conventional understanding of any artist’s 'late' years as an inevitable tapering off. Here, we see a blossoming, a relentless drive to experiment in new mediums and a radical simplicity that only a lifetime of making could achieve."

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Palm Sunday, March 29, 2026:

Liturgy of the Palms

 
Psalm:  Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29
Second reading:  Matthew 21:1-11

Liturgy of the Passion

 
First reading:  Isaiah 50:4-9a
Psalm:  Psalm 31:9-16
Second reading:  Philippians 2:5-11
Gospel:  Matthew 26:14-27:66 or Matthew 27:11-54

Those of you who have been going to church for awhile may have noticed that Palm Sunday sometimes stretches for a longer time than Easter Sunday. There's so much we cover these days. We start with the Palm Sunday story--some churches actually have their congregants start out seated, then they rise and march around the church, either inside or outside, and then they sit down again. 

And then, when they get to the readings, they hear the whole story of the Passion. We get Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, and Good Friday all in one Sunday. It's almost a relief to show up on Easter and only have to deal with one part of the story.

Easter is the part of the story upon which our Christian faith is rooted. It's the place where most of us like to fix our focus. But Holy Week reminds us of essential truths too.

Palm Sunday, which is now called Passion Sunday, reminds us of life's journey. No one gets to live the triumphal entry into Jerusalem day in and day out. If we're lucky, there will be those high water mark periods; we'll be hailed as heroes and people will appreciate our work. All the transportation and dinner details will work out like we want them to. Our friends will be by our side.

Yet the Passion story reminds us that those same appreciative people can turn on us just as quickly. The cheering crowd today can be the one calling for our blood next week. If we're lucky, we'll have friends who stand by us, but we're also likely to suffer all kinds of betrayals: from our friends, from our governments, from any number of societal institutions, and ultimately from our bodies, our all too fragile flesh.

What do we do with this knowledge?

The corridor between Palm Sunday and Easter instructs us in what to do. We can watch out for each other. We can find like-minded humans and stay together in solidarity. We can make meals and take time to eat together.

We can go even deeper into our care for each other, and on Maundy Thursday, we get a glimpse of that kind of care. Some churches will read the Maundy Thursday text of the woman anointing Christ's feet with oil. Some churches will read the Maundy Thursday text that shows Jesus washing the feet of the disciples.

Good Friday reminds us that we can do all these things, and still we may have to stand by helplessly as those whom we love are ravaged. Or we may find that we are ravaged.

The Palm Sunday/Passion Week trajectory reminds us that we worship a God who has experienced this truth of the human condition first hand.

But we also worship a God who has been working through time and outside of time to transform this human condition. We don't always see it, but Easter assures us that the process is in place and that resurrection will break through, even in the most unlikely circumstances.

The Feast Day of the Annunciation

Today is the Feast of the Annunciation, the feast day which celebrates the appearance of the angel Gabriel, who tells Mary of her opportunity to be part of God's mission of redemption. The angel Gabriel appears to Mary and says, in the older wording that I still like best, "Hail, oh blessed one! The Lord is with you!" Mary asks some questions, and Gabriel says, "For nothing will be impossible with God" (Luke 1: 37). And Mary says, ". . . let it be with me according to your word" (Luke 1: 38).

That means only 9 months until Christmas. If I wrote a different kind of blog, I'd fill the rest of this post with witty ways to make your shopping easier. But instead of spending the next nine months strategically getting our gifts bought, maybe we should think about the next nine months in terms of waiting for God, watching for God, incubating the Divine.

I find Mary an interesting model for modern spirituality. Notice what is required of Mary. She must wait.

Mary is not required to enter into a spiritual boot camp to get herself ready for this great honor. No, she must be present to God and be willing to have a daily relationship, an intimacy that most of us would never make time for. She doesn't have to travel or make a pilgrimage to a different land. She doesn't have to go to school to work on a Ph.D. She isn't even required to go to the Temple any extra amount. She must simply slow down and be present. And of course, she must be willing to be pregnant, which requires more of her than most of us will offer up to God. And there's the later part of the story, where she must watch her son die an agonizing death.

We might think about how we can listen for God's call. Most of us live noisy lives: we're always on our cell phones, we've often got several televisions blaring in the house at once, we're surrounded by traffic (and their loud stereos), we've got people who want to talk, talk, talk. Maybe today would be a good day to take a vow of silence, inasmuch as we can, to listen for God.

If we can't take a vow of silence, we could look for ways to have some silence in our days. We could start with five minutes and build up from there.

Maybe we can't be silent, but there are other ways to tune in to God. Maybe we want to keep a dream journal to see if God tries to break through to us in that way. Maybe we want to keep a prayer journal, so that we have a record of our prayer life--and maybe we want to revisit that journal periodically to see how God answers our prayers.

Let us celebrate the Feast of the Annunciation by thinking about our own lives. What does God call us to do? How will we answer that call?

The Feast Day of Oscar Romero

Oscar Romero is now officially a saint, and today is his feast day.  On this day in 1980, he was killed, a martyr for the faith.  When I made this collage card years ago, I couldn't believe that he'd ever be canonized:

Many scholars believe that he was chosen to be Archbishop precisely because he was expected not to make trouble. All that changed when one of his good friends, an activist Jesuit priest, was assassinated by one of the death squads roaming the country. Romero became increasingly political, increasingly concerned about the poor who were being oppressed by the tiny minority of rich people in the country. He called for reform. He called on the police and the soldiers to stop killing their brethren. And for his vision, he was killed as he consecrated the bread for Mass.

I was alive when he was martyred, but I didn't hear or read about it.  I remember reading about some of the more famous murders, particularly of the nuns, and wondering why people would murder nuns or missionaries who were there to help--I had yet to learn of the horrors of colonialism throughout history.

In my first year of college, I was asked to be part of a service that honored the martyrdom of Romero, and this event was likely how I heard of him first.  Or maybe it was earlier that semester when our campus pastor took a group of us to Jubilee Partners.

Jubilee Partners was a group formed by the same people that created Koinonia, the farm in Americus Georgia that most people know because they also created Habitat for Humanity--but they were so much more, in their witness of how Christian love could play out in real practice in one of the most segregated and poor parts of the U.S. south.  In the early years of Jubilee Partners, when I went there, the group helped people from Central America get to Canada, where they could get asylum in the 1980's, when they couldn't get asylum in the U.S.

My consciousness was formed by these encounters and by other encounters I had throughout the 80's.  I met many people in the country illegally, and I heard about the horrors that brought them here.  Then, as now, I couldn't imagine why we wouldn't let these people stay.

Many of us may think that those civil wars are over, but many countries in Central America are still being torn apart by violence.  The words of Romero decades ago are sadly still relevant today:  "Brothers, you came from our own people. You are killing your own brothers. Any human order to kill must be subordinate to the law of God, which says, 'Thou shalt not kill'. No soldier is obliged to obey an order contrary to the law of God. No one has to obey an immoral law. It is high time you obeyed your consciences rather than sinful orders. The church cannot remain silent before such an abomination. ...In the name of God, in the name of this suffering people whose cry rises to heaven more loudly each day, I implore you, I beg you, I order you: stop the repression."

But his teachings go beyond just a call for an end to killing.  His messages to the wider church are still powerful:  "A church that doesn't provoke any crises, a gospel that doesn't unsettle, a word of God that doesn't get under anyone’s skin, a word of God that doesn't touch the real sin of the society in which it is being proclaimed — ​what gospel is that?"

And even those of us who are not part of a faith tradition can find wisdom in his teachings:  "Each time we look upon the poor, on the farmworkers who harvest the coffee, the sugarcane, or the cotton... remember, there is the face of Christ."

If we treated everyone we met as if that person was God incarnate, what a different world we would have!

But for those of us who are tired from the work of this weary world, here's a message of hope and a reminder of the long view.  This prayer, while not written by him (it was written by late Bishop Ken Untener of Saginaw, drafted for a homily by Cardinal John Dearden, and misattributed to Romero), is often called the Romero prayer:  "We are workers, not master builders, ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own." 

On this day that honors a man who was not always honored, let us take heart from his words and from his example.  Let us also remember that he was not always this force for good in the world; indeed, he was chosen to be Archbishop because the upper management of the church thought he would keep his nose stuck in a book and out of politics. 

In these days that feel increasingly more perilous, let us recommit ourselves to the type of love that Romero called us to show:  "Let us not tire of preaching love; it is the force that will overcome the world."

Sermon for March 22, 2026

March 22, 2026

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott




John 11: 1-45





In the book of John, Jesus performs a series of signs and wonders, all of them miracles to show that he is the Messiah. He controlled the weather. He healed a blind man. He multiplied loaves and fishes to feed thousands. In today’s Gospel, we see the last miracle that Jesus performs before his journey to the cross and resurrection. In today’s Gospel, we see the many ways that humans respond to the real presence of God—and the ways that God responds to humans, particularly humans in distress.


The overwhelming way that humans respond to God in today’s Gospel, and throughout history too, is an attempt to control God and to force God to conform to the view of the world that humans have. All along the way, Jesus has reminded his followers, the way he reminded Nicodemus, that the movement of God is more like the wind than something that can be controlled by human forces.


Throughout today’s Gospel we see people interacting with Jesus that shows that they still don’t fully understand who he is: from suggesting that he change his travel plans early on to criticizing him for not arriving in time to trying to control the unprecedented miracle that is at hand, as we see Martha doing when she reminds Jesus that Lazarus’ body will have started to decay and stink.


Again and again, Jesus shows that he has his own timeline and his own agenda, his own world view and understanding of true power. Again and again, Jesus reminds everyone that humans might not be able to fully comprehend or understand God’s view. Again and again, he stresses that God will be glorified. But he also shows a Divine compassion. He shows that God is not immune to human grief.


Jesus also shows that God can handle our wide range of human emotions. Like the book of Psalms, we see Mary and Martha act in anger and sorrow. They believe in Jesus’ divinity, and they believe that if Jesus had come just a few days earlier, their brother wouldn’t have died. Jesus could have prevented his death, but no one can help them now. It’s good to have today’s Gospel to remind us that God can handle our anger and our grief. We can question and wish for different outcomes from God. Like Mary and Martha, we will not be punished for our doubt that God knows what is best and God is not restrained by our understanding of what is possible and how it must be achieved.


It’s easy to see today’s Gospel as telling us that Mary and Martha are vindicated for their faith, to say that because they declare Jesus to be the Messiah, that Jesus rewards them by returning their brother to them. That’s a misreading of the text that sets us up for a wobbly faith or a descent into self-loathing and believing that our faith is not strong enough when we don’t get the miracles we pray for.


We don’t have easy answers to the age old question of why God allows misfortune and sorrow. Maybe there’s a Divine plan that we’re not privy to. Maybe it’s the less comfortable part of the advantage of having free will. There’s a whole branch of theology called theodicy dedicated to exploring this problem of a loving God who does not stop pain and suffering, and there have been no end of attempts to explain. Most of these explanations leave us unsatisfied.


Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead, a miracle that can’t be explained any other way. Unlike the past miracles when Jesus raised people who had only been dead for a few hours, here he waits 4 days. There's no doubt about what he's done once he's raised Lazarus from the dead. We can't easily imagine that Lazarus has been faking his death for 4 days. Even if Lazarus wanted to help Jesus fake a miracle and put on a good show, it's hard to imagine that he'd willingly submit to being sealed in a tomb for 4 days.


This miracle sets off a chain of consequences. Mary and Martha have their brother returned to them, and this miracle leads many more to believe in Jesus. This miracle makes the religious leaders feel even more threatened, and in the next chapter of the Gospel of John, they’re not only plotting to kill Jesus, but also Lazarus. It’s a potent reminder of how powerful earthly forces almost always react when their authority is threatened. Earthly forces have a variety of ways to punish those who don’t behave the way that empires need people to conform to their vision.


Today’s Gospel has parallels to the resurrection story we’ll celebrate in two weeks. The liturgical calendar gives us this story of Lazarus to return us to one of the main themes of our religion--we believe in resurrection. If we go back to read the Gospel—any of the four Gospels—we see that Jesus has been calling us to resurrection long before he raises Lazarus or himself from the dead. We not only believe in resurrection, but we are called to practice it.


Jesus shows again and again that earthly empires don’t have our best interests at heart. Today’s Gospel tells us that communities of believers are imperfect, too, at wanting what is best for their individual members. Long before we’re in a literal tomb, earthly forces bind us in grave cloths that keep us from living lives that God intended. We warp ourselves into shapes that better fit the forces of our society, as we move through school and make decisions about what we want our lives to be. Every so often we hear the voice of the Savior who commands us to leave the graves constructed for us, but all the bindings of our culture can make it so very hard to respond.


Today’s Gospel shows us that having Jesus with us on our journey won’t save us from the grief that comes from living a human life. If we live long enough, we’ll lose a lot of what we have loved. But we won’t be alone in our grief. God weeps with us while bearing the weight of our disappointment, our grief, and our anger at the losses.


Again and again, Jesus shows us that we don’t have to accept a world that insists that we are doomed, that the situation has progressed so far that miracles are impossible. Jesus shows us that we don’t have to accept the views pressed on us by worldly leaders. Jesus also reminds us that we cannot control God, who has a timeline and an agenda and a say. Jesus tells us that the grief and grave clothes won’t have the final word. Jesus is there to command that we be unbound, free from all the forces of death that weigh us down. Jesus is there, waiting to liberate us from all the earthly graves that hold us prisoner. We might have doubts and confusions and concerns, and we might shed some tears along the way, but Jesus is there to promise, to encourage us, to unbind us from all the places and processes of death that want to hold us captive. Jesus is there, as he has always been, there to set us free.