There are moments in life when everything comes down to a single question. Not a hundred small decisions, but one deep, defining choice. Palm/Passion Sunday is one of those defining moments of choice. It is not just a story of Palm celebration and Passion sorrow. It is not just about palms and passion…It is a story of two parades: two ways of being in the world, two understandings of power, two paths for the human soul. And whether we realize it or not, we are always choosing which parade we are part of. This morning, we ponder which parade we will march in?
Historically, Jerusalem is full. Passover crowds have gathered, tension is high, and the people remember their story. It is a story of liberation even as they live under the shadow of empire. They remember God’s deliverance: out of Egypt (and later) out of Babylon; out of Assyria. As the crowds assemble, Rome responds the way Rome always does. From one side of the city, Pontius Pilate enters on a warhorse, surrounded by soldiers, armour gleaming, power on full display. It is a parade of domination, sending a clear message: control brings peace, force brings order, power secures life. From the other side of the city, Jesus enters on a donkey: a borrowed colt. Just take that contrast in for a moment. Not a warhorse; but a colt. Not even one he owned but borrowed. And surrounded, not by soldiers, but by ordinary people. There is no armour, no weapons, just cloaks on the road and branches in their hands as they cry out, “Hosanna! Praise God!” It is a different kind of parade, a different kind of power. Which parade will you march in?
This is where the question begins to take shape: into what parade will we march? These are not just ancient images; they are living realities still with us today. They show up in how we live, how we lead, and how we respond to fear, suffering, and uncertainty. Rome’s parade of power-over says, “Fix it. Control it. Win at all costs. Dominate over it. Do not show weakness.” We know this voice well, especially when life feels fragile. I’ve been sharing some of my recent learnings through Death Doula end-of-life care process, one of the most striking insights is how deeply our culture resists vulnerability. We avoid it, we even medicalize it, we try to outpace it. As Atul Gawande writes in his wise book Being Mortal, modern medicine has become very good at extending life, but not always at helping us understand what it means to live well in the face of death. And so we push forward; we hold on; we try to control the uncontrollable. That is Rome’s parade…even today.
But Jesus offers something radically different. Not control, but presence. Not domination, but compassion. Not power-over, but power-with. One of the most meaningful questions I have learned to ask in my pastoral ministry over the years is: not “What’s wrong?” or “How do we fix this?” but something much simpler: “How are you?” “How has your morning been?” “How did you sleep?” These are simple questions, but they require something profound, don’t they? They require attention, presence, and listening. So often these kind of questions are ‘throw away questions’ in our world. ‘Hi, How are you?’ and the person really doesn’t listen for an answer. But, to ask them honestly means we must slow down, let go of control, and be willing to sit with what we cannot fix. “How are you?” “How has your morning been?” “How did you sleep?” What these questions require are what Psychologist Dr. Kristin Neff has developed in her leading work on self-compassion. In her book “Self Compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself” she defines it as the courage to meet suffering with kindness instead of judgment. She goes further and suggests self-compassion may be the one skill that could change the world. And there is something deeply aligned between her insight and the way of Christ. The parade of Jesus is a parade of compassion. It is a way of moving through the world that says, “You are not a problem to be solved. You are a person to be loved.” Two parades…which one will you march in?
As the story unfolds, the tone shifts. The cheers fade, and we move into the trial. Pilate stands again, representing the system of power, while Jesus stands before him embodying a different way. The crowd is given a choice: Barabbas or Jesus, violence or vulnerability, control or compassion. They choose what feels strong. They choose Barabbas. They choose the parade of power-over. And then there is Judas. Judas, who walked with Jesus, listened, and followed. And when everything collapses, he cannot bear the weight of it, and he is overcome by despair. In end-of-life care, there is a deep awareness of this kind of moment. When a person feels there is no way forward, when meaning slips away, when the weight becomes too much. One of the most important practices in those moments is simply to be there, to listen, to sit beside someone without trying to fix them, to offer presence instead of solutions. It raises a haunting question: what if Judas had experienced that kind of presence? What if, instead of isolation and shame, he had encountered compassion? Despair often grows in the silence, in disconnection, in the belief that we are alone in our failure. Two parades…which one will you march in?
This brings us to the heart of our series. As we have been considering Eric Erickson’s final stage of life: finding integrity versus wallowing in despair. Life integration is not about perfection; it is about staying connected: to God, to others, and to our own humanity…even when, especially when, things fall apart. Despair says, “It’s over. There’s no coming back. You are alone.” Integrity says, “Stay. Breathe. For God is still here.” So the question remains: in what parade will you march? This question meets us in very real places. It meets us in how we respond to suffering, in whether we try to fix everything or learn to be fully present. It meets us in whether we judge ourselves harshly or practice deep self-compassion. In the death doula training, I learned another simple but powerful question we can ask: “Where would you like to meet?” At home, on a walk, in a place that feels safe. It is not a simple, spatial question. It is a deeper question of dignity; of meeting people where they are. And that is exactly what (I think) Jesus does. He does not demand that we come to him on Rome’s terms; he comes to us…on a road, at a table, at a feast where there is not enough. In short he meets us in the ordinary places of life...and makes it extraordinary!
To be clear, the parade of Jesus does not avoid suffering; it does exactly the opposite. It walks straight into it, but it does so with compassion, with presence, and with love. Rome’s parade ends in death, but Jesus’ parade passes through death (and as you know how the story ends) and into life. Still, today we are not at Easter yet. We stand in the tension, at the crossroads, still choosing, still listening, still learning what it means to walk with integrity instead of walking with despair. Perhaps the invitation is not towards one of perfection but rather an invitation to practice: to practice compassion with others and with ourselves, to practice presence in a world that rushes past pain, to practice courage, not the courage to dominate, but the courage to stay. To stay present, to stay open, to stay connected, stay through the night. And when we reach our limits, when we stand in places that feel like endings, we remember this: we do not have to carry it alone. The one who rides the donkey, walks beside us still. And he walks, not with force but with love. He walks not to control our lives but to be present within them. All the while, aasking, “How are you? Can I walk with you? Will you trust that new-life is still possible?” So choose, my friends, choose the parade of compassion. Choose the parade of presence. Choose the parade of courageous love. Even when the road leads to the cross, we know that it does not end there. And that is the hope that saves us from despair and leads us on the path towards the new life Jesus promises.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.