In the Name of God:  Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

I always find Palm Sunday a somewhat confusing day . . . we begin with such joy, and we end with such sadness . . . and then we have all of Holy Week to get through.  So I’ve been thinking all week about why we put ourselves through the telling of and listening to the Passion story on this particular Sunday . . . and it’s become a little clearer to me why we do this.  You see, I’ve been thinking about family stories.

We all have ‘em, right?  Those stories that inevitably get told when the family gathers for a holiday . . . and perhaps even more frequently get told when we come together for a wedding or a funeral.  These are stories that we tell each other to share a common memory, to cement a bond, to remind ourselves of our link . . . of our bonds to each other as a family.  And then there are those family stories that we all have, which we tell OTHERS - those outside of our families - in the hope that they will then better understand where we come from . . . better understand US.  Both of these types of stories – those we tell ourselves and those we tell others – are about identity.  They’re ultimately about reaching an understanding of who we ARE and what that MEANS.

One of my family stories is about the time I wanted to transfer from one college to another.  After high school I went to a school that my parents thought was terrific . . . Hillsdale College in southern Michigan, a very small, very conservative place . . . which also turned out to be a very BAD school.  I decided to go someplace else and, rather amazingly, was accepted by Stanford University in California . . . a very GOOD school.  And so began a war of wills between my father and me.  He was afraid I’d turn into a Communist if I went to California.  He refused to let me go to Stanford.  I thought that continuing at Hillsdale was a tremendous waste of my father’s money, and my time . . . and I refused to return.  Neither of us would budge, so I dropped out of school for a term.

Eventually we had to have the TALK.  I can still remember where each of us was seated at the kitchen table . . . my father, my mother, and me.  We weren’t in our usual places, and it was dark outside – long after dinner – a time when, normally, the three of us were never in the kitchen together.  This was clearly a momentous occasion.  I was asked, “What are you going to do with your life?”  I don’t remember what I answered – I don’t know if I HAD an answer – because very soon each of my parents was telling me what THEY thought I should do with my life.  My father talked about his expectation that I’d finish at Hillsdale and then go off to some good – conservative – law school and become an attorney.  I was flabbergasted . . . I’d never once in my life thought about being a lawyer.  Then I realized that my mother was quietly crying – one of the very few times in my life I ever saw her cry – and she said that she’d always assumed that I’d be a painter.  This made a little more sense than my father picturing me as some kind of high-falluting lawyer, because I’d drawn and painted a lot as a kid . . . but not for years, and never seriously.  And then I suddenly realized that I was hearing what had been my parents’ dreams for themselves.  My father had always wanted to be an attorney.  My mother had always wanted to be a painter.

I ended up going to Stanford.

I know this little story isn’t very dramatic or exciting, but, for those who care to consider it, it DOES reveal a great deal about me and my parents.  That’s the sort of thing that family stories do.

And the Passion story is OUR great family story . . . yours and mine, and every other Christian’s in the world . . . it is perhaps the greatest family story of all time.  It is the core and climax of each of the Gospels . . . it’s the heart of the story.  It’s so important that each of the evangelists tells it a little differently to help his particular community deal with the paradox of the cross . . . deal with the fact that in this shameful, dreadful death is the source of our identity and salvation.  We needn’t worry too much about the differences in the telling . . . trust me, my sisters and I have some very different memories of certain events in our family’s life, and we tell the stories of those events quite differently . . . but when this doesn’t lead to an argument, our different recollections actually enrich the story.  The same is true of our Gospels. 

When we hear the Passion today, I suspect that we’re likely to focus on Jesus’ physical suffering, and on whatever historical details we can glean from the story.  We may contemplate Jesus’ emotional state at his death . . . what was he thinking, what was he feeling, did he really feel abandoned by God?  There’s nothing wrong with these questions, in fact speculations and meditations like these can actually help us to enter into the story more deeply . . . considering what Jesus may have thought and seen, tasted and felt can help us to deepen our identification with Jesus . . . and these can be worthwhile spiritual exercises.  But this is not the only way to approach . . . to hear and consider . . . the Passion story.  In fact, I daresay that it was not Matthew’s primary intention.

For Matthew, and for each of the evangelists, the point of the story is to help us understand and claim our identity as Christians . . . and ultimately receive salvation.  And because of this, none of the Passion stories is an appeal to pity . . . or to sorrow . . . or even to repentance . . . although we understandably may experience each of these feelings.  Rather, the Passion narratives witness to the presence of God.  That’s what each of the evangelists is showing his community:  that God is at work . . . that God’s purpose is unfolding through these dreadful events.  Matthew does this in his particular way.  He grounds Jesus’ death in Jewish tradition . . . filling the story with biblical phrases and themes.  Matthew is concerned to show that Jesus’ death occurred in a way that corresponds to predictions about the Messiah in the Hebrew Scriptures.  He does this in response to the needs of his particular community . . . so that they can hear the story and respond with faith.  The evangelists yearn for us to hear the story of Jesus and respond with FAITH.  The Passion story is an invitation to BELIEVE.

For those of us who have claimed our identity as Christians, attempting to follow Christ, attempting to live as the Body of Christ in the world, this is a family story to remind us of who we are and the meaning of our identity.  For those not yet in the family, this is a story offered to explain ourselves, and to point out some crucial qualities of our Christian family, the Body of Christ.  For everyone, the Passion story is a call to follow the pattern of Jesus.  We are all called to become Christ-like.  Despite our own pain and anguish, we are not to turn away from the pain of others.  We are not to withdraw from the challenges facing us, but to respond to them with compassion, love, and patience.  We must give ourselves away to each other and to the world.  And should the world reject us . . . and our belief in the ultimate triumph of love, and reconciliation, and truth . . . we must nevertheless stay true to our Lord and Savior . . . to God the Almighty.  No matter what, we must stand firm in our identity and embrace the meaning of being a Christian.

Just as God was present with and in Jesus, God is present here NOW.  God is with us NOW.  God is active . . . working in and through us . . . NOW.  Follow Jesus.  Anchor yourselves in God, and God’s presence will be revealed.  Hear our family story, the story of the Passion, and BELIEVE.

Amen.

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