March 29, 2026
The Sunday of Passion: Palm Sunday – Mark S. Winward
The Paradox of the Palms
As we reflect on Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem and his ultimate death on the cross this Palm Sunday, I want to suggest that the palms we blessed this morning are more than just greenery; they are tangible symbols of our faith, our sin, and our redemption. Even in the midst of betrayal, pain, and tragedy, God’s grace will not be thwarted. It stands out in the darkness as a beacon of hope.
Today, we recall that triumphal entry of Jesus on a donkey, processing up the road to Jerusalem strewn with palms while the crowd proclaimed: “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David! Hosanna in the highest!” Yet, the contrast is jarring. Just a few days later, those same people will be shouting, “Crucify him!” In less than a week, raised hands of praise transform into shaking fists of condemnation. Each year, many Christians throughout the world act out this drama on the only Sunday that rightly bears two titles: Palm Sunday and Passion Sunday. As we hold these palms, we find a tangible connection with that crowd—a connection that both glorifies and condemns Jesus. These palms represent the mystery of our own salvation and our own blame. The same crowd that glorifies him also betrays him, and you and I might just as well be standing among them.
Misunderstanding the Messiah
The ancient Judeans had already decided what kind of “messiah” God was going to send them. They believed the true messiah could only come to free Israel from the yoke of tyranny. They had undoubtedly seen many self-proclaimed messiahs come and go, but there was something different about this man. There were the wild stories of him healing the blind, making the lame walk, and even raising the dead, but it was his disarming words and powerful presence that truly captivated the people. Although his parables were often cryptic, there was something about them that made the heart burn with truth. His humility clothed a strength of character befitting royalty, and when he preached that “the kingdom of God is at hand,” the people were certain: this had to be the King of Israel, David’s royal Son, the Blessed One who comes in the name of the Lord.
A Kingdom not of This World
God had far greater intentions for “David’s Son” than the people, priests, or prophets could have ever imagined. Jesus entered Jerusalem as a King intent on freeing not just Israel, but all people. The crowds were right to recognize him as a King coming to claim his crown and throne; they simply did not realize that his crown would be made of thorns and his throne would be an executioner’s cross. Like the people on that first Palm Sunday, we remember the proclamation of Jesus as our King, but Palm Sunday cannot be separated from Passion Sunday—for it is in Christ’s Passion that his kingship shines the brightest.
The Fickleness of Faith
Like the ancient Judeans, we too have a tendency to decide what kind of a king God has sent us. We are often prepared to accept the coming of God’s kingdom only on our own terms, rather than allowing God to shape our character and our lives. Ironically, although the people of ancient Jerusalem proclaimed Jesus as their king, they inevitably rejected both him and his message. We can imagine them questioning how a Nazarene carpenter could possibly be the messiah, or how he dared to disrupt the temple and speak of a “kingdom not of this world.” In the span of a few days, public opinion catastrophically turned. Those very same people who proclaimed Jesus their king later shouted at his trial, “Let him be crucified!” Even Peter, Jesus’ closest friend and confidant, denied any association with him. In a dramatic reversal, the man welcomed only a few days earlier in a magnificent victory parade was left betrayed and friendless.
Standing Among the Crowd
Could any of us really have been among those people who condemned Jesus? We often dismiss that murderous crowd as a group of worked-up, ignorant first-century peasants, but a quick look at modern history dispels such misconceptions. In fact, we have all become all too used to the violence, injustice, and oppression we see on the news. In accepting this as our “normal,” we passively reject the message of Jesus and his kingdom. It was more than just the corporate sin of the world that led Jesus to the cross; it was also our personal and individual sin. Every time we turn aside from God’s way of love to follow our own selfish paths, we reject Jesus. The sting of sin is that it ultimately separates us from our true selves, our neighbors, and our communion with God. Yet, despite our choice to go our own way, Jesus chose the path of the Cross for the very people who rejected him. In doing so, he bridged the gap between a lost humanity and a holy, righteous God.
Redemption in Suffering
Centuries before Jesus stepped foot on this earth, the prophet Isaiah proclaimed:
He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain. Like one from whom people hide their faces he was despised, and we held him in low esteem. Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering, yet we considered him punished by God, stricken by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed. We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all. (Isaiah 53:3-6).
Through the incarnate Son, God experiences the suffering and pain we inflict on each other. Through the Son, God suffers the penalty of death in our place and demonstrates His infinite love for us.
In a sense, the people’s expectations of the Messiah were right—Jesus certainly came to free us from the yoke of tyranny, but it was the tyranny of sin. Those palms we hold become both a confession of faith and an admission of the sin that ultimately brings Jesus to the cross. Without the rest of the story regarding Jesus’ loving sacrifice, Palm Sunday is hollow. Each time we hear that story, we know the triumphal entry will end in betrayal and death; yet in that death lies the way of redemption. In acknowledging his sacrifice in our hearts, we can genuinely exalt him as King of Kings and Lord of Lords. As you reflect today, remember that these palms are symbols of our faith, our sin, and our redemption. In the words of Isaiah, “All we like sheep have gone astray.” Indeed, we are that Jerusalem crowd!
Amen.
March 22, 2026
The Fifteh Sunday in Lent – Mark S. Winward
Lazarus and the Lord of Life
In the Gospel of John, the story of Lazarus—the brother of Mary and Martha—serves as a turning point in Jesus’ ministry. When Jesus arrives in Bethany, Lazarus has already been dead for four days – and that’s far from accidental. In first-century Jewish thought, it was believed that the soul lingered near the body for three days, hoping to re-enter it. However, once the body began to decompose on the fourth day, the soul was said to depart for good. By waiting until the fourth day, John ensures readers understand Lazarus wasn’t merely unconscious or resuscitated; he was definitively, irreversibly, dead.
The Anatomy of the Tomb
To understand the scene, we have to appreciate how burials took place in first century Palestine. Lazarus would have been buried in a rock-cut tomb, typical of those found throughout the Judean hills. These tombs functioned as family property. The body of the deceased was prepared, wrapped, and laid upon a burial bench within a stone-hewn tunnel to decompose. Around a year later, family members would return to gather the bones and place them in an ossuary—a stone burial box—which was then stored on shelves alongside other ancestors. The entrance to these tombs was often sealed with a massive, wheel-shaped “rolling stone” fitted into a stone channel. This is also the exact type of tomb we see later in the Easter story.
March 18, 2026
The Feast of the Annunciation – Mark S. Winward
The Scandal of the Ordinary
If you were planning a global revolution—the kind that would alter the fabric of time, reset the calendar to “Year Zero,” and bridge the gap between the Infinite and the finite—you probably wouldn’t start in Nazareth.
In the first century, Nazareth was the definition of “nowhere.” It was a tiny, farming, backwater village in Galilee. It didn’t have the prestige of Jerusalem or the intellectual weight of Athens. It was the kind of place people came from, not a place anyone of importance went to. And yet, as we see in Luke 1, when God decides to step into His own creation, He bypasses the marble halls of the Temple and the golden thrones of the capital. Instead, He sends the Archangel Gabriel to a girl in a village that most “serious” people couldn’t find on a map.
There is a profound, holy wisdom in God’s geography. He loves to work in the margins.
The Disruption of Grace
The text tells us that Mary was “greatly troubled” by Gabriel’s greeting. Now, let’s be honest: if a celestial being appeared in your living room and shouted, “Greetings, highly favored one!” you’d be troubled, too. You’d probably be looking for the exit or checking to see if you’d accidentally eaten a questionable mushroom.
But Mary’s trouble wasn’t just about the supernatural pyrotechnics. It was about the word “favored.”
March 15, 2026
The Fourth Sunday of Lent – Byron Tindall
Welcome to the Fourth Sunday in Lent. Notice the preposition “in.” In is used rather than “of.” If you look carefully at a calendar and do a little counting, Sundays are not included in the 40 days. At any rate, this fourth Sunday in Lent has also gone by another name for centuries.
How many of you have heard and know the meaning of “Mothering Sunday”? Those of you who know about Mothering Sunday have my permission to take a short power nap if you desire to do so.
The Church of England website is full of information about the Fourth Sunday in Lent.
“Here are some of the traditions that have shaped Mothering Sunday into the celebration recognized today:
“The Journey to the Mother Church
“In the 16th century, Mothering Sunday was less about mothers and more about church. Back then, people were given time off and would make a journey to their ‘mother’ church once a year. This might have been their home church, their nearest cathedral or a major parish church in a bigger town. The service which took place at the ‘mother’ church symbolized the coming together of families. This would have represented a significant journey for many.
“A day off to visit Mother
“Another tradition was to allow those working in the fields on wealthy farms and estates in England to have the day off on the fourth Sunday of Lent to visit their mothers and possibly go to church too.