Palm Sunday C
St. Dunstan’s
April 13, 2025
The Rev. Patricia Templeton
We entered church today at one of the highpoints of Jesus’ ministry – his entry into Jerusalem.
Jesus is at long last coming into the city that is the political and religious center of life in his part of the world – and he is entering it in glory, surrounded by throngs of people filled with excitement at seeing him.
So excited that they throw their cloaks in front of him to pave his way into the city.
So excited that they raise their arms in the air as he passes.
So excited that they shout words of praise, exalting him as king.
In fact, they are so loud that someone suggests to Jesus that he tell them to be quiet. And Jesus responds, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”
What an odd thing to say – that the very stones will cry out if the people of God are silent.
But the people aren’t silent that day. They are loud in their praise. And so Jesus goes into Jerusalem.
* * *
Several years ago I was taking a preaching class in Washington DC just before Holy Week. I had just finished reading Luke’s account of that first Palm Sunday when I put aside my books to go to the Holocaust museum.
So the images of Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem were very fresh in my mind when I entered the museum and walked into the first room to see a film on Hitler’s rise to power.
And suddenly there was before me on the screen a triumphant procession into a city that was the center of culture and politics in that land. And at the center of this procession was a man who had risen from obscurity to a position of great power and authority.
And the people thronged about him, and threw flowers on the path ahead of him and waved their arms at him, shouting praise.
The very scene I had read from Scripture just hours earlier was being played out on the screen in front of me.
But the man making this triumphant entry into the center of power was not Jesus, preaching a gospel of love and healing.
It was Hitler, preaching a gospel of fear and hate.
* * *
I came out of the film stunned and deeply disturbed at the juxtaposition of my images of Scripture and the images of the film.
Deeply disturbed that in those two scenes Jesus and Hitler seemed to be playing the same role.
Deeply disturbed that good and evil could look so much alike.
Deeply disturbed that I could look at an image of Hitler and see the face of Jesus.
The faces of Hitler and Jesus continued to haunt me as I made my way through the rest of the museum. But those faces that came together in the film of Hitler’s procession into Berlin quickly diverged.
Hitler’s triumphant entry into Berlin led him to the heart of political power, to an evil kingdom built on fear and hatred, a kingdom culminating in the death camps of Auschwitz and Dachau.
Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem culminated in his death, a victim of the same kind of fear and hatred that Hitler proclaimed.
The film of Hitler’s procession may have reminded me of Palm Sunday. But the rest of my tour through the Holocaust museum was like walking through Holy Week itself.
No longer did I see Jesus in the face of Hitler. Now, I saw Jesus in the face of every victim of the Holocaust.
* * *
The horror of Holy Week is not simply that Jesus died. The horror is in the betrayal, the false accusations, the shame of being stripped naked, the agony of being beaten, the humiliation of being made to carry the instrument of one’s own death, of dying publicly while people mocked and scorned.
That Jesus died is tragic. But the horror lies in the way in which he died – a death that robbed him of all dignity, a death of humiliation and agony, a death of shame and abandonment.
That is the kind of death that was displayed before me as I walked through the Holocaust museum.
Over and over again the pictures and films and artifacts told the story of betrayal, false accusations, humiliation, nakedness, beatings, mocking and scorn. Of horrible public deaths without dignity or respect. Deaths of humiliation and agony; deaths of shame and abandonment.
And I saw the face of Jesus in the face of every victim of the Holocaust. And I felt as if I were witnessing the events of Holy Week – that walking through the museum was like walking from Palm Sunday to the Cross.
The last room of the Holocaust Museum is called the Hall of Remembrance. It is a simple, solemn room with a flame burning in eternal memory of all who died in this great horror.
As I stood in the room I noticed a small plaque on the wall across from me. I walked over to look at it. It said, “This hall was built with stones from Jerusalem.”
* * *
And suddenly, the words of Jesus as he entered Jerusalem came back to me. “I tell you, if these people were silent, the very stones would shout out.”
Almost 2,000 years ago the voices that so loudly praised Jesus as he entered Jerusalem were largely silent after he was arrested; silent as he was betrayed, stripped, beaten, mocked and scorned; silent as he was nailed to the cross and died.
Ninety years ago the voices of God’s people were largely silent as Hitler came to power; silent as 6 million Jews and hundreds of thousands of others deemed less than human were betrayed, arrested, stripped, beaten and humiliated; silent as they were gassed to death in camps across Europe.
And now, out of that silence, the very stones of Jerusalem cry out.
And I wondered, as I stood there in stunned silence, listening to the anguished cries of the stones of Jerusalem – when are the times that I have been silent?
When have I turned away when I’ve seen another human being treated unfairly because she was poor?
When have I been quiet when someone makes a racist remark?
When have I been silent when someone in the crowd tells a degrading joke about Muslims or Jews or women or immigrants or gays?
When have I failed to speak out at what I know is injustice? When have we all failed to counter the rhetoric of fear and hatred with the gospel of love and justice?
I know that too many times I have been silent. I know that too many times we – the people of God – have been silent.
Today we enter into Holy Week. We enter into the betrayal, humiliation and death of our Lord Jesus Christ. And we remember the words he said as he began the last week of his life – “If the people of God are silent, the very stones will cry out.”
As we walk through this horrible, holy week, I invite you to think of the times when you – a person of God – have been silent.
And as you go about this week – as you go to work or to school or to church, as you walk to the store, or the mailbox, or the playground – look at the stones under your feet.
What stories of anguish will they cry out to future generations if we are silent?
Amen.