Help us! Save us! Hosanna!

A sermon preached with the people of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Oakland, California.

Here we are, in the great cosmic crowd gathered through space-time, lining the streets of Jerusalem, and the streets of Oakland, and the streets of countless cities and towns, past, present and yet to come.

Waving palms. Throwing garments of clothing to the ground. Anything to show our commitment to this movement; this movement Jesus has been teaching about and preaching about. This movement that tells us to get ready for a new world order that is just before us. A revolution that is just before us.

One where the powerful will fall from their thrones and the hungry will inherit the earth. Where foreign empires will no longer occupy and oppress local populations. Where every human being marginalized by systems of persecution will be empowered. Where children will not suffer and die in the crosshairs of geopolitical conflict; will not die from routine gun violence; will not be imprisoned instead of cared for; will not suffer from starvation or illness as a result of corporate greed and public indifference.

As we watch our God-with-us ride by today, not on a grand steed, but on a donkey; lampooning the showy customs of the occupying empire, we shout and we sing: hosanna! .

Hosanna. It’s a word that rolls off the tongue. It feels like a whole prayer unto itself. It’s a Hebrew word. An ancient word, even to those gathered in Jerusalem on that day so long ago.

As Christians, we’re accustomed to thinking about hosanna as almost a stand-in for that Alllllword I’ll refrain from saying until Saturday night. We tend to think of hosanna as a word of highest praise, a word of celebration: hooray! or thank you! or praise God!

But in the Hebrew Bible, including in Psalm 118 referenced in Mark’s Gospel today, hosanna … is a cry for help. It can be translated as “save us” or “help us.” So let’s go back to that day in Jerusalem. And let’s imagine that as we wave our palms the loud shouts from the crowd on all sides are saying: “Help us!” “Save us!” “Rescue us!” “Help us!” “Save us!” “Rescue us!”

It’s different, right? It’s less of a prideful cheer, and more of a vulnerable cry.

But, we’re not supposed to be vulnerable on this day, it’s Palm Sunday! It’s supposed to be about triumph! Jesus is King!

But Jesus tells us he is not interested kingship. What he does seem to be interested in is showing us how to be vulnerable; how to ask for help, and how to receive help. Jesus himself asks for help more than once in our Passion narrative today.

Jesus asks his friends to sit with him while he prays, to stay awake with him. He asks God to spare him his fate. And when he receives the help and the comfort of anointing with oil from a female disciple, the other disciples scold her. Perhaps not only because of the expense and extravagance of using the fine oil, but also the discomfort of seeing their leader, their God, receiving such care; in such a vulnerable state. It’s a sentiment that’s echoed when Peter protests when Jesus insists on washing his feet – a practice of the vulnerability of helping one another that many of us will experience together on Maundy Thursday.

The hard thing about asking for help – about crying hosanna — is it reminds us that we do not have power over all things. Jesus knows this. The joyful thing about asking for help is that it reminds us that God holds all the real power there is. Jesus knows this too.

Help us. Save us. Hosanna.

When we allow ourselves to say “this is not right” and cry out for help – even if it’s not popular, even if it’s scary or dangerous to do so. When we admit that we need help to change these things, we may just find a deeper sense of where that real power lies, and a deeper commitment to the ever-unfolding change movement of God.

Climate change. Hosanna! Homelessness, poverty, and hunger. Hosanna! War and violence. Hosanna! Our own personal and internal struggles. Hosanna!

Even as Jesus rides by, and we cry our hosannas, we know where he is headed. We know this story leads us to the foot of the cross and ultimately, unbelievably, unimaginably, we know that Easter waits on the other side. And, friends, we know that is where we find our help. Always and forever.

But right now, we are still among the crowd in Jerusalem, holding our palms. And this week we will eat together, wash one another’s feet, mourn together, and hear one another’s stories. We will feel the vulnerability and discomfort that comes with asking for help, with helping, and allowing ourselves to be helped.

This is a week that prepares us for the journey ahead, as we continue on, as part of this cosmic crowd; as followers of Jesus, and part of this change movement of God.

Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna!