Note: You can view this teaching on our YouTube Channel. Palm Sunday recalls the day that Jesus entered Jerusalem for his last Passover festival (Luke 19:28-40).  Some call it The Triumphal Entry, as many of his followers lined the streets, laying their out cloaks out on the ground as a sort of red-carpet treatment, waiving palm branches like sports fans would with rally rags.  The orchestration of the entrance carried a really important detail on Jesus’ part – his choice of transportation – which was not lost on his original audience.  He rode a young donkey, a pack animal, a humble creature.  He did not come in on a white stallion like some early form of the Lone Ranger to right wrongs. The borrowed donkey communicated that he came in peace, with peace, for peace, and his fans celebrated it as best they could with what they had.  This begs a question: what does it mean for us to honor Jesus today?  What does it mean for us to lay our cloaks down? 

     I saw an interview with John Batiste.  He was nominated for eleven Grammys this past Sunday, and won five, including best album.  There were several remarkable things that jumped out at me from his interview that I see as particularly relevant to how we engage Palm Sunday.

     Twelve Notes. We all have twelve notes with which to play our song. We are all playing something whether we intend to or not.  Are we aware of the song we are playing?  Are we intentional about what we want to play?  Are we happy with the tune?  What would we change? Playing our notes with intentionality as Jesus followers is an act of laying down our cloaks.

     The Music Plays Us. The music expresses us, even leads us. Batiste suggests a spiritual quality to music, speaking about how the music leads him, plays him, as much as he plays it.  This makes me wonder what soundtrack is accompanying our lives, maybe leading our lives.  This is different than choosing what to do with our twelve notes.  This is more about listening to the tune and tone of the current music of our lives and letting it speak to us, teach us about ourselves, and express ourselves in ways words cannot.  The Apostle Paul referred to a glimpse of this when he said that the Spirit of God groans with sighs too deep for words (Romans 8:26).  How are we letting the music play us? This is an act of laying down our cloak.

     Defiance.  Batiste spoke of the decision he and his long-time girlfriend made to get married as an act of defiance.  Suleika Jaouad is an American writer who wrote about her battle with leukemia she fought while in her 20’s.  She is now battling a more aggressive form in her 30’s.  Offering each other marriage vows was, for them, a statement that their commitment is for thick and thin, and that their hope is greater than the challenges they face.  Their vow was a statement of hope for better days to come, of light from a place of darkness.  When we pledge our allegiance to following the Way of Jesus, we are making a vow, saying that we believe in the Way even though it might feel like the world doesn’t recognize or want it.  It is a belief that there are better days ahead.  This is an act of spreading our cloaks.  Marriage vows as an act of defiance.  Batiste noted that “the darkness will try to overtake you, but just turn on the light, focus on the light, hold onto the light.”  Reminds me of John’s Prologue (John 1:5): “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it.”

     The majority in the crowd that first Palm Sunday were like us.  They resonated with Jesus along some shared lines, for sure.  They liked his peaceful approach even though they probably found themselves in tension with visions of revolt as well. By laying down their cloaks, they were giving public allegiance to Jesus, a public statement that carried weight.  Fans of Jesus took note and celebrated with them. Those who took issue with Jesus (as well of those who Jesus took issue with) did, too, implying that there was some level of vulnerability and risk just for their act of support that day.  This was their act of playing their twelve notes in the moment, as best they could.

     As the week ensued, I wonder how the music played them.  As they recognized that Jesus wasn’t going to lead a violent revolt, and that his nonviolent approach wasn’t going to change anything quickly, how did such music begin to play them?  Were they open to what was being played?  More of a song of mourning and struggle than a victory march?  Or did they willfully choose to reject it like Judas?  How open are we to listening to the songs our experiences play, letting it soothe us, heal us, lead us forward?

     This Sunday led Jesus to Good Friday when their heralded leader was executed.  Not quickly.  Not quietly, but publicly.  While throngs of people looked on.  Those who loved Jesus to the end and beyond: I wonder how their ongoing commitment to Jesus was an act of defiance.  They chose not to take up arms and get themselves killed.  They chose to remain the people of Jesus who followed the Way he taught, which was deeply rooted in the Jewish tradition.  They carried on in hope, against the threat of Rome and corrupt Jewish leadership. For a lot of contemporary Jesus followers, the ongoing violence expressed in myriad ways in our world can be completely disheartening.  Palm Sunday invites us to say yes to this Way, to spread our cloaks as an act of faith, as a way of saying that even though it can appear that the darkness is everywhere, the light shines brighter, and we choose to be people of light.

     Every day is Palm Sunday. What is your cloak? Where have you spread it?