Here’s a test for you: What was God doing on Palm Sunday? Now, we know what Jesus was doing – riding a humble donkey into Jerusalem. We know what the followers of Jesus were doing – waving palm branches and shouting "Hosanna!" And we know what the religious authorities were doing – plotting to put an end to this Jesus-phenomenon. But what was God doing while all this was going on? We’ll come back to this question in a few moments, but first, let's talk about parades.

One of the towns we lived in when I was first in the ministry really knew how to put on a parade. Oh, they didn’t have a lot of money. There was no big marching band. They made due with what they had, and what they had were lots of trucks.

The Police Department, of course, would lead the way – blue lights flashing, sirens screaming. Then came the Fire Department with its rescue vehicle and a couple of big red pumper trucks. Next came the Electric Department with its bright yellow vehicles, complete with telescoping buckets. And then came Charlie Langille, the dog officer, driving the K-9 van filled barking dogs he’d nabbed breaking the law.

After Charlie came the oil companies, with their great big tanker trucks, and the construction firms with dump trucks and payloaders and bulldozers on trailers. And then came two or three regular automobiles identified by signs on the doors that said, "Dominos Pizza Delivers." There were Phone Company vans and tow trucks, too. And always, at the very end of the parade, came the oblong shapes of the septic pumping trucks, including the one owned and operated by our good friend Tom Wright who had proudly painted his truck’s name along the side of the tank for all to see – The Prince of Poo-Poo.

And down Commonwealth Avenue they came. Engines roaring. Horns blaring. Lights flashing. Children waving. Making up for what they lacked in quality by the sheer quantity of vehicles, and noise, and enthusiasm.

It doesn’t take much to put together a parade.

And so it was on that day long ago when Jesus came to Jerusalem. His three year ministry in Galilee was ended. The time had come to go to Jerusalem and fulfill the will of his Father – which was to save the world. And the disciples – not wanting to think about the things he had said about betrayal, and arrest, and death – organized this parade.

And the Scripture tells us that a crowd lined the roadway between Bethany and Jerusalem – waving palm branches in the air (a symbol of political revolution), laying their coats on the ground (a sign of a coming king), and shouting "Hosanna! Hosanna in the highest!" which means "Save us now!" (in the political sense of the term).

It was quite a parade!

And yet, as it passes by in memory today, surely we notice something is amiss. Instead of a warhorse, Jesus rides atop a humble donkey. Instead of joyfully waving to the crowd, Jesus is weeping. And history shows us something so very important. What the disciples so desperately want to be a victory parade is actually a procession to his passion. What the disciples so desperately want to be a political crossroads turns out instead to be a road to the Cross. This, you see, is not a parade route to success, but rather the lonely road to Calvary.

And along the way, if we are willing to come to grips with them, are found some of the deepest and most profound lessons of life. Lessons that truly have the power to set us free.

Like this one. Despite our best attempts to turn life into a parade, life – it turns out – is not a parade. It is an ongoing process of dying.

Do you see? This was the issue of contention between Jesus and the disciples. He said, "I’m going up to Jerusalem to lay my life down", but they said, "Heaven forbid, Lord!"

This was not their idea of being religious. This was not their idea of productive living. This was not their idea of having a good time! Dying did not fit into their scheme of things. And so, when they got to Jerusalem, they put together this big welcome parade as if, by doing so, they could change reality.

But they couldn’t.

Because life is not a parade. Life is an ongoing process of dying.

Now, I don’t know about you, but that makes me kind of uncomfortable. Death is one of those issues that makes me a little nervous. And I think that’s true of most people.

I remember a woman in my first parish who came to talk to me. She was suffering great anxiety over the realization that had come upon her a day or two earlier that, one day, she was going to die. You know how it is when you’re young. You don’t think about things like that. You think you’re indestructible. But now, Allison – at just thirty years of age - realized for the first time that one day, she would die. What would happen to her children? What would she never get to do and experience? What would dying feel like?

And, to one degree or another, we all experience what Allison was experiencing that day. The thought of death is difficult to come to terms with.

I remember Sandy’s dad. Dying of cancer in the hospital. Over and over asking the doctor, "Am I going to die? Am I going to die?" And the doctor – perhaps caught up in his own anxiety about death – was unable to be honest with him. Jim Angell died that very day.

Death is not our favorite topic of conversation. And most of us try our best to avoid it. We go through life as if it’s a parade – a parade to Cub Scout meetings and dance recitals, a parade to graduations and weddings, a parade to career opportunities, and to church, and to retirement.

But here on Palm Sunday, we come face to face with a troubling reality.

Life is not a parade. Life is an ongoing process of dying.

And what God seeks to open our eyes to is the fact that dying is not something that happens only at the end of our lives, but all through our lives! At every turn.

The birth of a baby is a dying from the world of the womb to a cold and unfamiliar place. When a child is weaned, she’s severed from the only source of comfort and nourishment she’s known. When a child learns to walk, she walks away from his mother. When she leaves for school it’s the end of the security of home.

Growing up is a process of dying. Puberty is the death of childhood. Young adulthood is true separation from parental supervision.

And then, there’s marriage! Talk about dying!

The bride and groom may see their wedding as exuberant joy, but mom and dad sit there with tears in their eyes. Our son Peter will be married this August. I always contended that I would never perform a wedding service for one of my own children because I’m not sure I can handle it emotionally. But Pete and Melissa asked me to do the service. And I agreed. But now, I’m worried. How can you be a minister – and a parent – at the same time? There’s a kind of death there. And, in fact, marriage – to some extent – is a kind of death too. Death to privacy. Death to independence. Death to unilateral decisions. Death to the notion that there’s only one way of doing things. We die to singleness, and are faced with life as a couple.

And on and on the process goes. Dying to couplehood in order to have children. Sometimes experiencing divorce and separation. Sometimes dealing with physical death itself.

Life is not a parade. Life is an ongoing process of dying.

And to be Jesus’ disciple, you must be willing to face up to death – in all its forms.

And that leads to a second lesson from Palm Sunday. And that is that Jesus is not riding in a parade, but in fact is riding into the death experience of every human being.

Yesterday, the sanctuary was full as we celebrated the life of Alan Isphording who died on Tuesday. Alan would be tickled to know that he filled the church on a Saturday. He’d be even more tickled knowing that the church was full on Saturday despite the newspaper’s announcement that the service was on Friday!

Many people have remarked how Alan’s faith really shined during the time of his dying. I remember when he first received the diagnosis – back in June. Things didn’t look good. But Alan was determined to face cancer in the same way that he faced every other part of life. With faith in Jesus and trust in God. And I think the way I’d describe it is that Alan didn’t see Palm Sunday as some historical parade, but rather as a living promise that Jesus rides into our dying – whatever it may be. Physical death. Relational death. Psychological death. The death that comes to us at every corner. Alan trusted Jesus to ride on!

And we saw Jesus in him! Bringing life even into death from cancer.

And perhaps you can see it, too – as you face the things life has thrown at you. The breakdown in a relationship with a child, or the loss of a family member, or the problem you can’t figure out, or the diagnosis you’ve just received, or the tragedy you can’t resolve – like the one in Yugoslavia.

Can you see Jesus riding on? Can you believe that Jesus humbly enters every death you’ll ever experience?

And right there is the reason the Christian life is the not the way of the parade, but the way of the Cross. Because in Jesus, the God who loves us comes to us – wherever we are - to bring us new life! God desires to give us new love, new power, new purpose, new life-skills! But in order to get to that new life, you have to be willing to die to the old. And in order to do that, you have to learn a final lesson along the road to Calvary.

And that brings us to the question we asked earlier. What was God doing while all this was going on on Palm Sunday? Listen to Paul in Philippians 2:

What was God doing as Jesus rode into death on Palm Sunday? What is God doing as Jesus rides into the deaths we experience?

Why, God was exalting him! God was lifting him! God was raising him to higher heights than ever before!

And that is God’s promise to you. That, in letting Jesus into your moments of dying – whenever and wherever they occur – God goes to work – exalting…lifting…raising!

About one hundred years ago, a man’s experience with loss gave birth to a hymn which has been a great blessing to me and to many. His name was George Matheson, a young man who had the world by the tail both in labor and in love. He was bound for great success in business. He was engaged to a wonderful young woman. And then, suddenly, George Matheson went blind.

Back in those days, one hundred years ago, there were neither the medical treatments nor the legal protections that help disabled people today. And so, George Matheson – now blind – was unable to fulfill his employment and lost his job. His fiancée, wrestling with the perceived burden of being married to a blind man, broke off their engagement.

Perhaps there is no more bitter loneliness than that which comes from rejection. The idea that I am not worthy of someone else’s love. How painful that death must have been for George Matheson.

But George Matheson invited Christ into his loss. And over time, he found himself led to a new endeavor. He put his reflections about the loss into words, and his words to song, and these are a few of the verses of a famous hymn he wrote. Note the connection to his own loss:

George Matheson’s cross was transformed into a beautiful gift of life for millions!

You see, the power of the Cross is not exemption from suffering, but the very transformation of suffering. And the living promise Jesus is making to us as we follow him down the road to Calvary is that, when we invite him into our dying – whenever and wherever it happens – he will exalt us and transform even our dying into a gift for ourselves and for others.

So, as we ask those painful questions like - "Why do I have cancer? Why am I widowed? Why has God allowed this divorce? Why do my friends misunderstand me? Why can’t I communicate with my parents? Why did I lose the person who means most to me in the world? Why am I so terribly lonely? Why do I have this terrible problem? – even as we ask those questions for which there are no answers, we are confronted today with tremendous hope.

As Jesus rides into the deaths of life, God exalts him!

Dear friends, life is not a parade. It is an ongoing process of dying into which you and I are invited to welcome Jesus Christ – riding his humble donkey – coming to lift us high!