What Kind of King?

Jesus challenges our assumptions about power, status, and position

The Liturgy of the Palms

Matthew 21:1-11

Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29

The Liturgy of the Word

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Philippians 2:5-11

Matthew 26:14- 27:66

or Matthew 27:11-54

Psalm 31:9-16

©2026 The Rev. Seth Olson

This sermon was preached on Palm Sunday: The Sunday of the Passion at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL. A video of the sermon may be found here. 

Holy God, may my words be your words and when my words are not your

words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

I wonder what kind of king they thought they were getting. That question has been rattling around in my brain all week. Because this week begins with excitement. Energy. Movement. A kind of holy parade.

Jesus comes into Jerusalem, and people start throwing their cloaks on the road. They wave branches. They shout, “Hosanna!” which doesn’t mean “praise God,” but something more like, “Save us now!”

And fair enough. If you had lived under the shadow of empire…
if you had known instability, oppression, religious anxiety, political fear…
if you had been longing for God to finally do something…
you might shout too. “Save us now!”

But here’s the curious thing: Jesus does not arrive the way kings normally arrive. No war horse. No army. No chariot. No spectacle of force.

He comes on a donkey. Not exactly the image of domination. 

He comes in humility. 

He comes in vulnerability. 

He comes in peace.

And so I wonder:
Did they really want this king?

Or did they envision a different kind of savior entirely?

A savior who would crush enemies.
A savior who would make things easy.
A savior who would fix the world quickly and on their terms.

And before we get too hard on them, I think that question belongs to us too.

What kind of Christ do we actually want? What sort of Jesus do we seek?

Do we yearn for one who blesses our plans, confirms our assumptions, and defeats the people we don’t like?

Or do we desire the Jesus who comes gently… 

who refuses the way of domination… 

who rides into the center of power without becoming power as the world understands it?

Palm Sunday is strange that way. It begins with praise, but it does not let us stay there in a shallow kind of triumph. In this liturgy, we move from palms to Passion. From “Hosanna!” to the story of suffering and the cross. And maybe that is because the Church, in her wisdom, knows how quickly human beings can change.

How quickly devotion can become disappointment. 

How quickly excitement can sour when Christ does not perform according to our expectations. 

How quickly we can praise a Messiah on Sunday and resist him by Friday.

So maybe Palm Sunday is not just a celebration. Maybe it is also an unveiling. Maybe it reveals the kind of king Jesus is. And maybe it reveals the kind of disciples we still struggle to be. 

Because Jesus does not enter Jerusalem to seize control. 

He enters Jerusalem to give himself away. 

He does not come to reign by fear. 

He comes to reign by love. 

He does not come to save by standing far off from human pain. 

He comes to enter it fully.

And that means this day is not just asking, “Will you wave a branch?”

It is asking, “Will you follow?” 

Will you follow this Jesus into the week ahead? 

Will you follow him to the table on Maundy Thursday, where love kneels down to wash feet? 

Will you follow him to Good Friday, where the love of God refuses to turn away from suffering? 

Will you follow him into the silence of Holy Saturday, where nothing seems resolved and yet God is not absent? 

That, I think, is the invitation of Palm Sunday. Not just to admire Jesus, the Christ. Not just to cheer for Our Lord. But to follow him.

And not the Jesus of our fantasies. 

The real Jesus. 

The humble one. 

The peaceful one. 

The brave one. 

The one who enters the holy city not to destroy, but to redeem.

So perhaps the most faithful thing we can do today is hold our palms with gratitude and honesty. Yes, gratitude — because Christ has come to us. But also humble honesty — because we do not always know what kind of king we are asking for.

And still, he comes.

Still, he comes to us in humility.
Still, he comes to us in mercy.
Still, he comes to us not as a tyrant, but as love in the flesh.

So let us greet him with joy.
And let us follow him with courage.
One day at a time.
Through the whole holy week.

Amen.

Love Lays Everything Aside

 

This week, Love lays everything else aside, will we do the same?

The Liturgy of the Palms

Luke 19:28-40

Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29

The Liturgy of the Word

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Philippians 2:5-11

Luke 22:14-23:56

or Luke 23:1-49

Psalm 31:9-16

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

This sermon was preached on Palm Sunday at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL.  A video of the sermon may be found here.

Holy God, may my words be your words and when my words are not your words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.

Today, Palm Sunday, is a rollercoaster of a day. We begin with shouts of Hosanna—palm branches waving, children smiling, we are giving parade vibes, for sure! And we end in silence, with Jesus taken down from the cross. Joy and devastation in the same hour. Triumph and tragedy, held together.

With such a wide array of the human experience, perhaps what this Sunday most invites is not understanding, but presence—a willingness to stay with Jesus, even as the story devolves into tragedy.

When the disciples first followed Jesus into Jerusalem, they were hopeful. The crowd was energized. Jesus looked like the kind of leader they had been praying for. But not long after, things got confusing. Jesus washed their feet instead of raising a sword. He offered his body and blood instead of battle plans. He knelt in a garden and wept.

And slowly, one by one, his friends disappeared. One betrayed him. Another denied him. Most simply vanished into the shadows.

The story of this week—this Holy Week—isn’t just the story of what Jesus did for us. It’s also the story of how easily we leave when love starts to cost us something.

But here’s the good news: Jesus doesn’t abandon us, even when we abandon him.

In Philippians, we’re told to “let the same mind be in us that was in Christ Jesus.” That’s not just a call to think like Jesus—it’s a call to live like him. To take on the posture of humility. To empty ourselves. To make room for others. To choose love over pride, vulnerability over power, presence over comfort.

It’s not an easy way. But it’s the way of Christ.

So, as we begin this holiest of weeks, I offer you this invitation:

Don’t rush ahead to Easter. Stay with the story.
Stay when the crowd turns angry.
Stay when the silence grows heavy.
Stay when your heart breaks.
Because it’s in the staying that resurrection takes root.

Let this week shape you—not just as a memory of what happened long ago, but as a living call to walk the way of love. Because this world still needs the peace that rides in on a donkey. This world still needs people who choose mercy over vengeance, courage over fear, presence over escape.

So stay with Jesus. And, let God’s story unfold in you.

Amen.

Two Processions

 

One parade had warhorses and sword-wielding soldiers, the other had a donkey and palm-waving peasants. Which procession will you join?

The Liturgy of the Palms

Mark 11:1-11

The Liturgy of the Word

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Philippians 2:5-11

Mark 14:33-15:39

 

 

 

©2024 The Rev. Seth Olson

 

Holy God, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

 

This week I watched some clips of the Homewood Patriots Marching Band performing in the St. Patrick’s Day Parade in Dublin, Ireland. I love parades. Often I have taken Teddy to Christmas Parades or turned on the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade on the fourth Thursday in November. When I worked at All Saints, I even helped start a lawn party to coincide with the We Love Homewood Day Parade in early May. So, maybe my love of parades is why my focus this morning rests not on the agonizing Passion Gospel we just heard, but instead upon the reading from Mark about Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem long ago.

 

(Just a quick aside—our bulletin included Matthew’s Palm Sunday lesson and not Mark—instead of reprinting and recycling several hundred sheets of paper, we kept the mistake. Perhaps, this is a good lesson as we embark upon our first Holy Week together with me serving as your pastor. Liturgy—the work of the people—is not about perfection, it’s about praise. This is not performance, this is about prayer. Mistakes will happen, what’s important is that we recognize the presence of God within, between, and among us and we worship God being inspired to go enact God’s love in this hurting world. Here endeth the aside.)

 

Where was I? Ah, parades! So, did you know that there were multiple parades happening at the same time? It was the beginning of the week of Passover. Entering through the western gate was a mighty caravan. What a parade it was! Horses in warring armament, soldiers by the legion, and chariots carrying sword-bearing leaders! It was a First Century show of might that was sure to impress and intimidate the citizens of Jerusalem. Certainly, this was the grander of the displays, and yet, this was not the parade we honored this morning.

 

On the other side of Jerusalem, coming from the east, like the dawning of a new day was another sort of parade—a counter one, a protest procession, if you will. Instead of war horses there was a meager donkey probably half the size of its equine sibling. In the place of soldiers there were peasants. There were no chariots with weapon laden leaders, instead there were grubby Galileans wielding palm branches. Jesus was offering the alternative programming to the normal way. What was the status quo?

 

During the Passover long ago, Rome would show its force to intimidate the People of Israel. Those Temple leaders who were in cahoots with the occupying Empire would more than likely cheer on the Romans through clinched teeth. The Pharisees, Sadducees, Scribes, and Elders were not intrinsically bad. They were caught though between a rock and a hard place—their traditional seats of power on one side and an imperial force on the other meant that the peasant class of Israel was being exploited economically, governmentally, and even religiously. They were taxed on multiple fronts, intimidated by military might, and convinced this was legitimate by their religious leaders. Jesus saw the suffering of his people, the Israelite peasants from far flung parts of Palestine, and he led them into the Holy City during the highest of holy times to illuminate the power not of earthly kingdoms, but the heavenly reign of God.

 

We are invited to join this procession too. Regardless of who you are and how your story meets God’s story—regardless of whether you are a deserting disciple, a blindsided bystander, a persecuting high priest, a faithful female follower, a greedy governor, a converted centurion, or an unnamed onlooker—regardless of who you are you are invited to participate in this procession through Holy Week. 

 

The final turn of today’s Passion Gospel with the Centurion’s affirmation of Jesus’ messianic identity reveals the true power of this week. Regardless of who we are, we can choose to join this procession—this Way of Christ. And, with Christ Jesus we walk this way championing not imperial domination, but a peaceable kingdom where all are welcomed, accepted, and loved. In this reign, you belong. Will you walk this Way of Christ journeying with Jesus through Holy Week and beyond? 

Who is this?

 

On this Palm Sunday and throughout this week may we wonder who Jesus is as we wander to the Cross.

The Liturgy of the Palms

 Matthew 21:1-11

The Liturgy of the Word

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Philippians 2:5-11

Matthew 26:14- 27:66

Holy God, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

“When [Jesus] entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, ‘Who is this?’”

On a day long ago, the entire Holy City asked, “Who is this?” As Jerusalem experienced the unsettled turbulence, the fever pitch, the near riots, they collectively yearned to know who this Jesus was. By my count, today’s service features about 65 different answers for this question through various descriptors of Jesus—from grand titles like “Son of Man” or “King of Israel” to expressive phrases like “self-emptying one” or “oh, most afflicted.” Back on the first Palm Sunday, the crowds ran ahead of Jesus cutting down branches and throwing down garments, as they had their own answer for Jerusalem’s question, shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” and “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.” (italics added for emphasis)

Surely the disciples were among the crowds. They had professed already who this was. “The Messiah, the Son of the Living God,” attested their spokesperson Peter. Later in this week, though these same followers would answer the question about Jesus’ identity differently.

Judas full of greed and disappointment betrayed his teacher with a kiss, only to later experience the kiss of death as the aftermath of his guilt and shame. Peter after Jesus foretold of the disciples’ threefold denial replied, “Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.” The other disciples chimed in likewise, but a cockcrow would be the alarm that awakened them from their denial! In the garden Peter, James, and John (the ultra-disciples) could not keep watch with Jesus falling asleep instead. When those with swords and clubs arrived to arrest Jesus, one disciple seethed with rage such that he turned to aggression with a blade.

The disciples’ replies to the question, “Who is this?” were not to hold up Jesus as “the Messiah, the Son of the Living God,” nor as a Prophet, nor even as their rabbi. Instead, through betrayal, denial, unconsciousness, and violence they let their words and actions speak disbelief, fear, and faithlessness.

The danger with pointing out the disciples’ sin-soaked responses comes when I try to wash my own hands of Jesus’ death, like Pilate did. I claim that it was the disciples’ missteps and inaction, not mine. I likewise blame it upon religion and politics, the Jewish or the Roman people, not me. I so easily slide into the crowd to run from my own part in the story—how I might answer the question. And yet, even there hiding in the masses, I discover that out of one side of my mouth I call Jesus: Savior, King, Prince of Life, beloved, friend; then out of the other: slave, imposter, accused. Worst of all is the cry ringing out of my mouth for Jesus to be crucified. “Let him be crucified!”

Over and over again, I crucify Christ, we crucify Christ—not only in ancient Jerusalem, but throughout the ages in the deaths of martyrs and innocents, and in our day, at Columbine or Covenant, at Emmanuel AME Church in Charleston or at St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church in Vestavia Hills. It would be easier for us, for me to just look away!

This is the danger: to sit back comfortably and wait for a week to pass, so that I may drop in wearing my Easter best to sing my favorite hymns and never acknowledge my part in the story, my part in Jesus’ betrayal, Passion, and death—my part in the crucifixion of Christ.

What if you and I did not know how this story will end? What if we were to watch with the crowds, the disciples, and Pilate? Better still, what if we were to walk with the women—Mary Magdalene, the other Mary, and the mother of the sons of Zebedee—to see how this story unfolds? What if we wondered anew, “Who is this?”

This week suspend what you think you know. Look past the answers that the disciples, religion, politics, or others tell you about who Jesus is. Instead, walk the way of Holy Week, and ponder, “Who is this?”