March 29, 2026 Palm Sunday

March 29, 2026

Palm Sunday

The main body of today’s psalm text begins with, “Open to me the gates of righteousness, that I may enter through them and give thanks to the Lord.”

The mind immediately goes to the massive, ornate and intimidating gates that have been erected by cities and nations throughout world history. Think of the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin. Once a symbol of division during the Cold War, it’s now a symbol of unity. Or the Ishtar Gate in ancient Babylon, resplendent in glazed blue tiles and dedicated to the gods. And there’s the Gateway Arch in St. Louis on the western bank of the Mississippi River. Completed in 1965, this 630-foot-tall, stainless steel arch is the tallest man-made monument in the Western Hemisphere. It serves as a symbolic “gateway to the West,” a monument to the westward expansion of the United States.

But the author of Psalm 118 must have had a Jerusalem gate in mind. Today, tourists can visit Jerusalem and see numerous gates in the old walled city. They include Jaffa Gate, Zion Gate, Lions’ Gate, Dung Gate, Herod’s Gate, New Gate, and the most famous of all, the Damascus Gate, which has the most traffic. The Golden Gate remains sealed, as it has been for centuries, awaiting the coming of the Messiah. It is easy to visualize how it might have been when Jesus was alive and stumbled along something similar to the Via Dolorosa.

David was considered to be the author knew the importance of gates. City gates in the ancient Israelite culture were far more than simple entry and exit points. They were the bustling, multi-functional hearts of the city, serving as the central hub for social, legal, economic and even military life. The city gate was a powerful symbol and a vital institution representing the community, its identity and its well-being. To control the gate was to control the city, and the activities that took place there were central to the life of every Israelite. I suppose one could even say the Strait of Hormuz, often heard in the news the past couple of weeks, could represent a gate.

So, David writes, “Open to me the gates of righteousness, that I may enter through them and give thanks to the Lord.” David’s talking about the kind of gate through which you walk, not because you’re a hotshot or a bigwig, but because you are aligned with the purposes of God.

Before we move on to the Palm Sunday connection, we can’t overlook three of the most famous lines in this psalm: verses 22, 23 and 24, which have been cherished in both Jewish and Christian traditions.

Verse 22, “The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone.” In ancient times, builders inspected stones carefully. The cornerstone was critical.

In New Testament periods, it was believed this verse pointed to Jesus. In all three synoptic gospels, Jesus cites it to the religious leaders after the parable of the wicked tenants: “The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; this was the Lord’s doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes” (Matthew 21:42; Mark 12:10-11; Luke 20:17). In the Book of Acts, Peter picks it up in his bold testimony before the Sanhedrin: “This Jesus is ‘the stone that was rejected by you, the builders; it has become the cornerstone’” (Acts 4:11). He will later remind believers of the same truth in his first letter: “The stone that the builders rejected has become the very head of the corner” (1 Peter 2:7). And in Ephesians 2:20, Paul expands the image, saying the household of God is “built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone.”

You could argue that verse 22 is a glimpse of the gospel: Jesus, rejected, crucified, cast aside by the powers of his day, but raised from the dead to become the cornerstone of God’s new creation. And this verse still whispers hope to all who have ever been overlooked or dismissed. God has a way of taking what others discard and making it central to his plan.

Because today is Palm Sunday, this procession interests us. Psalm 118 is a royal psalm, likely sung during a public procession as a king or high-ranking official made his way to the temple. The honored dignitary was accompanied by chants and cheers from the crowd. It was a festive occasion and marked by gratitude.

It’s like the young women of Israel — think of them as cheerleaders — dressed in bright tunics with sashes at their waists, clapping tambourines and waving palm branches as they shout their praises to the Lord.

We recognize words that help us understand why this psalm was suggested as a Palm Sunday reading.

· “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” (v. 26)

· “Bind the festal procession with branches …” (v. 27)

These aren’t just words from an old psalm. In a manner of speaking, they’re Palm Sunday’s soundtrack. When Jesus enters Jerusalem, the gospels tell us that the crowds shouted these very words. Children waved palm branches, peasants laid down cloaks, and the city was abuzz.

But what kind of king were they welcoming?

This is the question that haunts Palm Sunday — a day full of contradictions and surprises.

Let’s pause and remember what most people expected from the Messiah: A warrior. A liberator. Someone who would drive out the Romans, restore the kingdom, and bring glory back to Israel. In other words, a political powerhouse. A king on a horse. A new David.

But what they got was a man on a donkey, surrounded not by soldiers, but by children and commoners. He came to the capital city, but not to take the throne.

He came to carry a cross.

So, here’s the tension: The gates were open. The people were ready. But they welcomed the right King for the wrong reasons.

The irony is thick. Jesus is treated like royalty … and five days later he’s beaten to within an inch of his life. He’s betrayed, arrested and crucified. How does the crowd flip that fast?

Because Palm Sunday, for all its pageantry, is an ambush in disguise. Jesus is not who they thought he was. He’s meek, not militant. He offers peace rather than revenge. He speaks of loving enemies, rather than defeating them and stomping their haughty, heartless imperial faces into the dirt. No wonder people turned on him. They wanted revolution, and all he could offer was repentance. They were expecting a coronation, while Jesus was preparing for a crucifixion.

Psalm 118 invites us to imagine the gates of righteousness thrown open for the King. On Palm Sunday, we see those gates flung wide, and we cry with the crowd, “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!”

But let’s be honest. We still struggle to welcome the real Jesus. We want a Savior who confirms our worldview, not challenges it. We want gates that open on our terms, not his. Perhaps we have forgotten that the gate of righteousness is more than a celebratory arch. It is an invitation to surrender.

Imagine it again: A dusty road, a man on a donkey, and people waving branches, crying “Hosanna!”

It looks like a parade. But there’s neither a crown nor a scepter. It’s not like Jesus is on a Rose Bowl float doing the fake hand-wave thing. For Jesus, the road ahead is not strewn with roses or palm branches, but rather nails, thorns and bitter gall.

This is a procession toward death.

And this is the subversion. Jesus accepts the title of King — indeed it’s noted on a sign above his head — but redefines it in the shape of the cross. He is, “The stone that the builders rejected.” Only now, it “has become the chief cornerstone.”

Jesus is that rejected stone. And by his death, he becomes the cornerstone of a new form of government, one that’s not built on violence, coercion or wealth, but on mercy, justice, humility and grace.

Those people cheering for Jesus were not giving thanks. They were cheering because they thought Jesus was going to lift them from the bonds of Roman oppression. To be fair, who can blame them? A victory was coming, but not one they envisioned or understood. They were cheering for the king they wanted, not the king he was.

And yet, even in their misunderstanding, Jesus walked on. He passed through the gates of Jerusalem, knowing full well the road led to the cross.

When we walk through the gates of righteousness, we’re reminded that the righteous live by faith. And this faith means that we’re going to be following a shepherd on a donkey, not a general on a warhorse. A shepherd who says, “Come unto me, all you who labor and are weary for I will give you rest.”

The gate is still open. The way is faith. And the cornerstone is Christ.

Let us pray.

On this Palm Sunday, just as people of Jerusalem celebrated the arrival of Jesus into their city, we pray that we too resolve to joyfully welcome him into our homes and into our everyday lives. We pray to the Lord.           

We pray for people who cannot bear their cross. May those who struggle with emotional and mental illness, those with long-term disabilities, and those who live in lasting fear, be given courage and peace. We pray also for those, who like Simon of Cyrene, help them in their moment of need. We pray to the Lord.

We pray for people who struggle with faith and their place on earth. May every knee bend toward the beauty and wonder of God. May we all surrender to the miracle of Christ’s death and resurrection. We pray to the Lord.

We pray for an end to devastating war and sustained violence. May we enter the mystery of Holy Week bringing peace within us and hope for our future. May the Paschal Mystery of Jesus Christ bring us true freedom upon the earth. We pray to the Lord.

We pray that Holy Week may lead us to walk more closely with Christ in his Passion and grow in understanding of his love for all people. We pray to the Lord.

We pray for new vocations to the priesthood. We pray to the Lord.

We pray that those with ample means, that they may be led to our parish where they will be inspired to give generously. We pray to the Lord.

For those on our parish prayer list, that they may receive swift answers to their needs and that they may find consolation through Christ’s healing presence. We pray to the Lord.

We bow our heads and remember in silence our own personal intentions and the intentions of those who have asked for our prayers (pause). We pray to the Lord.        

Humble Jesus, who rides into our cities, who draws near to our lives, we, too, rise to greet you, to shout our hosannas, to feel life stir within us, to sense hope quickening in our hearts. For you are a great God, a compassionate ruler, a loving friend, a wise counselor.

But deep in the distance, in some far corner of our being, we fear your arrival. For you gently offer us a choice, and to choose you means letting go of jealousies and resentments, our private wars against others and our timid acceptance of ourselves.

Like the people of Jerusalem, we discover you are more than we first thought. Beyond loud hosannas, you ask our obedience and our worship. And we are learning, piece by piece, to turn that over to you.

This day, this week, move us into the deeper levels of ourselves. Let us feel again your pain of that last week. Let us touch our own wounds, trusting you. Easter is the sign of new hope for us. We ask all these things through Christ our Lord. Amen.

We ask all these things through Christ Our Lord. Amen.

God Love You +++

The Most Rev. Robert Winzens

Pastor – St. Francis Chapel

San Diego, CA.

As a small parish, we come to you all as beggars! Share with us this Christmas, a little sacrifice for the Christ Child. Your generous support also allows us to continue these important projects that fuel the movement of progressive Christianity. Thank you and God bless you! +++

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