Come!

 Jesu Juva

St. Matthew Passion                                        

March 29, 2026

Sunday of the Passion                                       

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        We’ve never done it that way before.  Someone once labeled that phrase as the seven last words of the church—the church that never changes.  We’ve never done it that way before.  You who are members of this church—you don’t get to use that line very often.  This isn’t the church of change.  Things are perfectly predictable around here, even on this Sunday of the Passion and palms.

        That we should hear an extended account of our Lord’s Passion from one of the gospels is nothing new for this Sunday.  But, that your voice should help to proclaim and announce these ancient words—that’s new.  That you are drawn into the drama—that you give voice to the deeds of the disciples—that you take your place right next to Judas and Peter and Pilate and all the Passover pilgrims—we’ve never done it that way before.

        I hope you didn’t enjoy it.  I hope it made you uncomfortable and uneasy.  I hope it disrupted your carefully crafted normalcy.  Holy Week is always a call to be uncomfortable—to step away from your padded pew and the serenity of stained glass—to ponder a passion like no other.

        When Johann Sebastian Bach set the entire Passion of St. Matthew to music, he started it all—he set the stage for everything we just heard—with an invitation:  Come!  The first word sung by the singers—the first word called out by the choir—is that word:  Come!  It’s an invitation to leave behind our petty problems and regular routines, and take our place in the Passion of our Lord Jesus, to save us.  What is your place in the Passion of Jesus?  Where do you fit in?

        Come!  You can start by measuring your generosity toward Jesus against the woman who wastefully anointed Jesus with priceless perfume.  She poured out every last ounce of this liquid of love.  It was an expensive, extravagant act that fed no poor and sheltered no homeless.  But it prepared Jesus for His burial.  How do the gifts we offer to Jesus measure all the thanks we owe?

        Come, sit at the table with Jesus and the Twelve.  Hear Jesus warn that someone will betray Him.  Join the chorus of innocence voiced by every man present:  Is it I?  Is it I?  Surely not I?  Yet, you know.  You know that it could be you.  You know it has been you.

        Come, watch, and pray with Jesus in the Garden.  See His sorrow.  Watch His struggle.  Your prayers always falter and fall short, but not Jesus.  He prays perfectly: Thy will be done.  And He prays it knowing the terrible toll that God’s holy will will exact from His flesh. But watch out, for your eyelids are getting heavy.  Your strength is gone.  Your spirit may be willing; but your flesh is weak.

        Come, and weep bitterly with Peter.  For you too have said: I don’t know the man—and you have said it under circumstances far less threatening.  Carelessly, casually, we have all distanced ourselves from Jesus when it seemed like the prudent thing to do, or when we deem the opinions of other people more important than being faithful to Jesus.

        Come, and make your political calculations together with Governor Pilate.  What should you do?  What do the polls say will increase your popularity?  On whose hind quarters should you plant your lips so as to consolidate your power and prestige?  Forgive yourself, absolve yourself, wash your hands in a deluded display of innocence—even as, deep down, your guilt and shame remain.

        Come, and place yourself in a prison cell with Barabbas.  It’s where you both belong according to the strict standards of justice and of God’s holy law.  You and Barabbas deserve what you’ve got coming.  But then, suddenly, Jesus gets what you’ve got coming.  God’s innocent Lamb will be crucified in your place—while a guilty, craven criminal is acquitted and set free.

        Come, and take your place in the fickle, feckless crowd of Passover pilgrims.  Deep down, they just want to be entertained.  They want to be wowed.  Show us what you’ve got, Jesus!  But don’t you dare disappoint us.  That crowd cries out that the blood of Jesus should be on them, and on us, their children . . . And it is!  Cleansing blood that whitens and removes every sinful stain.

        Come, and stand with the Centurion.  He saw what they did to Jesus.  He heard what they said to Jesus.  He heard our Lord’s cry of dereliction:  My God, my God.  And when the sun disappeared, and the earth shook and the rocks split, the centurion could not help but confess: Truly, this was the Son of God!

        Let the invitation go out from here:  Come!  Take your place in the Passion of our Lord.  For only then can you know that your sin made it all necessary.  And only then can you see that Jesus Christ is not only the Savior of sinners, but your Savior.  He humbled Himself and became obedient to death, even death on a cross.  He now lives and reigns in glory, working all things for your eternal good.

        Holy Week is underway.  Come!

        In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.