Palm Sunday.

It’s the word at which every parent of a young child shudders, when they hear their child say it for the first time. It’s a terrible word. It’s an awful word. It’s a Pandora’s Box of a word. Can anyone guess what that word might be? That’s right. The word is “why?”

Having raised three children, I speak with authority. Honestly, the very first time our very first child asked it, I was kind of thrilled. Here was an inquisitive young mind! Here was an engaging sense of curiosity! Here was a burgeoning intellect! And so I tried, I really tried to satisfy this curiosity with an answer that was honest and complete, yet framed in such a way that a small child could understand it.

But of course, the novelty soon wore off. And if the continued questioning was especially intense or prolonged, we soon resorted to what became our standard response: Because that’s how God made it!

Palm Sunday and Jesus’ entry into the suburbs of Jerusalem. Some theologians argue that it was a serious thing, others argue that his riding in on a donkey was a parody of the Roman parades that were often staged for the benefit of the local citizenry, the local dignitaries riding at the head on their horses.

Regardless of how one views it, the one thing that’s undeniable is that it was obviously a big deal, a rowdy, raucous event. People laughing, cheering, waving palm branches, paving the way with their cloaks.

But it’s also the beginning of the end. For the last five weeks we’ve followed Jesus’ steps toward the cross and by the end of this week we will have reached the sobering, brutal conclusion to Luke’s account of our Lord’s Passion. And I have to admit that each year as we again approach this point, the climax and conclusion of Jesus’ earthly life, I feel welling up inside of me one simple, pathetic cry: Why?

It’s a recognizable question, and one which I’m not alone in uttering. It’s the distraught cry we express when we’re confused by our circumstances, outraged by a sense of injustice, or simply feel utterly out of control: “Why COVID?” “Why was I chosen to be “downsized?”  “Why is my child struggling so?” “Why do I feel so alone?”

Why? It’s such a simple question, like the question a child asks. It’s a question that helps us articulate our deep desire to find meaning in meaningless events, to understand events beyond our control. It helps us maybe not to feel quite so overwhelmed. It’s this very question that haunts us at this time.

Jesus, the one who taught that we should love God with all our heart and with all our soul and with all our mind, and that we are to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. Jesus, the one who healed the sick, and brought sight to the blind; Jesus, the one who fed thousands and cast out demons: Why must Jesus die like this? Why must it end this way? Why the mockery and abuse? Why the nails and cross? Why such an agonizing and shameful death? Why?

Faithful Christians throughout the Church’s long history have struggled to answer this question, and their various answers have been described as “theories of atonement.” Emphasizing one part of the Bible or another, these theories attempt to address the “why” question by describing Christ’s death as a substitution for our own. Or, of Christ satisfying God’s requirement for holiness. Or, of Christ paying the penalty for sin. Or, of the example Christ’s death sets for us. Or, even of the victory Christ wins over death and the devil. Each of these answers emphasizes some part of the truth of Jesus’ death, but none of them ultimately satisfies. Our questions persist.

I suppose we can take some small comfort in knowing that we’re not alone in our confusion. We aren’t the only ones who question. Throughout all the Gospel accounts, Jesus regularly predicts his passion. And just as regularly his disciples don’t understand him, or misinterpret him, or, finally, reject his predictions as simply too awful to believe. And so when the unimaginable happens, and Jesus is handed over, judged, and crucified, the disciples, are left reeling. And they ask, “Why?”

This confusion isn’t really the disciples’ fault in the end, nor is it ours. Because although Jesus predicted his passion, he never spent a lot of time explain its meaning; He never got around to explaining why.

But Jesus does address another, more important question. At the very beginning of Luke’s description of the passion, tells us that “when the hour came,” Jesus took his place at table with his disciples to share one last meal with them. And at that meal he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and gave to them, saying, “This is my body, which is given ... for you.”

Did you hear that? Those last two words? “For you.”

“For you”: For those disciples, including Judas who betrays him, Peter who denies him, and the rest who desert him. And also, for us! And knowing this makes all the difference.

So while Jesus doesn’t answer the question “why?” he answers definitively the deeper question of “for whom?” Although Jesus may not explain the full meaning of his death, he leaves no doubt as to its significance for us.

Above and beyond all our confusion and questions, we hear in these two words the shocking, unimaginable, and utterly unexpected promise. Everything Christ suffers – all the humiliation and shame, all the defeat and agony – he suffers for us, for our sake, that we might have life and light and hope in his name!

We know this because Luke makes it abundantly, painfully clear that Jesus gives himself over to death willingly. Which is not to say that it’s done without fear, anger, pain, or suffering. What it does mean is that Jesus’ life is not taken from him, against his will. As Luke writes near the end of the Passion account, “Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, ‘Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.’ Having said this, he breathed his last.”

Do you see what I mean? Jesus’ life is not ripped away as in some horrible accident. His life isn’t torn from him as in a random act of violence, or some other senseless tragedy. He commends his Spirit to God. He gives his life of his own accord.

As the resurrected Christ will say when he meets two of his disciples on the road to Emmaus, “Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?” And then he will open the Scriptures. And their hearts will burn with the knowledge that Jesus gave himself, fully and freely, for us and for all the world.

That is why he came: to declare the Lord’s favor to all. The hard part of this Passion Week and story is that we may never be able to answer that persistent and perplexing question of why.

But we can answer another, perhaps more important question, “for whom.” Why more important? Because I must say that I also cannot explain “why” my parents care so much for me. I can’t say why my wife loves me. I can’t say why my friends put up with me. But I do know that their care, love, and forbearance is “for me”, and knowing this makes all the difference.

We can say the same thing about the mystery of Christ’s passion and death. Because we can never fully comprehend the “why” of God’s unfathomable commitment to us. But when we see the form of Christ on the cross, we can never doubt God’s profound love for us. And knowing this makes all the difference!

That’s why Luke tells this difficult story. To show us that in Jesus we have God’s tangible and tenacious promise to be always and forever for us!  AMEN