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Sunday, March 29th: Sunday of the Passion/Palm Sunday
Readings:
Procession with Palms: Matthew 21:1-11
Isaiah 50:4-9a
Psalm 31:9-16 (5)
Philippians 2:5-11
Matthew 26:14—27:66 (or Matthew 27:11-54)
…And the Rooster Crows
Grace and peace to you in the name of Jesus Christ—who comes to us, still, in love and mercy. Amen.
It often starts with the best of intentions.
We wake up wanting to be kinder, more patient, more faithful. We mean to say the right thing, do the right thing, stand on the side of love and justice. And yet… somewhere between our intentions and our actions, something gets lost.
Which is why, on this Palm Sunday—this day of waving branches and shouting “Hosanna!”—the lectionary also gives us the Passion story. Because the crowd that praises Jesus on Sunday will turn by Friday. And right there, in the middle of that story, is Peter.
And Peter feels… uncomfortably familiar.
Peter is all in. Bold. Devoted. Passionate. “Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death!” he says.
And Jesus gently, painfully responds: “Before the rooster crows today, you will deny me three times.”
And of course, Peter does.
Not because he stopped loving Jesus.
Not because he suddenly didn’t believe.
But because he was afraid. Because the pressure was real. Because being associated with Jesus had consequences.
And so three times, he says, “I don’t know him.”
And then—the rooster crows.
And in Luke’s telling, (Luke 22:54-62) Jesus turns and looks at Peter.
Not with anger. Not with condemnation. But with a knowing, heartbreaking compassion.
And Peter weeps.
So here is the question for us this morning:
Where is the rooster crowing in our lives?
Because it still does.
It crows in those moments when we stay silent instead of speaking up—when someone is being dismissed, judged, or pushed aside, and we think, “I should say something…” but we don’t.
And the rooster crows.
It crows when we know someone is hurting—a friend, a neighbor, a family member—and we think, “I really should reach out…” but we get busy, or unsure, or uncomfortable.
And the rooster crows.
It crows when we participate—quietly, indirectly—in systems that harm others or creation. When we say, “This isn’t right…” but convince ourselves it’s too big, too complicated, too much for us to engage.
And the rooster crows.
It crows when fear keeps us from loving boldly—when we hold back forgiveness, or truth, or compassion, because it feels risky.
And the rooster crows.
And let’s be honest—this is not just about individual moments.
We are living in a time where fear is loud. Where division is deep. Where truth feels contested, and compassion can feel like a liability. Where it is sometimes easier—even safer—to say, “I don’t know him,” than to live like we do.
To live like we follow a Savior who sides with the vulnerable.
Who lifts up the lowly.
Who calls us to love not just in word, but in action.
So yes—the rooster is crowing in our world.
But here is the good news—deep, grounding, grace-filled good news:
The rooster’s crow is not the end of Peter’s story.
Failure is not the end of Peter’s story.
And it is not the end of yours.
Because the same Jesus who predicted Peter’s denial…
is the same Jesus who, after the resurrection, will seek Peter out…
will feed him breakfast…
and will ask him—not “Why did you fail?”—but “Do you love me?”
And then he will entrust him again with the work of love:
“Feed my sheep.”
This is what we are walking into this Holy Week.
Not a story about getting it right.
But a story about a God who meets us in all the places we get it wrong.
A God who goes to the cross not for the perfect, but for the faithful-who-falter… the brave-who-get-afraid… the loving-who-hold-back.
A God who does not turn away from our denial…
but turns toward us in love.
So yes—listen for the rooster.
Let it wake you up.
Let it call you back.
Let it remind you of the moments that matter—the phone call, the apology, the courage to speak, the chance to love more fully than fear would allow.
But don’t hear it as condemnation.
Hear it as invitation.
Because every time the rooster crows, it is also a reminder:
It is not too late.
Not too late to reach out.
Not too late to forgive.
Not too late to speak.
Not too late to love.
Not too late to follow Jesus—again.
So as we wave our palms today and step into this sacred week, may we do so with honest hearts.
Knowing who we are.
Trusting whose we are.
And following the One who never denies us.
Amen.
God's Yes + My Amen 