Today we gather on a road.

A road that winds its way back through history,

to another procession, another crowd, another moment

when people had to decide what kind of power they would follow.

On that first Palm Sunday, the people waved branches and shouted Hosanna!

But they were not just celebrating.

They were making a claim.

Because on the other side of the city, there was another parade,

a parade of empire.

War horses. Armed soldiers. The machinery of domination.

And into that same city came Jesus,

not on a war horse, but on a donkey.

Not with weapons, but with love.

Not to dominate, but to liberate.

Two processions.

Two visions of power.

Two very different kingdoms.

And the question then — just like the question now — is this:

Which one will we follow?

We are here today because there is a movement in our time

that wraps itself in the language of Christianity

but bears none of the marks of Christ. White Christian nationalism is not just a political distortion,

it is a theological betrayal.

It proclaims a Jesus who blesses domination

instead of one who washed feet.

It proclaims a Jesus who guards power

instead of one who gave it away.

It proclaims a Jesus who excludes

instead of one who threw open the doors

to the poor, the marginalized, the stranger, the outcast.

Let’s be clear:

Christian nationalism

is not the gospel.

It is not the kingdom.

It is not our Christ.

Because the Jesus we follow

stood with the vulnerable.

The Jesus we follow

challenged unjust systems.

The Jesus we follow

wept over cities that chose violence over peace.

And the Jesus we follow

was executed by an alliance of religious nationalism and law and order.

So when we stand here today,

we are not stepping outside our faith.

We are stepping directly into it. This is what Palm Sunday has always been:

a public, embodied, courageous act of resistance.

It is the moment when faith leaves the sanctuary

and enters the streets.

It is the moment when worship becomes witness.

It is the moment when we say, with our bodies and our voices:

We will not bow to empire.

We will not sanctify injustice.

We will not confuse domination with discipleship.

And so today, we reclaim something sacred.

We reclaim the name “Christian”

from those who have used it to harm.

We reclaim the story of Jesus

from those who have twisted it into a tool of control.

We reclaim the public square

not for power but for love, justice, and dignity for all people.

But let’s be honest, this is not easy work.

Because the crowd that shouted Hosanna

would, in just a few days, shout Crucify.

The path of Jesus has never been the safe path.

It has never been the popular path.

It is the path of courage. The path of truth-telling.

The path of costly love.

So today, as we sing, as we speak, we are not just protesting something.

We are proclaiming something.

We are proclaiming a different kingdom.

A kingdom where no one is disposable.

A kingdom where love is louder than fear.

A kingdom where justice rolls down like waters

and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

And we are declaring, with everything we have:

This is what Christianity looks like.

This is who Jesus is.

This is the road we choose.

Christian nationalism does not own the story of faith in this country. It does not

own the heart of our community. And it does not speak for the Jesus who told us

that the last shall be first and the peacemakers shall be called the children of God!

We are here to tell the world that a faith rooted in love will always outlast a

politics rooted in hate!

We are here to declare that the sacred belongs to the many, not the powerful — to

the refugee, the stranger, the worker, and the seeker of justice!

We are here to reclaim the narrative, to set the record straight, and to show this

city what it looks like when we choose the palm of peace over the sword of

nationalism!

Hosanna!

Save us.

Change us. Send us. Amen.