In that beloved story about Forrest Gump, located in that fictional town of Greenbow, Alabama, we feel empathy for young Forrest because he seems to have so many odds stacked against him, like learning how to walk or run with his special braces. But throughout this story, there’s all of this contrast: even though there are so many odds stacked against him, Forrest just seems to be in the right place at the right time. So much so that he goes on to become an All-American football player, a Medal of Honor–winning Vietnam veteran, an international ping pong champion, a wealthy business owner. He runs across the country more than once and he’s invited to the White House three different times. That is quite the box of chocolates of life experience.

But so much of life doesn’t simply fall into place because we’re in the right place at the right time. And in looking closely at this story, perhaps it is more about the perseverance of love than the happenstance of life. One of the strongest, most compelling storylines throughout the movie is the love that Forrest holds onto for his childhood friend and future wife, Jenny, throughout the various seasons of life and even in the face of illness. It is the highs and lows and grace of love because love endures.

And in the highest of highs of Palm Sunday, with all of its singing and celebration, it is easy to overlook the endurance of the love of God. But God is a long-distance runner. And we stand at the very beginning of the race here on Palm Sunday with so much still in front of us, including the lowest of lows. That when they arrive at Bethphage just outside of Jerusalem, Jesus sends those two disciples to fetch a donkey. And then riding into the city, they are celebrating, throwing cloaks on the ground and cut branches, saying as loud as they can, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.” That they are reciting Psalm 118, where the psalmist keeps saying, “The steadfast love of God endures forever.”

The travelers would recite those words going into Jerusalem. And on this occasion, it’s the beginning of Passover. People are flooding the city, coming to remember and give thanks for God freeing the people out of slavery from Egypt. And now Rome controls Israel, and the people are hoping that God will save them again. “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord,” that it feels like a new Exodus.

But we cannot lose sight of the fact that Jesus is riding into town on a donkey. It does not look like the majesty of God, which is why the grace of God so oftentimes goes unnoticed. It’s why Richard Lisher reminds us that the Hebrew word for hope can also mean waiting. And I have sat in many waiting rooms—ER waiting rooms, surgery waiting rooms, ICU waiting rooms. I’ve sat next to those waiting for test results, surgery reports, updates from doctors, the kind of results and reports that change the course of our lives. And it is hard to believe that hope can also mean waiting.

One of the first waiting rooms I ever visited was in a hospital in North Carolina. I was working as a chaplain one summer while in seminary. It was a pediatric emergency room. And the family had come in because their young daughter had fallen off of a horse and hit her head. And the symptoms were very concerning. And they were waiting on the results from a scan to see if there was a possible brain bleed. And I sat in that room with them and it felt like the walls were just pressing in. They could hardly stay in their chairs. The waiting was so hard.

And then finally the door swung open and the doctor stepped in and said everything is okay. And you just felt the room expand, like the psalmist says, “God will lead us to a broad place,” like the sun had risen again. That we come to learn that waiting is one of the strongest acts of love. And it’s why we need Palm Sunday. We need Palm Sunday with its singing and its celebration because the rest of Holy Week will be filled with painful waiting. That we will wait as Jesus is on trial. We will wait as he is mocked and crucified. We will wait in the silence of Saturday that follows Good Friday.

That we need Palm Sunday because it says to us and it reminds us again that God’s grace is at work. It is here and with us and around us, that we overhear it in the people’s voices: “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.” And since it is hard to see the grace of God in the waiting room of life, we benefit from practicing naming grace. That we don’t name grace because we’re trying to ignore or live in denial of what is hard. That we name grace because we are fully aware of what is hard. That it’s hard to see it and to notice it, so we name it so we can hold on to it.

And grace goes by many names. So when we see it, when it shows up, we name it as such. That it is the kindness of a nurse. It is the prayers of a friend. It is a meal chain after the loss of a loved one. It is unexpected forgiveness. It is being told the truth even when we don’t want to hear it. It is hearing the birds chirping during the spring. It is encouragement when we are down. It is the presence of others when we feel alone. It is the congregation singing, “It Is Well with My Soul.” That grace has many names. And we can hold on to it because it helps us as we wait.

And this is what happens on Palm Sunday. Jesus rides into Jerusalem on a donkey and people cry out, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord,” that they are naming grace. And we do well to notice and to name it so we never lose sight of the endurance of the steadfast love of God. Amen.