John 21:1-19
We can imagine the scene. Some of the disciples, after fishing all night with no success, are in the boat at daybreak. They’ve been casting their nets to no avail; tossing them overboard, time after time, and coming up empty. (It can sound a little too familiar, huh?) It’s frustrating, but that can be the life of those who fish, both for a living and as a pastime.
But then they get instructions from the shore: cast your nets to the other side. We can imagine the response from the boat: why bother? What’s the use? What difference is a boat’s width going to make? Grumbling and disbelief would naturally follow such a suggestion. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that some of the disciples at least, were wondering why they should even try such a preposterous idea.
But they did follow the instructions of this stranger on the shore. They threw their nets over the other side of the boat and of course we know what happened: they had a huge catch of fish. That’s when they figured out that Jesus was this stranger on the shore. They had a shocking amount of fish in their nets; big fish, fish for food and nourishment. The nets didn’t even break after they caught these fish on the other side of the boat.
Cast your nets to the other side, says Jesus. Do things differently. What you’ve been doing hasn’t been working, so you might as well try the other side of the boat.
Our church is in the midst of transition. We realize that things must change for our continued viability. We have a couple of committees at least that are working on this very thing: the Get Out the Word Committee and the Visioning Committee. We are in the midst of transformation. We are seeking out what we can do to keep our congregation alive and a living, breathing part of the Body of Christ.
We seek out new ways of being and doing. But we have to do things differently. We need to have the bravery to try new things, to be new people of God. We must seek out Jesus’ voice guiding us to try a new way of being.
I can’t tell you what those new ways of being might be. The options are out there though and we as a congregation must seek them out. It’s not just one person’s job; it is the work of all of us in this boat. It is a community effort to work to bring in the catch.
Cast your nets to the other side, says Jesus. Do things differently. What you’ve been doing hasn’t been working, so you might as well try the other side of the boat.
Today is Earth Day. This is a day in which we stop to reflect on what we do and how we do it affects our home, the earth. Everything we do has an effect. Sometimes it’s a big effect; sometimes it’s a small effect. Sometimes it’s small effects that lead to a big effect.
This is a day to reflect on what those effects might be; a time to stop and consider how we treat our home, our earth. We must consider what our use of fossil fuels means and how it affects not only our earth but also others. We must consider what leaving on a light that’s not being used means; what running unused and unneeded water means; what driving means. It’s all those little things that we need to consider because we do have an effect. We make a difference on this earth.
As an individual, you may not be a major polluter or pump tons of carbon dioxide into the air on a daily basis. But we need to worry about those who do. Earth Day reminds us that we need to be an active part of the decision-making in our country; we need to be vigorous guardians of our environment.
The way we’re doing it doesn’t work right now. According to the Sierra Club: “The United States, with only 5% of the world’s population, emits one quarter of the world’s global warming gases.” In other words, we, as a country, leave a larger footprint on the earth than anyone else. And that’s not just. Something must change. We must hear the voices of those who call us away from the way that things are into new ways of being and doing.
Cast your nets to the other side, says Jesus. Do things differently. What you’ve been doing hasn’t been working, so you might as well try the other side of the boat.
The violence that burst forth on the quiet campus of Virginia Tech this week has left us all shocked and stunned. When a deranged student killed 32 people and then himself, our world was changed forever, in a way that our world changed following Columbine and the destruction of September 11th.
We have allowed violence to seep into our culture in a major way. In many ways, we encourage and reward it. Though Cho Seung-Hui was clearly in need of help for mental illness, he was a product of a culture, since he was at least 8 years old, that glorifies violence. Thus, through his mental illness, he turned to the language of violence that he had learned to express it.
I’m not going to enter the gun control debate in this sermon, but I will wade into the waters of changing the veneration of guns and violence that we have in our current culture. The way we have isn’t working. Violence begets violence. We have state-sponsored killings and video games that train and educate our youth in violent ways. We war and we battle and we fight and we shoot without blinking an eye. Popular movies use violence as a selling point and many enjoy a shoot-‘em-up, vengeance-filled flick that splatters blood all around.
As evidenced in Blacksburg this week, violence only leaves broken lives, aching hearts and tear-stained eyes. We need to find a way out of this. We need to find someone who will call us forth from the violence into peace. We need to seek out the voices that call us to sanity.
Cast your nets to the other side, says Jesus. Do things differently. What you’ve been doing hasn’t been working, so you might as well try the other side of the boat.
15 April 2007
John 20:19-31
How many times have you heard a sermon, this first Sunday after Easter, that begins with how Thomas is getting a bad rap? How often has it been that you’ve heard that “Doubting Thomas” is a misnomer? Well, here’s one sermon where you won’t hear that. I think Thomas deserves all of it.
Let’s recap what we learned in today’s scripture. On the very evening of Jesus’ resurrection, the disciples were locked up in a room, quivering away because they still didn’t understand what was going on and clearly afraid for their own lives. Then Jesus appears to them. Just like that; out of nowhere, if we are to believe John.
Jesus appears to this group of confused, frightened guys, who had no Sunday baseball to keep them entertained that afternoon. Jesus simply says, “Peace be with you.” In other words, “relax, it’s all going to be okay.” Then to help their doubt and disbelief, he shows them his hands and side to demonstrate to them where the nails went into his flesh and to indicate where he was pierced in his side. He doesn’t wait for them to express their disbelief. He heads them off at the pass.
He then passes on the Holy Spirit to them by breathing on them, echoing God’s breathing into Adam in Genesis to give him breath and life. By breathing on them and passing on the Holy Spirit, he tells them that they have the power to forgive sins. Forgiveness of sins is now within their realm—something only God could do previously.
But Thomas was absent. Thomas was away from this gathering and missed the whole affair. We don’t know much about Thomas. He doesn’t do much in the rest of the gospels, but this is his time.
The others tell him what had happened; letting him know that their teacher and lord was alive. And this is where Thomas gets his reputation: he says that unless he sees the marks of the nails in his hands and puts his hand into the hole in his side, he won’t believe.
So of course, a week later, they are all gathered at this time, again behind locked doors. (The disciples are continually afraid it seems and based on our Acts reading, with good reason.) Once again, Jesus appears to them and tells them to relax. He goes right up to Thomas and tells him to do exactly what Thomas said he wanted to do. It doesn’t say that Thomas actually did it, though that is the enduring image in our mind, as evidenced by the painting on our bulletin cover. [A Caravaggio painting from 1600 that shows Thomas sticking his hand in the wound in Jesus’ side.] Jesus says to him, “Do not doubt but believe.”
Thomas immediately replies with “My Lord and my God!” erasing any doubt from Thomas’ mind. Thomas, now that he sees for himself, believes.
The reason I think Thomas does deserve the “doubting Thomas” appellation is that, indeed, he did doubt. And the reason I think we don’t want him to be accused of this doubt is that he’s no different from us. We are just like him, doubting and unbelieving at times, and want to know it’s okay. We want the company of Thomas and the others.
Well, clearly it is okay. Jesus came to Thomas specifically to erase his doubt. Don’t forget that they say that John’s gospel was written some 60 years after the crucifixion and resurrection. There are no eyewitnesses left to these events, likely. We’re in the generation at this point that not only hasn’t seen the risen Lord but also hasn’t met anyone who has. There was a lot of doubt to overcome no doubt.
And here we are almost 2,000 years later in the same position. Of course, we’re going to doubt and have our moments of unbelief. We’re not going to benefit from the appearances of the risen Jesus, coming into our midst and showing off the wounds from his passion. We’re must too much like Thomas and rightly so.
But Jesus, just as he did with Thomas, wants to help our unbelief. He wants to clear up any doubts while acknowledging them. But he gives us a leg up when he says to Thomas, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Clearly this sentence is aimed directly at those late first century Christians as well as it is at us.
Thomas deserves his label of doubting because he did indeed doubt. Are we going to deserve it too? Do we deserve to be called “Doubting Gerrys,” “Doubting Anns,” “Doubting Johns” and so on?
If so, we need to be prepared for what Jesus might do to help us through our unbelief. He made an appearance to the disciples in order to help Thomas through his unbelief. He allowed Thomas to touch his side and hands and see the holes.
What might Jesus do for us today? How might Jesus prove to us that he lives and is still active in our lives? We can’t expect him to appear to us, as that is a rare occurrence these days. Though we shouldn’t rule it out I suspect.
Instead though, we should be looking for the living Jesus in the lives and faces of others. That is how our unbelief will be dispelled. When the little miracles that occur each day happen before our very eyes. When justice happens in spite of all indications to the contrary. When we come through the tough times with others who care and pray for us.
The living Jesus will appear to us, but not, perhaps, as he did to Thomas in that room of frightened disciples that evening long ago. All the disciples doubted and Jesus knew that and appeared to them. All of us doubt and Jesus will appear to us too. We may not physically be able to stick our hands into the wounds in Jesus side as Thomas is doing in that Caravaggio painting. But we have our own appearances these days that will help our unbelief. Watch for them. And live through your doubt to belief.
How many times have you heard a sermon, this first Sunday after Easter, that begins with how Thomas is getting a bad rap? How often has it been that you’ve heard that “Doubting Thomas” is a misnomer? Well, here’s one sermon where you won’t hear that. I think Thomas deserves all of it.
Let’s recap what we learned in today’s scripture. On the very evening of Jesus’ resurrection, the disciples were locked up in a room, quivering away because they still didn’t understand what was going on and clearly afraid for their own lives. Then Jesus appears to them. Just like that; out of nowhere, if we are to believe John.
Jesus appears to this group of confused, frightened guys, who had no Sunday baseball to keep them entertained that afternoon. Jesus simply says, “Peace be with you.” In other words, “relax, it’s all going to be okay.” Then to help their doubt and disbelief, he shows them his hands and side to demonstrate to them where the nails went into his flesh and to indicate where he was pierced in his side. He doesn’t wait for them to express their disbelief. He heads them off at the pass.
He then passes on the Holy Spirit to them by breathing on them, echoing God’s breathing into Adam in Genesis to give him breath and life. By breathing on them and passing on the Holy Spirit, he tells them that they have the power to forgive sins. Forgiveness of sins is now within their realm—something only God could do previously.
But Thomas was absent. Thomas was away from this gathering and missed the whole affair. We don’t know much about Thomas. He doesn’t do much in the rest of the gospels, but this is his time.
The others tell him what had happened; letting him know that their teacher and lord was alive. And this is where Thomas gets his reputation: he says that unless he sees the marks of the nails in his hands and puts his hand into the hole in his side, he won’t believe.
So of course, a week later, they are all gathered at this time, again behind locked doors. (The disciples are continually afraid it seems and based on our Acts reading, with good reason.) Once again, Jesus appears to them and tells them to relax. He goes right up to Thomas and tells him to do exactly what Thomas said he wanted to do. It doesn’t say that Thomas actually did it, though that is the enduring image in our mind, as evidenced by the painting on our bulletin cover. [A Caravaggio painting from 1600 that shows Thomas sticking his hand in the wound in Jesus’ side.] Jesus says to him, “Do not doubt but believe.”
Thomas immediately replies with “My Lord and my God!” erasing any doubt from Thomas’ mind. Thomas, now that he sees for himself, believes.
The reason I think Thomas does deserve the “doubting Thomas” appellation is that, indeed, he did doubt. And the reason I think we don’t want him to be accused of this doubt is that he’s no different from us. We are just like him, doubting and unbelieving at times, and want to know it’s okay. We want the company of Thomas and the others.
Well, clearly it is okay. Jesus came to Thomas specifically to erase his doubt. Don’t forget that they say that John’s gospel was written some 60 years after the crucifixion and resurrection. There are no eyewitnesses left to these events, likely. We’re in the generation at this point that not only hasn’t seen the risen Lord but also hasn’t met anyone who has. There was a lot of doubt to overcome no doubt.
And here we are almost 2,000 years later in the same position. Of course, we’re going to doubt and have our moments of unbelief. We’re not going to benefit from the appearances of the risen Jesus, coming into our midst and showing off the wounds from his passion. We’re must too much like Thomas and rightly so.
But Jesus, just as he did with Thomas, wants to help our unbelief. He wants to clear up any doubts while acknowledging them. But he gives us a leg up when he says to Thomas, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Clearly this sentence is aimed directly at those late first century Christians as well as it is at us.
Thomas deserves his label of doubting because he did indeed doubt. Are we going to deserve it too? Do we deserve to be called “Doubting Gerrys,” “Doubting Anns,” “Doubting Johns” and so on?
If so, we need to be prepared for what Jesus might do to help us through our unbelief. He made an appearance to the disciples in order to help Thomas through his unbelief. He allowed Thomas to touch his side and hands and see the holes.
What might Jesus do for us today? How might Jesus prove to us that he lives and is still active in our lives? We can’t expect him to appear to us, as that is a rare occurrence these days. Though we shouldn’t rule it out I suspect.
Instead though, we should be looking for the living Jesus in the lives and faces of others. That is how our unbelief will be dispelled. When the little miracles that occur each day happen before our very eyes. When justice happens in spite of all indications to the contrary. When we come through the tough times with others who care and pray for us.
The living Jesus will appear to us, but not, perhaps, as he did to Thomas in that room of frightened disciples that evening long ago. All the disciples doubted and Jesus knew that and appeared to them. All of us doubt and Jesus will appear to us too. We may not physically be able to stick our hands into the wounds in Jesus side as Thomas is doing in that Caravaggio painting. But we have our own appearances these days that will help our unbelief. Watch for them. And live through your doubt to belief.
8 April 2007, Easter!
John 20:1-18
The men were too quick. Probably, they jumped to the wrong conclusions. But they were definitely too quick to return home, scratching their heads, as men usually are.
Mary, however, stuck around. She stood there weeping, who knows why. But because she stayed, she got to see the risen Christ with her own eyes. Whatever called her to stay after Peter and the other disciple left is a mystery to us. But stay she did. Maybe it was intuition, which I won’t attribute only to women, but was strong perhaps in Mary. She knew she couldn’t leave—not yet. She had to find out what was going on. She wasn’t like those two disciples who come and gather their evidence and then go back to think about it. She knew there was more.
And indeed there was more: for she would have an encounter that would change her life for always. It was an encounter with her teacher that was unlike any other.
First off, the encounter was unexpected—a new Jesus appeared to her; undeniably a part of the old, but somehow a new visage who came into view. She didn’t expect to see Jesus and indeed she didn’t. She thought he was a gardener; someone she would expect to see in that place at that time.
And secondly, she was to be the messenger of this fantastic news to the others. She was the chosen one to be the carrier of the news that Jesus was not indeed dead, but was alive.
Once again, Mary got what the others missed. She likely understood the teaching of Jesus about how he had to suffer and die and return to life like none of the others did. And she stuck around to see it.
She stayed. She didn’t run away to try to figure it out. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that if she stuck around she would learn the truth of what was going on. Of course her grief caused her to continue to weep and through tear-stained eyes see this person she took to be the gardener.
Tear-stained eyes that had been weeping for days and hours. She had watched the exceedingly cruel and excruciating death of her teacher and friend just earlier. She didn’t come to the tomb on Saturday because, of course, that is the sabbath and a good Jew of the 1st century wouldn’t be doing any work of any kind on the sabbath. And Mary was clearly a good and observant Jew of her day. So she was there, on the first day of the week. But still there were those tear-stained eyes; eyes that would clearly see the missing body of her teacher but wouldn’t recognize the same one when he appeared to her.
Mary stayed and was the first of the disciples that first Easter morning to meet the risen Lord. Her encounter was a surprise to her even though in her heart of hearts she probably knew what was happening.
Do you stick around and stay long enough for Jesus to appear to you? Or are you like Peter and the other disciple who run off to try to figure things out. Most of us, I gather, are too busy, to stay where we should to learn of the risen Christ.
Too often we are busy running off from the empty tomb, wondering what’s going on when we should just stay put. If we do stay, we might have a surprising encounter with the living Christ. If we were to stay, we could just meet Jesus in a new transfiguration.
But most of us aren’t ready for that, I think. We’d rather keep it cerebral, pondering away like the male disciples instead of just staying. We might have to talk to others, gardeners for example, in order to find out what’s going on. And you know how we are these days about talking to strangers! We might not even really want to know what’s going on.
For what’s going on might be completely unbelievable; like the coming to life on one who was dead. How crazy is that?! It’s easier for us to just go off and think about things than have to explain something as crazy as that. If you stick around you just might have to explain something like that to your friends and others who will think you’re crazy.
No, it’s better to leave. Just be done with the whole silly affair. Don’t hang around like Mary did. Don’t risk an encounter with the risen Christ. Don’t risk your image as a sensible, reasonable twenty-first century person by staying around and risking an encounter with someone who’s supposed to be dead. Try to explain that these days: that your savior was dead and is now alive. Still. Some 2,000 years later.
If you stay around, you might have to face the fact that Jesus is alive. To Mary it was a beautiful, life-affirming moment. But to us, it makes us sound foolish. We can’t go running off proclaiming that Christ is alive, can we? If we stay around, like Mary, we must face the fact that Jesus, who was once dead, is now alive. And that could just get us in trouble, right?
Friends, we are part of a faith that claims that death has been conquered. There’s no way around it. So stick around and see, perhaps through tear-stained eyes, the risen Christ and then spread the news that you are a crazy, irrational twenty-first century human whose faith calls you to bring the good news to all.
The men were too quick. Probably, they jumped to the wrong conclusions. But they were definitely too quick to return home, scratching their heads, as men usually are.
Mary, however, stuck around. She stood there weeping, who knows why. But because she stayed, she got to see the risen Christ with her own eyes. Whatever called her to stay after Peter and the other disciple left is a mystery to us. But stay she did. Maybe it was intuition, which I won’t attribute only to women, but was strong perhaps in Mary. She knew she couldn’t leave—not yet. She had to find out what was going on. She wasn’t like those two disciples who come and gather their evidence and then go back to think about it. She knew there was more.
And indeed there was more: for she would have an encounter that would change her life for always. It was an encounter with her teacher that was unlike any other.
First off, the encounter was unexpected—a new Jesus appeared to her; undeniably a part of the old, but somehow a new visage who came into view. She didn’t expect to see Jesus and indeed she didn’t. She thought he was a gardener; someone she would expect to see in that place at that time.
And secondly, she was to be the messenger of this fantastic news to the others. She was the chosen one to be the carrier of the news that Jesus was not indeed dead, but was alive.
Once again, Mary got what the others missed. She likely understood the teaching of Jesus about how he had to suffer and die and return to life like none of the others did. And she stuck around to see it.
She stayed. She didn’t run away to try to figure it out. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that if she stuck around she would learn the truth of what was going on. Of course her grief caused her to continue to weep and through tear-stained eyes see this person she took to be the gardener.
Tear-stained eyes that had been weeping for days and hours. She had watched the exceedingly cruel and excruciating death of her teacher and friend just earlier. She didn’t come to the tomb on Saturday because, of course, that is the sabbath and a good Jew of the 1st century wouldn’t be doing any work of any kind on the sabbath. And Mary was clearly a good and observant Jew of her day. So she was there, on the first day of the week. But still there were those tear-stained eyes; eyes that would clearly see the missing body of her teacher but wouldn’t recognize the same one when he appeared to her.
Mary stayed and was the first of the disciples that first Easter morning to meet the risen Lord. Her encounter was a surprise to her even though in her heart of hearts she probably knew what was happening.
Do you stick around and stay long enough for Jesus to appear to you? Or are you like Peter and the other disciple who run off to try to figure things out. Most of us, I gather, are too busy, to stay where we should to learn of the risen Christ.
Too often we are busy running off from the empty tomb, wondering what’s going on when we should just stay put. If we do stay, we might have a surprising encounter with the living Christ. If we were to stay, we could just meet Jesus in a new transfiguration.
But most of us aren’t ready for that, I think. We’d rather keep it cerebral, pondering away like the male disciples instead of just staying. We might have to talk to others, gardeners for example, in order to find out what’s going on. And you know how we are these days about talking to strangers! We might not even really want to know what’s going on.
For what’s going on might be completely unbelievable; like the coming to life on one who was dead. How crazy is that?! It’s easier for us to just go off and think about things than have to explain something as crazy as that. If you stick around you just might have to explain something like that to your friends and others who will think you’re crazy.
No, it’s better to leave. Just be done with the whole silly affair. Don’t hang around like Mary did. Don’t risk an encounter with the risen Christ. Don’t risk your image as a sensible, reasonable twenty-first century person by staying around and risking an encounter with someone who’s supposed to be dead. Try to explain that these days: that your savior was dead and is now alive. Still. Some 2,000 years later.
If you stay around, you might have to face the fact that Jesus is alive. To Mary it was a beautiful, life-affirming moment. But to us, it makes us sound foolish. We can’t go running off proclaiming that Christ is alive, can we? If we stay around, like Mary, we must face the fact that Jesus, who was once dead, is now alive. And that could just get us in trouble, right?
Friends, we are part of a faith that claims that death has been conquered. There’s no way around it. So stick around and see, perhaps through tear-stained eyes, the risen Christ and then spread the news that you are a crazy, irrational twenty-first century human whose faith calls you to bring the good news to all.
1 April 2007
Luke 19:28-40
In New York City, in Washington Square Park in our old neighborhood of Greenwich Village, there is an arch. A very large arch made of concrete, I think. It was built as a triumphal entry arch for George Washington, years ago obviously, after the Revolutionary War ended. It stands to this day, a regular landmark in New York, even though it was meant to be a temporary structure for this triumphal entry.
We’ve lost a sense of triumphal entries in our day and age. Maybe a ticker tape parade come close, but even those have died off what with the end of ticker tapes and the advent of sealed windows. But the parades we used to have to welcome back astronauts and still have when a sports team wins it all come close to these triumphal entries.
But indeed, throughout history when a general returned from a successful conquering victory, he would be greeted with a grand entrance into the city. Citizens would pour out of their homes to greet the general and the soldiers as they returned, triumphant. Praises would be extolled and laurel wreaths would be placed on heads. Arches might even be built for the heroes to ride through, such as was the case in New York City.
And so it is the context in which we read today’s reading: a triumphal entry of a visiting king or successful general. Jesus is coming into Jerusalem as a hero; one who is going to save the people; save them from the Imperial Roman governing forces which rule over Judah with a heavy and terrible hand.
Rome is the outsider, the latest in a long line of outsiders, which is ruling over Judah; the land promised to Israel by God. The Roman rulers are for the most part cruel and brutal. They are hated; everything about them is abhorred.
Jerusalem, as the center of Judah’s culture, is looking for a savior; a messiah; someone who will break the bondage of the Roman rule. They’re looking for someone to have a triumphal entry. They’re ripe, in fact, for a triumphal entry.
Jesus’ disciples, some of them anyway, think their rabbi is the man; the one who will free Judah from Rome once and for all and restore the land to its rightful owner. It’s no surprise that there is a triumphal entry planned for this entrance into Jerusalem for Jesus. He is at the height of his popularity; he has been throughout Galilee teaching and preaching and healing. He has been gathering followers and adherents. There are those who think he is the messiah.
But Jesus has other plans for this triumphal entry. A conquering general would come in on a fine steed at least, if not drawn in a chariot by several horses. But Jesus comes in on a colt; a mere colt; a small, inconsequential animal. Jesus’ feet probably came close to dragging on the ground riding this animal.
Now notice that in the passage this morning, there was no mention of palms. This is the one Palm Sunday gospel that doesn’t mention the palms. Instead we get the people spreading their coats and cloaks on the road. Surely, this is a symbol of honor and respect; a message that the road is not good enough. Their coats are needed to pave the way to Jerusalem.
Then an interesting thing happens. Something you wouldn’t expect, perhaps. The disciples, all those surrounding Jesus on this colt, begin to sing a hymn of praise to the entering hero. “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” rings out throughout the whole area. The Pharisees, either jealous or concerned for Jesus’ well being, try to get Jesus to quiet the song. Jesus of course replies that if his followers were silent, the very stones on the ground would sing out: truly a miraculous occurrence were it to happen. This is not a typical triumphal entry: with the hero on a colt and the possibility of stones singing. No, this is a different kind of entry.
And in case you think that his followers weren’t getting it, let’s listen again to the hymn they were singing: “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!”
This hymn, clearly a song of praise is also a song of peace, not of war. This triumphal entry, unlike all the others, is an entry of peace; not following a successful battle campaign or in expectations of a bloody coup. Jesus’ followers, singing their hearts out, proclaim that Jesus is the ruler who is sent by none other than God. And he comes bringing peace. Truly a savior worth following.
Do we expect Jesus to come in peace as ruler of all? Do we really know what Jesus brings to us? Are we surprised, truly deep down really taken aback, by the fact that Jesus is on a colt? How do we hold together the tension of Palm Sunday, knowing what is to come this week?
Indeed, this tension is what Palm Sunday is about. This tension of a triumphal entry versus what Jesus knows lay ahead. For Jesus knew. In fact, if you read just beyond today’s lectionary reading, you read that Jesus weeps over Jerusalem. The weeping he does is of the heaving shoulders type, tears flowing type of weeping. He knows the tension that is building between his triumphal entry and the state of his world; the tension between a hero’s welcome and the shouts of the crowd that will be crying for his death in a few short days.
Yes, Palm Sunday is about tension. Our tension as we recognize what is to come during this week as humanity does its worst to one of the greatest who ever lived. The tension as we recognize that things haven’t changed much and we would likely find Jesus on death row these days; or at the least ignored and put onto the scrapheap of humanity.
Wave the palms and throw your coats onto the road in front of Jesus. But reflect on whether you would be one who would be turning and crying out “crucify him” shortly.
Live in the tension. Breathe through the tension of this Palm Sunday. But don’t try to ignore it. Recognize this tension of the adulation versus the condemnation and recognize your part in it.
In New York City, in Washington Square Park in our old neighborhood of Greenwich Village, there is an arch. A very large arch made of concrete, I think. It was built as a triumphal entry arch for George Washington, years ago obviously, after the Revolutionary War ended. It stands to this day, a regular landmark in New York, even though it was meant to be a temporary structure for this triumphal entry.
We’ve lost a sense of triumphal entries in our day and age. Maybe a ticker tape parade come close, but even those have died off what with the end of ticker tapes and the advent of sealed windows. But the parades we used to have to welcome back astronauts and still have when a sports team wins it all come close to these triumphal entries.
But indeed, throughout history when a general returned from a successful conquering victory, he would be greeted with a grand entrance into the city. Citizens would pour out of their homes to greet the general and the soldiers as they returned, triumphant. Praises would be extolled and laurel wreaths would be placed on heads. Arches might even be built for the heroes to ride through, such as was the case in New York City.
And so it is the context in which we read today’s reading: a triumphal entry of a visiting king or successful general. Jesus is coming into Jerusalem as a hero; one who is going to save the people; save them from the Imperial Roman governing forces which rule over Judah with a heavy and terrible hand.
Rome is the outsider, the latest in a long line of outsiders, which is ruling over Judah; the land promised to Israel by God. The Roman rulers are for the most part cruel and brutal. They are hated; everything about them is abhorred.
Jerusalem, as the center of Judah’s culture, is looking for a savior; a messiah; someone who will break the bondage of the Roman rule. They’re looking for someone to have a triumphal entry. They’re ripe, in fact, for a triumphal entry.
Jesus’ disciples, some of them anyway, think their rabbi is the man; the one who will free Judah from Rome once and for all and restore the land to its rightful owner. It’s no surprise that there is a triumphal entry planned for this entrance into Jerusalem for Jesus. He is at the height of his popularity; he has been throughout Galilee teaching and preaching and healing. He has been gathering followers and adherents. There are those who think he is the messiah.
But Jesus has other plans for this triumphal entry. A conquering general would come in on a fine steed at least, if not drawn in a chariot by several horses. But Jesus comes in on a colt; a mere colt; a small, inconsequential animal. Jesus’ feet probably came close to dragging on the ground riding this animal.
Now notice that in the passage this morning, there was no mention of palms. This is the one Palm Sunday gospel that doesn’t mention the palms. Instead we get the people spreading their coats and cloaks on the road. Surely, this is a symbol of honor and respect; a message that the road is not good enough. Their coats are needed to pave the way to Jerusalem.
Then an interesting thing happens. Something you wouldn’t expect, perhaps. The disciples, all those surrounding Jesus on this colt, begin to sing a hymn of praise to the entering hero. “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” rings out throughout the whole area. The Pharisees, either jealous or concerned for Jesus’ well being, try to get Jesus to quiet the song. Jesus of course replies that if his followers were silent, the very stones on the ground would sing out: truly a miraculous occurrence were it to happen. This is not a typical triumphal entry: with the hero on a colt and the possibility of stones singing. No, this is a different kind of entry.
And in case you think that his followers weren’t getting it, let’s listen again to the hymn they were singing: “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!”
This hymn, clearly a song of praise is also a song of peace, not of war. This triumphal entry, unlike all the others, is an entry of peace; not following a successful battle campaign or in expectations of a bloody coup. Jesus’ followers, singing their hearts out, proclaim that Jesus is the ruler who is sent by none other than God. And he comes bringing peace. Truly a savior worth following.
Do we expect Jesus to come in peace as ruler of all? Do we really know what Jesus brings to us? Are we surprised, truly deep down really taken aback, by the fact that Jesus is on a colt? How do we hold together the tension of Palm Sunday, knowing what is to come this week?
Indeed, this tension is what Palm Sunday is about. This tension of a triumphal entry versus what Jesus knows lay ahead. For Jesus knew. In fact, if you read just beyond today’s lectionary reading, you read that Jesus weeps over Jerusalem. The weeping he does is of the heaving shoulders type, tears flowing type of weeping. He knows the tension that is building between his triumphal entry and the state of his world; the tension between a hero’s welcome and the shouts of the crowd that will be crying for his death in a few short days.
Yes, Palm Sunday is about tension. Our tension as we recognize what is to come during this week as humanity does its worst to one of the greatest who ever lived. The tension as we recognize that things haven’t changed much and we would likely find Jesus on death row these days; or at the least ignored and put onto the scrapheap of humanity.
Wave the palms and throw your coats onto the road in front of Jesus. But reflect on whether you would be one who would be turning and crying out “crucify him” shortly.
Live in the tension. Breathe through the tension of this Palm Sunday. But don’t try to ignore it. Recognize this tension of the adulation versus the condemnation and recognize your part in it.
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