Palm
Sunday 2014
Psalm
118:1-2, 19-29; Matthew 21:1-11
We are gathered here this morning to
cheer! We are here to express hope and sincere
encouragement for a great victory. We have
lifted up this cheer from our hearts and embodied it in voice and procession
and waving.
More on the obvious reason we are
cheering here this morning in a minute.
Let me first ask this – generally, what do you find yourself cheering
for? Many of us cheer for those who
entertain us through sports and the arts. Did any of you do some of this
cheering recently at a sporting event or theatrical performance? More personally, we also cheer on the people
we love and support through various experiences. Will anybody be cheering on a graduate in
the coming months? Or is anyone trying
to cheer on a loved one going through a personal crisis? Overall, our cheers are fired up by faith
in positive, beneficial outcomes.
And so here we are, remembering and
re-enacting one long ago day in an ancient land when there was a parade of
cheers and hopes full of faithful conviction.
Did you know the historical moment of which I speak was one of two
parades happening at that time?[i] One was happening at the west gate of
Jerusalem, the other at the east gate of Jerusalem. We are most definitely not celebrating the
west gate parade today. But we do have
to acknowledge it to appreciate the significance of this parade we are in
today.
The west gate parade had been a very
imposing thing for everyday citizens to witness. This was the parade of the Roman army
marching into Jerusalem. They did so
because it was the time of Jewish pilgrimage to the Great Temple to celebrate
Passover, the great festival commemorating their divine liberation from slavery
in Egypt. During Passover, the holy city population
would suddenly swell by over 150,000 people.
The Roman army was thus called in to maintain order. This meant displaying its mighty authority to
strike down any and all public disturbances by locals or pilgrims. So they proudly paraded before the public
astride their handsome warhorses, wearing polished leather, brandishing shiny
lances and lifting high the fear-inducing symbols of the Roman standard and
eagle. The army paraded their authority
over any and all possible resistance to the Empire with “the clank of armor,
the stomp of feet, and beating of drums.”[ii] Were we standing there on the west side, we
would have fully understood. We would
have had no vision but of Caesar, felt the mass of imperial power reverberating
through our bodies and penetrating our psyches.
That’s what was happening at the
west gate while a reasonably small disturbance was approaching the east gate. I say “reasonably small” in comparison to the
masses arriving for the Passover pilgrimage.
With faithful imagination, we are united with this crowd today. We are part of their parade.
Over here, on the east side, where
the sun of course always rises, we have paraded down from the Mount of
Olives. We have left behind the magnificent view over
the Jordan Valley and the Dead Sea. We
have remembered that long before us King David once fled in the opposite
direction, going up this over 300 foot slope to escape certain death at the
hands of his rebellious son
Absalom. On that route, he had wept and
hidden his royal identity under cloak (2 Samuel 15). We, on the other hand, are joyfully, loudly,
very openly displaying symbols of Jewish royalty as we head into
Jerusalem. But whether ascending or
descending, the purpose was the same: to be closer to and to praise the power
of our God.
Over here, on the east side, in our simple
and celebratory parade, we are rolling out the red carpet as we go. Well, the ancient equivalent of it. The carpet is made from common folk cloaks
we’ve laid out along with some additional color; not red, but the yellow-green
of the palm branches we’ve cut down and brought with us to the parade. These are long standing symbols, we know, of
goodness and victory such as were carved into the doors of Solomon’s great
temple (1 Kings 6:1-9). Over there, at
the west gate, folks were more focused on keeping palms down -- the palm of
their hands, with fingers held tightly together at the end of a straightly held
out arm as they shouted “Hail Caesar.”
God knows, we aren’t parading to
hail Caesar. We are heralding Jesus of
Nazareth and him alone. We know this
man is more than the latest prophet to come down the pike. We call to him with cheers of “Son of David”
and “Hosanna!” We do so believing He is
our truest hope, our ultimate liberator from all worldly oppression, the true
king of our lives and our nation. We do
so declaring Him our long-awaited Messiah. Our shouts of “Hosanna” are shouts of “Save
us!”
But there is a little confusion
among us. What’s the deal with the
donkeys? Why isn’t our true King, the
one we anticipate will overthrow the occupying Roman Empire, arriving on the
back of a strong white stallion? Doesn’t
our Savior know what’s going on over at the west gate? What kind of powerful message, what kind of
heralding of this most holy moment and divinely revolutionary movement, does it
send to be moseying into Jerusalem on some lowly, laboring beast of burden?
We pause our cheering long enough to
ask one of His twelve disciples about this.
We are told, with eyebrows raised in a way that communicates acceptance
without full understanding, that Jesus simply “had need of it.” We
are told how as the twelve got closer to the holy city, they were sent ahead to
a village to find a foal and its mother.
Once found, they were instructed to take them and bring them to
Jesus. And if anyone at all --
especially, say, their owners -- had a question about it, they were to say,
“The Lord needs them.” Upon those words,
they were told, the person inquiring would immediately agree to the request.
Of all the Palm Sunday drama and
pageantry, I feel deeply drawn to reflect on this part the most. This is because I immediately identify with
the person questioning what sure seems to be some blatant donkey theft. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure my
initial response would have been something like, “That’s all well and fine that
Nestor and Eeyore are needed, but their mine.
I need both of them more.” Just
imagine some folks coming to you out of the blue and saying, “Jesus needs your
minivan.” How would you respond? Would you be immediately willing to make that
sacrifice? Back then, to let go of two
generations of donkey was to let go a pair greatly needed for plowing, carrying
heavy grain packs and provisions, and for personal travels. Even if there was some faith in Jesus of
Nazareth, questioning his need for our
property and for us to make a personal sacrifice sure seems like it would have
been in order.
But Jesus knew what he needed and
why. He knew that donkeys were reliable
for their strength and for their loyalty to their master. He also knew they were held in low regard
when compared to the pomp and circumstance pride of a warhorse. He
knew that when it came to his followers, he needed to them to be strong, loyal,
humble, and hardworking in character. Fetching
animals of this ilk, therefore, perhaps was a bit of a test for his first
disciples. And it reinforced that
immediate, sacrificial, faithful trust in Jesus’ divine purposes and plans is a
requirement for discipleship. Even if what’s
happening is unclear and confusing, out of sync with common expectations. Even if it gives us great pause in cheering
Him on to victory. Jesus also
knew he was fulfilling the ancient prophecy of Zechariah 9:90, which foretold
that Israel’s future king would come not astride an impressive beast of war,
but upon a meager creature of peace, “humble and riding on a donkey.”
Does Jesus need your “donkey” today? Something for you to give up this final
stretch of Lent? Something that helps Him
parade into the awesome and awful and utterly necessary week ahead? To humbly go through the east gates of this
world according to the providence of God Almighty as the most powerful forces of
this sinful, fallen world steadily march on?
Yes, we are here now, at the east
gate, where the sun always rises. We are
cheering. Once inside the city, however,
there will be jeering … mockery … betrayal … blood. Whether or not we are willing to admit it,
there will be dismissive taunts and cries for crucifixion and deep fear fueled
denials falling out of our mouths soon enough.
As this holy week unfolds, we’ll
realize just how much we want Jesus to be an old world emperor instead of a new
world, game-changing King of all love, peace, forgiveness and justice. But for today, our hope is in place. We joyfully cover the ground with our common cloaks
and royal branches. We see our true
king “humble and riding on a donkey.” Today,
we shout, “Save us!”
Amen.
