From the Mount of Olives, Jesus sends disciples ahead of him to secure the colt, and word spreads quickly. The crowd get up early to prepare. To cut branches from palm trees. To gather their friends and family. To spread the news that Jesus is coming from the Mount of Olives, the place from whence the savior would come according to the Old Testament prophet Zechariah. To spread the news that Jesus is entering Jerusalem, the seat of power in that region of the world and the home of the Jewish temple. The crowd get up early because a king is coming to save them from the tyrannical rule of the Roman Empire. They will be free, free from occupation, free from exorbitant taxes, free from arbitrarily cruel punishment. The colt, a sign of the promised king’s arrival from the prophet Zechariah, tips them off. They lay down a bed of palm branches and cloaks on the road to prepare for the king’s arrival.
Many generations before, the ancient Israelites were enslaved in Egypt and then delivered out of slavery by Moses. In thanksgiving, God instructed them to process around the temple altar waving palm branches. On the first Palm Sunday, the palm branches signal the crowd’s joyful hope that, like Moses, Jesus will lead a new exodus and deliver them from their bondage. So too by “spreading their cloaks on the road,” the crowd signals they recognize Jesus as royalty, just as described in 2 Kings. Palm Sunday is full of expectation, the people’s expectations teed up by the Old Testament. This Lent during our MidWeek Lenten worship services, we have considered our expectations of Jesus. We likely don’t share the expectations of those held by the people of the first century. We likely don’t expect Jesus to end corrupt systems of government or de-throne political leaders. We likely don’t expect Jesus to save us from paying our taxes or to guarantee safe passage of particular legislation through Congress. But perhaps we expect Jesus to agree with us, to accept the things we accept and to judge the things and people we judge. Perhaps we expect Jesus’ ways to mirror our ways. Perhaps we expect Jesus to solve all our problems or end suffering in the world. Perhaps we expect Jesus to make our lives easier, not harder. And honestly, why not expect those things from a savior-king? Even while typing these words, especially “perhaps we expect Jesus to end suffering in the world,” I was like, yeah, I do. I think about all that is wrong in the world, all those actually dying from malnutrition in Gaza and Haiti today. I think about refugees around the world who are at this moment walking away from everything they’ve ever known, carrying all their possessions tied up in a quilt. I think about people, maybe even some in our own community, who woke up this morning and were hit or belittled by their partner, and I wonder: Why doesn’t Jesus end this? Palm Sunday and, indeed, the entirety of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection challenge our expectations of a savior-king. Jesus challenges our expectations of what will happen when he shows up. He challenges our expectations of what is truly redemptive. As humans, we naturally would like our problems to simply be eradicated, but that is, evidently, not how God works. Instead, God becomes flesh in Jesus and joins us in our suffering. Which is somehow exactly what we need. A few years ago, a young woman I’ll call Anne joined the church I served. Off and on, she was homeless and seemingly always in unstable, unpredictable situations. I didn’t see her in worship much, but she would sometimes just stop by the church. I’d return from a meeting elsewhere, and she would be sitting on the steps right in front of my office door. I’d sit down on the steps next to her, and she’d tell me what was going on in her life. Twenty minutes later, she’d have to go, and so would I. That’s all she needed. This past week, someone from our own community showed up at church, and when I greeted them, out spilled their anxiety and aggravations, common worries and frustrations. For maybe ten minutes, this beloved person shared while another member and I listened. Ten minutes, and we had to go, but the person who shared smiled and thanked us for listening, clearly more at peace. Once a month, I have an hour-long zoom call with my coach. Each meeting, she helps me solve a problem I’m facing either in my professional or personal life by asking me questions that lead me to clarity and action. She and I met the week before last, and like every month, I described a problem I had, one I was a bit ashamed to admit. Once admitted, though, my coach helped me unravel the knots of my problem, and I ended the session with a light heart. So often what Anne and the member of our community, what I and all of us is need is not heroics but simply presence, the presence of another person and especially the presence of God. Today, Jesus challenges the expectations of the people of his day—and ours. Jesus does not show up mighty and swashbuckling, forceful and heroic. Instead, our savior-king shows up on a colt, fulfilling Old Testament prophecy, yes, but prophecy depicting the humblest of all kings. But apparently, Jesus’ humble entrance into Jerusalem goes right over the heads of the crowd, for they still call out “Hosanna,” meaning “save us!” They are not crying out “save us from our sin” but for deliverance from the oppression of the Roman Empire. No wonder the crowd turns on Jesus just a few days later. If Jesus can’t save even himself from the Roman Empire’s tortuous cross, how can he possibly save us? they likely wonder. While the crowd rejoices upon Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem, he later disappoints the hopes of everyone. For he does not slew a single soldier. He does not remove the emperor from his throne. He does not change the law of the land. What does he do? He shows up. He shows up in the very place where he will die. Many people die in Jerusalem by the power of the state; Jesus is just one more. Jesus enters Jerusalem not like other kings, not with swords and shields, not with chariots, not even a horse—just a colt, a borrowed one, at that. Jesus knows when he gets on the colt that doing so will cement his fate for to enter Jerusalem like that, to be hailed Son of David, to be flocked by a crowd shouting “Hosanna” is sedition. It is to challenge the sitting emperor. Even though he knows he will die and die in great agony, he does not pick up a sword. He will not bring about the kingdom of God through violence. There will be another way. That other way is the one we walk this week, this holy week. Amen.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorPastor Sarah Stadler shares her sermons from the previous Sunday. Archives
May 2024
Categories |