“They brought the colt to Jesus.
Then, throwing their coats on its back, they helped Jesus get on. As
he rode, the people gave him a grand welcome, throwing their coats on
the street.
Right at
the crest, where Mount Olives begins its descent, the whole crowd of
disciples burst into enthusiastic praise over all the mighty works
they had witnessed:
Blessed is he who comes,
the king in God’s name!
All’s well in heaven!
Glory in the high places!
the king in God’s name!
All’s well in heaven!
Glory in the high places!
When the
city came into view, he wept over it. “If you had only recognized
this day, and everything that was good for you! But now it’s too
late. In the days ahead your enemies are going to bring up their
heavy artillery and surround you, pressing in from every side.
They’ll smash you and your babies on the pavement. Not one stone
will be left intact. All this because you didn’t recognize and
welcome God’s personal visit.”
Luke 19:35-44, The
Message
Even though it's
Good Friday, I've got Palm Sunday on the brain. It's the day Jesus
literally rode into town. Of course, he'd been there before a number
of times in the course of his life but on that day he came in as the
grand marshal, if you will, of an impromptu parade one float long.
In the town that
has been my home for over twenty-three years now, the biggest gala of
the calendar year centers around the Fourth of July. Here we call it
Liberty Fest – a week long extravaganza of community events that
include a craft fair, a vintage car show, street dances, water ski
shows, fireworks and the Liberty Fest parade. During the course of
that week our little town of 2,100 swells to 6,000-8,000 as all the
exiles, as Garrison Keillor refers to the former Lake Wobegonians,
return to see the folks, hang out on the lake and soak up whatever
ambiance our small town affords.
The
Liberty Fest parade is like a lot of small town parades – a various
assortment of floats and entrants from fire trucks to tractors, from
vintage cars to kids on roller blades – all trolling down the main
drag to the delight of us all. The veterans carry their flags, the
high school band marches, teen royalty from neighboring communities
ensconced on their thrones wave regally (including, no less, the
Bluegill Queen and her court) and the Shriners wheel around in their
funny little cars. As those things go, it's not much of a going
concern but it's our parade.
It's a big deal. I am not exaggerating when I say that if you don't
put your lawn chair out the day before to reserve your seat, you will
be lucky to find an open spot along the mile long route. Really!
 |
| In our town, this guy is a big deal |
If you don't count
the mayor and the royalty from our local nursing home, the real guest
of honor is the Grand Marshal, usually a local person who is honored
for his contribution to the community. Two years ago it was the guy
who cuts my hair, Harry the barber. If I remember right, he rode down
the main drag in a convertible surrounded by his granddaughters
waving like the big wheel that he is. The flag, the band, the staff
from the Baptist campgrounds singing “God Bless America” - it's
all a slice of Americana and what it means to celebrate Independence
Day in these here parts and a lot of other small towns across the
country.
The day Jesus rode
into Jerusalem was not a pre-planned event. Fliers had not been
printed up ahead of time to make the locals aware that at 12 noon
(well, that's when our parade begins), the man from Galilee who in
the past year or so had made quite a reputation as a healer and
prophet was entering the city at the onset of Passover week.
Jerusalem would have been like Chetek at the onset of Liberty Fest –
becoming noticeably busier as pilgrims from all over entered the city
to celebrate Passover. Then in something like flashmob-fashion, it
happens: in conscious fulfillment of Scripture, he rides into town on
the back of a young donkey surrounded by his disciples. When most
Americans see the stars and stripes there is an emotional reaction
however subtle. If it's passing by, people stand, take off their hats
and hold their hand over their heart. Jesus riding into Jerusalem
like that affects them as it would affect us seeing the flag coming
down Main Street. The reaction is spontaneous. The word quickly
filters through the throng and the crowd starts throwing off their
cloaks red-carpet style or hack off palm branches from nearby trees
and wave them in acclamation.
From
the multitude, the cry of Hosanna arises
from the messianic Psalm 118. All my life I have known the word to be
used exclusively in a worship setting either spoken or sung. It comes
from two Hebrew words, hosha
(save) and na (which
adds a sense of urgency to the cry). Taken together they essentially
mean: “Save us! Save us, son of David!” There's a touch of
hilarity at this event. At long last perhaps God has heard the
prayers of his people and is sending his Messiah to save them from
their oppressors and set things right. But this is no “March for
Jesus” declaring through word and worship his reign over the city.
This is, in fact, a political rally and a demonstration against their
Roman overlords. In my mind, to really appreciate what is going on
here it would be better for us to hear the cry of “Hosanna!” as
“Four more years! Four more years!”
instead of a call to worship.
When Harry the
barber was Grand Marshal, he was all smiles and why shouldn't he be?
He rode at the front of the parade (which, incidentally, gave him
plenty of time to double back via side streets to get on the float
where he usually rides playing his accordion with his polka band, the
Sentimental Sounds) as the guest of honor. But Luke tells us
something very peculiar about Jesus that raucous, hilarious day when
religious leaders were rebuking Jesus for not keeping a tighter grip
on his followers for their emotional display: he doesn't wave to the
multitude, he doesn't kiss any babies, shake any hands or hand out
any literature. He doesn't even smile. Rather, he cries – no, weeps
– as he is led into Jerusalem. The man of the hour looks decidedly
out of place.
There are two
places in Scripture that record Jesus crying. The first is outside
Lazarus' tomb. The shortest verse in the entire New Testament
captures it: “Jesus wept” (John 11:35). The second is here: “As
he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it” (Luke
19:41). As I understand it, in John's Gospel the word translated
refers to a single tear running down a person's cheek – like that
iconic commercial in the 70s that featured the sad Indian (when we
still referred to them that way) who wept at the sight of pollution.
But Luke's “wept” is a very different word. It means to ball like
a baby, to be overcome with grief. If that's so, it makes me wonder
why Peter or James didn't stop the parade and find out what's wrong
with their Master. So picture this: the crowd is waving the flag and
shouting enthusiastically and the guy at the center of the event is
beside himself with sorrow. Say what? |
| We need Abe |
Those
of us who know our Bibles know why. As a prophet, Jesus saw their
future. He saw Titus and his legions surrounding the city and
eventually leveling it, burning the great Temple to the ground. He
saw the devastation and destruction of thousands and the sight of it
burst his huge heart. The mission had failed.
For three years he had earnestly sought to teach the people who he is
and what the Father had sent him to do. Sure, along the way he had
healed lots of people and done stuff that we're still talking about
two millenia later but all his efforts to save that
generation had been for naught. On that shining, beautiful day as he
fulfilled Scripture in front of their eyes, they still understood
Messiah as we Americans would view the second-coming of Abe Lincoln –
the Presidents of all presidents come to set America straight. Their
lack of comprehension would cost them dearly.
Of
course, Jesus was not a failure. He faithfully carried out the
Father's will and was obedient to the letter but the mission to reach
those people at that time had failed. As John put it,
“...he came unto his own and his own received him not”
(John 1:11, KJV). I know that it was all apart of God's plan. I know
that what looked like total failure as he hung on that Roman gibbet
was unbelievable and staggering victory. But as someone who is
employed to teach and preach the Scriptures, who for over two decades
now continues to strive to communicate the gospel in such a way that
it is heard and comprehended to any who will listen, that image of
Jesus – the best teacher of them all – beside himself with grief
at the people's inability to get it reminds me that I'm in good
company.
I
can't hold a candle to Jesus (there are few who can) but I strove for
eleven years to try and share the Gospel in a contemporary fashion to
teens at a youth ministry I began. For the past 11 years, I've been
trying to share the Gospel with inmates at the Barron County Jail.
The results are difficult to measure. It's not all been for naught.
There have been “wins” and gains. But from my perspective there
has been so many who have, in the end, rejected what I shared with
them or maybe they tried it for a bit and when this “Jesus-thing”
didn't work, shrugged their shoulders and moved on. Those teens that
used to gather here by the throngs on Wednesday nights? I've been
here long enough to see some of the damage they have done to
themselves and (now) their kids for not embracing the truth of what
God has done for them and calls them to do. Those inmates at the
jail? Some of them are slowly becoming “lifers” - doing “life”
at the county jail six months at a time. If I thought about it too
much it would break my heart too.
Tonight
in Chetek, some of the community fellowships will gather at Chetek
United Methodist to celebrate and commemorate Good Friday. We'll sing
appropriate songs, hear the Story, be encouraged to ponder and
reflect and then we'll leave quietly from the sanctuary. “Ephphatha!”
That is the prayer that Jesus
prayed – with a mighty groan, no less - over the man from the
Decapolis who was both deaf and mute (Mark 7:34). “Open up!” It's
the same prayer in my heart today for those I know who are yet
indifferent to the message of Jesus, who are, for all practical
purposes, deaf, dumb and blind to the entreaty of heaven.
