Tuesday, April 16, 2019

The First Processional

Luke 19:28-40
Palm Sunday 

Today begins the week we call Holy Week.  Today we come to the end of what is, for many of us, a long and somber season: a season of self-reflection; a season of sacrifice and penitence; a season of remembering the steps of Jesus as he made his way toward the Cross, but ultimately the Empty Tomb.  

As we come to the end of this profound season, entering into this yet somehow more profound week, we do so with a parade.  If we didn’t celebrate it the same way every year, it would seem strange, wouldn’t it?  This weighty week—that will hold for Jesus betrayal, torture, and death—begins with a parade!  

Even here, toward the end, Jesus continues to surprise us; although perhaps it shouldn’t.  Jesus has been predicting what was to come for some time now; heck, even his disciples can see the danger ahead; but he goes anyway and marches into Jerusalem by orchestrating a parade.  But it’s not just any parade, is it?  It’s the kind of parade that is recognized by the people gathered in Jerusalem as the entrance of the king.  And not just any king; this is the king that the prophets spoke about.  This is the king that will drive off our enemies.  This is the king who compels us to shout, “Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!”  This is the king who comes in the name of the Lord.  

But just who is this king?  As this week goes on we see that this parade doesn’t last long, does it?  He doesn’t drive off our enemies.  Our shouts of peace turn to “Crucify him!”  This one we thought had come in the name of the Lord seems later to be cursed by God, doesn’t he?  In the end, it seems that the Jesus we are looking for doesn’t always turn out to be the Jesus we get.  

One of our church friends told me that he likes to read the upcoming sermon texts and titles and try to predict what the sermons are going to be about.  I told him, “That may not be a very productive use of your time.”  Often, between the time I think I know what a message is going to be about when I write the title and when the sermon actually gets written, God comes up with a different plan.  Often, the title and the message are only vaguely related.  That’s not the case today, but it might not be what you think.  If I were you, I would presume that the processionals I’m referring to are this first one—the parade Jesus makes into Jerusalem—and that other one we remember at the end of the week—the one Jesus makes to the Cross.  But that isn’t actually what I had in mind.  

The two processions I’m talking about both happened around this same time during Holy Week.  In Jerusalem, at the start of Passover week, and at different ends of the city, there were (in fact) two kings riding in at around the same time.  From the east, came the one we know well: Jesus and his colt and the shouts of, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”  But there was another parade happening at the west end of town.  That second processional was Pilate’s parade.  Pilate, draped in the gaudy glory of imperial power: horses, chariots, and gleaming armor.  Pilate would always move into Jerusalem, with the Roman army marching behind, at the beginning of the Passover week.  This festival, celebrating the power of God to beat the odds and liberate the people from oppression and captivity, always riled up at least a few.  Pilate showed up to make sure things didn’t get out of hand or insurrection would be in the air.  Two ends of Jerusalem, two kings, and two processionals; but who, by the end of the week, would wind up with the throne?  

If that sounds heavy with politics, it certainly was.  And I’m sorry, and I hate to even bring it up, but I have to confess that I’m already exhausted by the presidential election.  The puffing and preening; the criticizing and complaining; the name-calling and half-truths; didn’t we just do this?  

It can be a little entertaining, though; at least at this point in it.  At this point, it’s fun to watch all of the would-be candidates, who haven’t been president before, try to look presidential.  They say and do whatever focus-groups tell them people look for in a “presidential person”; but no one is really like that, so at first at least, they mostly come off pretty awkwardly.  

What do we look for?  What do we look for in a king, as it were?  Which end of Jerusalem would we be cheering for?  Some days, I’m not sure.  

About a month ago, the kids celebrated Dr. Seuss day.  If you don’t know, it’s now an annual tradition in schools across the country to celebrate on or around his birthday.  One of my favorite Dr. Seuss stories is Yertle the Turtle.  Yertle, of course, is a turtle, but not just any turtle; Yertle is the king turtle of his particular pond.  One day, while reflecting from his rock-throne on how he is the king of all that he sees, Yertle decides that he needs to see more.  So Yertle begins to stack up some of his turtle-subjects, making his throne, what he can see, and therefore his kingdom, that much greater.  Delighted by the sudden growth of his dominion, he orders even more turtles to be stacked up even higher.  And his reign is indeed glorious… that is until the turtle at the very bottom (named Mack) burps and Yertle’s kingdom comes toppling down.  

It’s one of those wonderfully subversive Dr. Seuss stories that has a message that isn’t really for kids.  It speaks about what happens in just about any political structure when the people on the top loose sight of the fact that their kingdom is built on the backs of someone else.  And all it takes for their kingdom to come falling into the mud is for those turtles on the bottom to decide they’ve had enough.  

I only bring up Yertle to point out that this is often the image we have of those who rule over us, isn’t it?  We may not have any experience with kings, but anyone we lift up on our shells will eventually need to be dropped back down to the mud because they inevitably forget why we lifted them there in the first place.  I mean, why do you think we put term limits on our presidents… and our session members?  The idea is that their terms will run out before they start stacking us on top of each other.  

When Jesus heads toward Jerusalem, the people clearly had high hopes.  The crowds that welcome him are ready and willing to be stacked as high as Jesus wants them to go.  Of course, it’s not like Jesus was discouraging this behavior; after all, he is the one who orchestrates this parade in the first place.  According to Luke, he’s the one that arranged for the donkey colt, this kingly symbol.  Those who were gathering in Jerusalem would see this sight and be reminded of the words of the prophet Zechariah and immediately know what the symbol meant: “See, your king comes to you, righteous and bearing salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”  

This symbolism may not be obvious to us, but when a king wanted to show that he was ready for a fight—like Pilate—he entered on a horse.  But when a king entered a town on a donkey colt it sent a very different message.  It sent an image of peace.  It sent a message that this king’s reign was a reign of peace: the war was over; the enemies were no more.  Now if you think about it, this message was a bit premature considering that Jerusalem was still an occupied territory of the Roman Empire.  There had been no revolution.  The army was just on the other side of town!  Jesus was making these claims about his kingship, but he still didn’t really have the kingdom!  

Of course, we have an insight on all of this that the crowds along the parade route didn’t have, don’t we?  We know how this story ends, right?  Not just with the turning tides of popular opinion, but that persecution, execution, and resurrection were all part of the same plan connected to this parade.  We know that the kingdom Jesus proclaimed was more than just the one called Israel.  We know that his rule conquered even death itself.  We know that the kingdom he invites us into is beyond this life, and for that we do cry out, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!”  We get it.  We see his true purpose in this triumphant parade.  

And yet, I can’t help but wonder: is it beyond the realm of possibility to think that maybe, we might be cheering for the wrong king too?  The crowds in Jerusalem had all the right signs.  They had Scripture to tell them what this all meant.  And yet, don’t they seem a bit disillusioned when this king doesn’t turn out to be the king they thought they were cheering for?  

I guess what I’m trying to say is, just like they missed the fact that this king was the king of eternal life, what if he also could be for us, the king of more than just eternal life?  Not that I’m saying eternal life is not something worth cheering for, but it makes his kingdom much farther off, doesn’t it?  His kingdom may last forever, but sometimes we live as though it isn’t also here and now.   

This king—the suffering king we celebrate this week—is the king… of everything.  To paraphrase Dr. Seuss: this king, O marvelous He, is indeed the king of all that he sees… and he sees it all.  He sees us, right here and right now.  He sees all that we are and he sees the potential for all that we can be.  And although it does all belong to him, he does not build this kingdom on the backs of his subjects, for he gave his own back to build it.  He has built this kingdom by the giving of his own life.  He has built it by his body and his blood.  And while he has built this kingdom for you he also invites you to come and build it too.  

Let us welcome and celebrate our king today, this week, and every day.  And let us live faithfully in his kingdom, even in his kingdom here and now.

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