Tell me again.
Tell me again to cultivate new life—
Tell me again to cultivate new life—
a life where I believe in myself,
a life where dare I say, I love myself.
a life where dare I say, I love myself.
Tell me again to cultivate new life—
a life of dancing in the kitchen
and slow cups of coffee;
a life where Sabbath is viewed as a gift as opposed to a luxury;
a life of dancing in the kitchen
and slow cups of coffee;
a life where Sabbath is viewed as a gift as opposed to a luxury;
a life where I trust my own voice and speak words dripping in hope, heavy in love.
Tell me again.
Tell me again because I will forget.
Tell me again because change has never come easy.
Tell me again because I will forget.
Tell me again because change has never come easy.
Tell me again, because on Monday I’ll wave palms
And by Friday I’ll be at the foot of a cross.
So if you can, tell me again
Of the love that changed the world,
And my invitation to do the same.
Of the love that changed the world,
And my invitation to do the same.
That was, “Holy Week,” by Sarah Are, and we are here to tell the story of the love that changed the world. At least, that’s what we normally do, right? We come together and tell the story of the love that changed the world, and then we go home. We read the news. We talk to each other and about each other on social media. We gather in our tribes of families or families of choice, and we wait for someone else to fix things.
That may not describe you personally. I was making some broad generalizations about the human condition. In fact, I dare say the same was true of those who threw garments and branches on the road in front of Jesus. How many of them congratulated one another for being God’s people that day? How many of them walked away thinking, “Well, I did the thing.”
Incidentally, “We did the thing” is a phrase Jake and I will share sometimes after we study scripture and plan worship together. On the one hand, it’s an acknowledgment that we accomplished our goal. On the other, it’s a tongue in cheek way to say that “doing the ting” only sets in motion everything else that has to be done.
Those pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem also knew that the things they did were only the beginning of what was to come, but they had no idea of the way that it included them. They had no idea that their anxiety over their poverty would be the spark to set the universe aflame with love. They had no idea that their joy would be turned to anger and even blood lust, or that their sin would open the floodgates of healing and love for a broken and fearful world!
Oh, they did the thing, alright. The disciples put their tallit – their prayer shawls – on the donkey’s back for Jesus to ride on. These prayer shawls had four braided corners to remind them of the law of God. They were a physical covering to remind the faithful of their duty to the law, and they were a constant physical reminder of the providence and care of God.
Jesus sat upon these, and also fulfilled the prophecy of a king who was more humble than haughty, the king who brought healing in his wake, the king on a beast of burden. So much reverence did they have for Jesus that when they saw what his disciples had done, they paved his way with the shawls that they wore. Jesus was literally born by the law and the prophets into the city.
The chant they were singing, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord,” is actually something they would have been singing on the way up to Jerusalem anyway. At least they would have sung “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.” It was part of Psalm 118, which was sung back and forth between pilgrims and ultimately from Cantors on the walls to the people below.
This time they called Jesus “King,” and the Pharisees knew it was a bad idea. So did Jesus. He knew that the closer he got to Jerusalem the worse this would be for him and the temple authorities and the Roman governor. Yet he told them that if the people were silent, the very rocks would sing out.
That line always takes me back to a worship service in my home church in Marietta, GA. We had a guest choir from Spelman College in Atlanta. The gospel choir from this historically black institution of higher learning belted out:
If I don’t praise the Lord
The rocks are going to cry out!
I don’t want no rocks
crying out in my place!
The thing that this story reminds us of is that the people cried out because of what they expected to happen. The people cried out because it met with the desire of God for them to cry out! They were not wrong, because Jesus was the one sent by God to restore all of Israel. They were not even wrong to shout “crucify” when this man did not meet their expectations of a king because that is the way love became poured out for all the world to taste and see.
The question of the day is not whether or not they were wrong to shout “Hosannah” or “Crucify.” The question of the day is not about why or how or who waived palms. The question of the day is whether or not we know why we waive palms.
Do we waive them because it’s Palm Sunday and it’s in the liturgy? Do we waive them because we believe that King Jesus will come back one day and fix this mess of a world for us? No. At least I hope not. The invitation of scripture is to remember that God came near in the person of Jesus and that through him we may become more humble. We may become less of who we think we ought to be and more of who we were created to be.
The invitation of this day is to know that Jesus was not only humble enough to ride a donkey but also humble enough to go to the cross. In the week ahead we’ll remember the anguish and passion of Jesus during his final Passover meal and his crucifixion. We’ll remember it like we’ll remember a good book or a movie that we already know how it ends.
If the story comforts you with the knowledge that God loves you enough to allow Jesus to suffer for you, then that’s a good thing, because this story isn’t just a story. It’s a promise on behalf of Almighty God to love you. It’s a promise on behalf of Almighty God to love you enough not to let you stay as you are, but to keep moving you toward what you will become. It’s a promise not just for this life, but for life that never ends! It’s a promise that you don’t have to die in order to live into the kingdom of God! It can start right here, right now.
In light of the news of the recent burning of three historic, black congregations, I have to say that I experienced a taste of the heavenly banquet a few weeks ago. I was a part of an experience of intentional conversations between blacks and whites in Lafayette that resulted in a shared meal between all the participants right in the middle of Jefferson St.
The event was called, “The Longest Table.” I know that racism is more than about black and white, but in our nation, we cannot escape the primary conflict of those who have enslaved and those who were enslaved.
Given the church burnings – which were the act of a twisted soul – I can’t help but ask why so many non-profits are speaking out where the church should be. Sometimes it seems as though the very rocks are shouting “Hosanna! Blessed is the King that comes in the name of the Lord!”
I know the church is doing good work. I know that this church is doing good work. I know that there are members of this church that feel like there’s nothing else they have to give. The prayer shawls are down. We’ve been waiving our palms so hard our arms are sore! Still, this week calls us to say that there is a greater transformation on the way.
This week, the final Passover of Jesus, the cross, and the empty tomb all call us to wave our palms, because what we do will never be enough. What we do isn’t supposed to be enough. What we do is always and ever response to the grace and mercy of God. That same grace and mercy call us to challenge systems that oppress us as much as any other. It calls us to live in the same hope that we proclaim. It calls us to give someone else a reason to say “blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!”
So wave your palms this day and rejoice! Don’t let the stones speak for you, for freedom and redemption have come and Christ is coming to make all things new – even here, even now. Amen!
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