Mark 11:1-11
1 When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples 2 and said to them, "Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. 3 If anyone says to you, "Why are you doing this?' just say this, "The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.' " 4 They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. As they were untying it, 5 some of the bystanders said to them, "What are you doing, untying the colt?" 6 They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it. 7 Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it. 8 Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. 9 Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting, "Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! 10 Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!" 11 Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.
To most folks, Gary is a nice guy. He is polite and courteous yet straightforward. He’s quiet, does his job well, and pretty much stays out of people’s way. However, most folks don’t really know Gary. Those of who do, know a man with a long history of abusive relationships, arrests, and restraining orders. We know a man who receives packages wrapped with brown paper so children’s eyes won’t accidentally see what’s arrived in his mailbox. We know a man who has cheated folks out of thousands of dollars, who’s lied to countless others, a man who’s taken part in more than one affair with married women. We know a man who gets up every morning to put on a mask of humility and confidence to hide the inner turmoil of sinfulness, of greed, of self-loathing. We know the real Gary, a man who is trying so hard to preserve himself and his own way of life that he overlooks those he may hurt along the way.
I worked with Gary, and I remember one of the first time’s I had been to Gary’s house. He showed me inside, and his house was much like the man himself: clean, dusted, well-lit, and even though Gary was a heavy smoker, there wasn’t as much as a hint of smoke in the air, just the faint scent of potpourri. His house served as another sort of mask, covering up what we all really knew about him, what he wasn’t embarrassed to share with those of us who really knew him. I remember, though, what really caught my eye in Gary’s house. On his coffee table (which had very recently been dusted), in a neat stack, were a couple of magazines about antique cars, a small basket for the various remote controls he had, and a black, fake-leather, Bible—the kind with the gold lettering on the cover and gold gilded pages. I was a bit surprised to see the “Good Book” on Gary’s coffee table, and then I noticed something else in his living room. On the wall opposite where I was sitting, was a rather large print, in a somewhat gaudy, gold frame. It was the image of a field, a pasture, and there on the right-hand side of the scene was a man with long hair, a beard, and red and purple robes holding a lamb in his arms; it was a picture of Jesus.
I was a bit stunned. Was this the same Gary? Had he found religion and only recently started decorating his house to reflect an inner change? When he came back in the room from the kitchen, I asked him about the Bible and the picture on the wall, and his answer made my stomach turn more than a little. Gary said, “Oh yeah, those were both gifts. I got them back when I used to go church with this girl I was dating. She thought it would help straighten me out, but now I keep them so when folks come over they’ll at least think I’m religious and won’t try to convert me.” The Bible on the table and the painting on the wall were little more than deceptive decoration, an attempt to look religious. Perhaps they had once been gifts, hopeful tools of reformation in the life of one who needs it like the rest of us, but now they were only trinkets strategically placed to avoid difficult and uncomfortable conversations. They were just there, all but meaningless to the one who owned them.
I suppose that’s the way it can go sometimes: folks can get a taste of religion, a sampling of faith, hear the promises that come with being a part of a movement, of something bigger than themselves, but when time grinds on, when life progresses relatively unchanged, they hang mementos on the wall and say, “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I remember when I used to be like that, when I was all into the religious thing. But I got over it once reality set in and I came to my senses. I’m not so gullible to think that there’s a God who hears my prayers, who cares about me, when my roof leaks, my cancer progresses, my children suffer, when I don’t get what I pray for…” I suppose there are a lot of folks like that, like Gary, today. Of course, there’ve been folks like that for centuries, even in the crowds that followed Jesus around during his ministry.
We mostly get a glimpse of those first days when they’re riding the religious high of being a part of a movement. They hang on every word Jesus says, follow him everywhere he goes. He’s fed them, healed them, taught them—it seems things in this God movement (Jesus called it the Kingdom of God/Heaven) were great! How could people not be attracted to this, especially these people in the first century? They were a people under the watchful eye of a foreign power, not free in their own right, but here comes Jesus proclaiming the rule of God, that God’s dominion was coming to earth. A lot of Jesus’ words sounded revolutionary, almost like the words of those other messiahs who had come before him! And now, this morning we see a sort of climax to all of this momentum as Jesus comes riding into Jerusalem (the capital and center of Jewish life) on the back of a donkey, alluding to the words of the prophet Zechariah: “Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey."[2]
The crowd goes nuts over all of this prophetic imagery; they’re seeing the culmination of their hopes and dreams riding into town. They see one who promises to restore their nation, to free them from their burdens, one who they believe will drive out the foreign oppressors, make Jerusalem great again, one who will give them back their identity as the chosen and blessed people of God. In that fervor, they begin to shed their cloaks, and in a somewhat strange act of reverence, they spread them on the road so the colt’s hooves can tread upon them. Well now that’s a bit strange, isn’t it? Perhaps it’s simply a sign of their enthusiasm. Maybe it’s a demonstration of their devotion. I mean, it’s obvious these folks are excited, because the Pharisees want Jesus to tell them to hush up (likely because the Pharisees were concerned about causing a scene with so many Roman officials in town to make sure the Passover celebrations weren’t too “disruptive”). But Jesus tells these Pharisees, “if were silent, the stones would shout out.”
They spread their cloaks on the road; the donkey carrying Christ walks over them (and I hope that’s all it did!); then what? Well, I imagine the folks whose cloaks were in the road gathered them back up and got in line with the crowd behind Jesus—a crowd that would witness him drive out the money changers from the temple, a crowd that would listen to his parables, his teachings about taxes, resurrection, giving, and signs of things to come. I imagine they picked up their cloaks (now dirty with road grime and donkey hoof prints) and went on their way following Jesus into Jerusalem. But something happened, something happened that changed this crowd, these people who would shout for joy, wave palm branches, spread their cloaks on the road for an animal to walk on, something happened that caused these people to go from shouts of blessing to shouts of curses in just a matter of days. The “new” had worn off their religion; the shine was gone from the apple of their revolutionary hopes. Jesus rode into town on a colt, a donkey, bringing to mind thoughts of kingly power and political upheaval, but none of that ever materialized. Instead, Jesus wound up arrested. What happened?
Well, I suppose it’s the same thing that happens to any of us when we put our expectations of Christ ahead of the reality of God’s kingdom. It’s the same thing that happens so many times when people get “on fire” for religion because of what they believe it promises them, what God will give them, what they’ve got coming to them. It’s the same thing that happens when folks believe that faith is all about what’s in it for them, and then someone comes along preaching the gospel, or they actually read the words of Christ and realize that faith isn’t about getting what you want. It’s the same thing that happens when people buy into the televangelists’ scams, when they send their money in exchange for “miracle spring water” or “prayer clothes,” hoping that a check will appear in their mailbox like the man on TV said it would, and when it doesn’t, they flush the spring water down the toilet and throw any ideas about God in the trash with the prayer cloth. It’s the same thing that happens when people continue to cling to the idea that what really matters is “abiding by the rules,” dressing the part, paying enough money, occupying a pew on Sunday, only to go home and realize that they’re still empty inside because there aren’t enough rules to follow, enough money to spend, enough church services to attend to earn the love of God.
So often, people get a taste of a life of faith—maybe it’s sugarcoated, maybe it’s watered-down, maybe it’s 100% pure, but they get just a taste and they’re ready to lay their cloaks in the road for Jesus on Sunday, but then Monday comes. Monday comes and the emperor is still in Rome. Tuesday comes and the account is still overdrawn. Wednesday comes and the tumor hasn’t gone away. Thursday comes and the addiction, the need, is still there. Friday comes and all that’s left is a dirty cloak, and shouts of “Blessed is the king …” turn to shouts of “Crucify him!”[3]
The truth is, so many of us are willing to follow a Palm Sunday Jesus: a Jesus we’ve filled with our hopes and our aspirations for power, wealth, glory. We’re willing to join the crowds who shout praises for Jesus, who spread their cloaks in the road because they believe Jesus is about to get rid of all of those people, powers, and principalities that hold us down, that keep us from living our “best life now.” But when the road of faith gets rough, when God seems slow to answer our prayers, when we’ve wanted a Savior to tell us that everything is going to be alright, that we’re going to get everything we’ve ever wanted in this life, but instead we get a Savior that tells us to take up a cross and follow him…well, I don’t think there are as many folks who want to follow that kind of Jesus. So many of us want a Palm Sunday Jesus, but what we’ve been given is a Good Friday Jesus, a Christ who, despite our selfishness, died for us, to show us the love of God, to manifest the reality of God’s kingdom. So many of us want a Palm Sunday Jesus, but what we’ve been given –thanks be to God!—is an Easter Sunday Jesus, a Lord who has conquered so much more than a political power, a Christ who has overcome so much more than illness and disease, a God who has, in God’s limitless love, died in order to be raised so that we might all know that Monday may come with all of its disappointments, Tuesday may come with its heartaches and pains, Wednesday may come with all of its burdens and trials, Thursday may come with temptations and faults, and Friday may come with our own shouts of “Crucify Him!” but thanks be to God that Sunday’s coming and with it comes God’s victory over all those things in our lives that cause us to think we’ve lost.
So may we remember, on this Palm Sunday, while it’s easy to praise God when we’re on the mountaintop, while it’s easy to spread our cloaks on the road when our hearts are filled with expectations, there is a Friday coming that tells us that this life of faith isn’t all palm-waving and rejoicing, that there are still dark days along the way, but thanks be to God that after every Palm Sunday, after every Good Friday, there is a Resurrection Morning. Amen.
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