Sermons

Sun, Apr 05, 2020

Who, me?

A sermon for Palm Sunday
Series:Sermons
Duration:10 mins 6 secs

The shops had been busy for days…

with people stocking up on supplies before everything shut…

and the roads were chaotic…

with people bustling about…

rushing here and there…

heading off for the holidays.

We were no different!

Gathering together our things––

some small gifts for the rellies with whom we’d be staying;

something warm to wear, in case it got cold at night;

snacks and supplies for the trip––

Naomi and I hit the road…

heading off on our annual pilgrimage…

to celebrate the Passover in Jerusalem.

Truth be told… 

it wasn’t all that far…

about… 

eight miles or so…

although it was a steep climb up through the hills––

with our village being down in the valley…

about halfway between Jericho and Jerusalem.

At that time of year––

mid-Spring––

the weather’s pretty good:

clear skies…

gentle breezes…

not too hot.

So, like many others, we headed to Jerusalem to join in the festivities.

It was a time when we paused to reflect;

when we remembered the past;

when we remembered our liberation from domination and oppression…

at the hands of the Egyptians.

And, of course, given more recent events…

it was a time when we longed for that to happen again—

for a powerful king who would rise up…

defeat these brutal Roman oppressors and throw them out…

and we’d be free once more.

So, it was a time when emotions could run high.

Occasionally, there could be a few problems:

unruly behaviour from some louts who’d had too much wine––

especially those Galileans.

But, on the whole, nothing ever really happened.

It was the same old thing…

year in, year out.

We all kept gathering to worship.

We all kept celebrating.

We all kept going through the rituals…

singing the Psalms…

offering the sacrifices––

but nothing ever really happened.

And, in reality, I don’t think we expected anything to happen…

deep down.

We didn’t really expect that God would do anything.

We didn’t really expect anything to change.

Because it never did.

But we kept going… 

faithfully…

because…

if we didn’t… 

well… 

that would be like admitting all of our hopes and dreams were in vain;

that, maybe, all those stories from the past were simply that…

just stories;

that we’d been mistaken all along and that life wouldn’t get any better… 

ever…

and that the One for whom we’re all hoping would never come.

But that prospect was just too hard to deal with.

So we all kept going…

celebrating…

singing our Psalms…

remembering the past…

reciting inspiring words of hope for the future;

but, in reality, just going through the motions…

deep down, doubting anything would really change.

 

Meanwhile…

ahead, behind, beside us, there were pilgrims trudging the dusty road…

carrying rolled-up blankets and baskets…

people from all walks of life:

the scruffy and the smartly-dressed;

some, obviously making the trip for the first time…

casting furtive glances around them, not quite sure what was going on…

or what they should be doing;

young children all agog…

singing and skipping…

and darting in and out;

and, of course, some with slightly blank faces…

somewhat jaded…

having done this so many times before.

But all of us singing:

O give thanks to the Lord for he is good;

his steadfast love endures forever…”

as we continued trudging along the dusty road––

lined with olive trees in bloom and fig trees beginning to set––

singing over and over again the pilgrimage Psalms.

 

Then… 

up ahead…

up near the small village of Bethphage…

there seemed to be some sort of commotion.

The pace of the procession slowed to a crawl.

And, as we drew nearer, we saw a youngish man astride a grey donkey…

which was covered in tatty cloaks.

Many pilgrims had stopped…

undone their bundles…

pulled out their cloaks.…

and spread them on the dusty road in front of the donkey;

while others were going up to the figs and olives on the side of the road…

ripping off branches…

and tossing them onto the road…

to form this strange sort-of patchwork carpet.

Then, suddenly…

the man’s companions started shouting:

Hosanna to the Son of David”

Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord!

Hosanna in the highest”.

Some of the pilgrims joined in as well:

Hosanna to the Son of David”

Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord!

Hosanna in the highest”.

Then, more and more joined in…

until… 

seemingly…

the whole procession was shouting:

Hosanna to the Son of David”

Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord!

Hosanna in the highest”.

It was quite extraordinary—

a massive surge of people walking, and shouting, and waving their arms…

as if caught up in a royal procession…

and speaking of this man on the donkey as if he were a king.

So, I reached out toward the person in front of me…

and tapped him on the shoulder:

“Err… ‘scuse me mate, but who’s the bloke on the donkey?”

“Umm… not really sure”

“I’ll see if I can find out”.

So, he tapped the shoulder of the one in front of him;

who tapped the shoulder of the one in front of him;

and so it went on, like a Mexican wave;

‘til the message finally filtered back:

“Jesus… from Nazareth”.

Now, I’d heard a bit about him…

about some of the things that he’d done.

I wonder…

could he be the One–– 

the One we’ve been expecting;

the One to fulfil all of our hopes and aspirations?

Would he really act?

Would he really make a difference?

And, all the while, the crowd kept shouting:

Hosanna to the Son of David”

Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord!

Hosanna in the highest”.

 

As we entered the towering east gate in Jerusalem’s wall… 

the motley crowd of pilgrims fanned out.

All the locals seemed quite het-up:

worried…

confused…

even scared;

different people saying different things:

Pharisees…

Sadducees…

Zealots…

ordinary shopkeepers…

pilgrims and peasants––

all caught up in the emotion and the commotion…

arguing about what was going on…

and what it all meant…

each with different interpretations and aspirations.

Some were expecting him to be just a miracle-worker…

meeting their needs… 

giving them what they want.

Some were expecting him to be a powerful political leader… 

who’ll overthrow those oppressing us.

Some thought he’d just end up being a puppet for the powers-that-be––

someone whom they could trot out to justify their policies.

And some were expecting him to be a strident religious prophet…

condemning wickedness…

crusading for ‘good morals’ and ‘family values’.

It seems like everyone expects this Jesus to be what they want him to be.

But surely he can’t do all of that?

 

And just look at him…

sitting up there on that donkey…

a poor peasant––

a simple, ordinary bloke––

with delusions of grandeur.

What difference can he really make?

What can he really do?

Why… 

you might as well expect me to change the world!

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