Views from the Valley

Don’t you just love it when people come along and stir things up? Well, maybe you do and maybe you don’t. I must say that in just about every group, there’s someone who likes to stir things up. And though stirring is necessary to keep things from becoming too predictable and unchallenged, there are times when I don’t particularly appreciate the intrusion into what I think ought to be a calm, unperturbed situation. Peace is so nice. Pleasant conversation, agreement, soothing words, grins, chuckles and affirmations are all so very, very desirable.

        But think about it. You’re cooking a tasty stew with all sorts of delectable ingredients in it – your veggies, your liquids, your proteins, your spices, your starch. You throw them in the pot at various points, make sure the heat’s on, and you let things cook. But you don’t just let things sit in the pot in a lump. You don’t let the carrots burn on the bottom of the pan, the meat sit to one side, the spices on the other. It would make a terrible stew. Even if the simmering action did its magic, some parts of the mixture would be overcooked, while other parts were too crunchy or chewy. Stirring is good. Never forget that.

        But even though we laud the man we hail as the Prince of Peace, we must face the reality that wherever Jesus went, things got stirred up. We might argue that he didn’t do it on purpose, perhaps. He just said what he said and he did what he did, right? He told his truth. It resonated with some, and it rankled others. That’s the way it was wherever Jesus went. People wondered who he was, or who he dared to think he was. Others were drawn to him like magnets, and among them he had made some very close friends. Jesus told his truth, and it stirred things up.

        This is the atmosphere surrounding Jesus’ trip into Jerusalem that day. Turmoil. Agitation. Rattling. Trembling. A whole lot of shakin’ goin’ on. I dare say that the parade that entered the city wasn’t solely a happy little party born from the joy of the quintessential Palm Sunday group of cheerful children, skipping up and down the dusty roads to the grins and delight of their parents, the disciples, and Jesus himself.

        So often we look at the stories of Jesus through the hindsight that is colored and tempered in liturgies, interpretations, artistic renderings, songs and good old David C. Cook Sunday School lessons. We might want to consider that they are, at best, simply re-tellings through the lenses of the lives we now live, and how me might experience them today. Think about how short the scripture stories are: how little information they actually convey to us about the actual day the events occurred, if they even occurred exactly as portrayed. Over the years, many of our interpretations have become more powerful than the true meaning buried inside the text and the teaching.

        Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem that day wasn’t a parade.

        I think in the last two or three sermons I have said this, and I’ll say it again: everything Jesus did had a purpose. Of course, the gospel compilers and writers had a limited amount of time, perhaps, and information, with which to compile a rendering of Jesus’ life that fit their purpose. Surely Jesus’ actual life was filled with more purposeful actions and wise statements and pithy truths than we will ever know. It’s important to realize that of the scraps and bits of writings that have been uncovered over the centuries that date back to Jesus’ day, very few have actually been used and passed along to us. There are plenty more writings about Jesus that, for whatever reasons, were not included in the Scriptural canon, and had they been included, how we see Jesus may be quite a bit different from what we see right now.

        Here I go, stirring things up. But it’s true – it’s important for us to realize that the depth and breadth of the man Jesus that’s given to us generally through the scriptures we use and the teachings of our faith — while sufficient for us as we view all that we’ve built in the church throughout the ages – is actually limited. It’s a humbling thing, to ponder the likelihood that we don’t have all the answers, and that God is far greater than a book and a set of ideologies that humans piece together. At the same time, it’s reassuring to realize that in spite of these limitations, God has done, and continues to do, amazing things in the world.

        And that is what Jesus did. He used what was known by the people of his day, and told them there was a lot more to know. He came to the world, and requested the donkeys, to teach. This “parade” was symbolic. Tradition was in those days that kings rode along on horses in times of war, and in times of peace, they rode on donkeys. Jesus chose to climb on a donkey and ride into Jerusalem as a symbolic act. To actually proclaim his kingship, which we know was not the typical kind of rulership that people expected. A king on a donkey, with maybe a small number of area citizens lining the streets, though the gospel portrays the entire city in a state of agitation because of this one man.

        Jesus, knowing his scripture, his tradition, and the words of the prophets before him. Rankling the Jewish leaders and teachers, claiming to be a fulfillment of prophecy.

        As I read commentaries about this passage, it was noted that Jesus actually asked for two donkeys: a mother and her colt. There was a lot of speculation about this. How could one person ride two donkeys? Some say it was a misunderstanding of the way the words were written originally: that the writer quoted in Matthew from the Old Testament meant to repeat, or further explain, the use of one donkey by saying something like, Jesus rode on a donkey; indeed, it was a foal or colt. Thus it was a misinterpretation in the gospel of Matthew.

        Others speculate that the reason was practical: he rode a strong burro to traverse rocky, hilly areas, but then when he reached flat ground, he rode the young donkey.

        Some add symbolism, by saying the mother represented the Jews as the “mother” faith, and the colt symbolized the gentiles, who were later included as the story of Jesus and the faith that grew from it progressed.

        And some see the use of the foal as a miracle, owing to the general fact that, like horses, young donkeys won’t let anyone climb on their backs without some significant protest. This foal would have allegedly never been ridden before, yet Jesus, the prince of peace, was able to climb on without any braying, kicks, or a stubborn refusal to move.

        We know Jesus was a man of miracles, so I suppose anything’s possible in terms of how he managed to ride on two donkeys at the same time. But while the story points to the fulfillment of scripture, the final point to be taken from the passage doesn’t have a lot to do with the number of donkeys Jesus rode that day.

        It was the turmoil. The crowds. The hope that came from the people in their willingness to throw their cloaks on the ground so that Jesus could be honored and recognized and celebrated as he came into the city.

        It was the turmoil, too, of people shouting “hosanna,” a word that many claim actually meant, “Save us!” To some interpreters, they praised and lauded the one they believed had saved them, and to other interpreters, their cry was a plea. Regardless, it indicates that the people were in turmoil and believed they needed saving. People wanted this. They wanted political deliverance and salvation from the oppressive rule of the Romans. Someone like the venerated King David. Life for them wasn’t a picnic and this wasn’t a parade to celebrate a sunny day. They wanted something better: someone to come and lead them out of their plight.

        This is what they believed about Jesus.

        They lived in this turmoil, and it was boiling all around them that day, and it would intensify as the days went on. We know that following this day, things would deteriorate, and people would scatter, some clinging tightly to Jesus, yet running scared, hiding away as best they could from potential trouble. Others would turn in opposition, drawn by the magnetism of the crowds around them, seeing Jesus as someone to be despised.

        This day might have been sunny, but clouds were on the horizon.

        As we turn our sights this day towards palm branches, donkeys, cloaks, and parades along the road, we pause also to think of the week ahead: Holy Week. The steps that Jesus took leading to his crucifixion.

        We begin first by thinking of the times in which we live, which are filled with…what? You guessed it. Turmoil. We are struggling as a people, living in a world where we, too, wish for salvation in respect to our personal lives and hearts: the troubles we have that we wrestle with every day, even if they might seem trivial in comparison to others. We all have our burdens, our fears, our griefs, our pain.

        We also are struggling in a time in our lives for salvation in respect to our experience as citizens: politically, just like the Jews, wrestling under the weight of decisions made on our behalf by our government. And while we try with all our might sometimes to wish for our faith and our politics to be separate, we can’t really separate ourselves from the land in which we live and the laws under which we operate. From the beginning until now we have always wrestled with these things. We want laws that favor us and our needs; we want fewer of them, we want more of them, we want things to make our lives feel smoother and safer. We may or may not like the ways our government is operating at any given time.

        And from our constant struggle with such turmoil, we want salvation. We want someone to come along who is finally going to bring us, and our country, some real, abiding, and lasting peace.

        What causes the turmoil is often the reality that our vision of what it means to live in peace differs from the vision of others. Our views might be almost diametrically opposed. It seems to me that it is so starkly, vividly true in the days in which we live, more than ever.

        And no matter where any one of us stands on that amazing spectrum of beliefs and the ways we hope and pray our lives will be governed, we all are experiencing turmoil.

        And though we may want to separate our faith from all the chaos that is going on in the political and social realm of life, Jesus still enters and wants to save us here. And though Jesus is known as a man of peace, he still manages to stir things up. And though Jesus may not have made proclamations about the political issues of the day, he spoke to them. He spoke of the poor, the outcast, taxes, money, health, and how to live in relationship to one’s neighbor. He touched the untouchable, challenged people to a new relationship with wealth, and spoke with mercy and respect to outsiders and foreigners.

        He shook things up and made the religious hoi polloi mad.

        Jesus calls us to recognize the turmoil in our world. It exists. It’s inescapable. We, the privileged, can easily pretend it doesn’t, I suppose, if we wish. We can stop reading the news, watching TV, and surfing social media. But then, if someone points out to us that we, and others, live in a world of turmoil and need salvation, does that stir us up? And if it does, does it mean we have joined the ranks of the religious hoi polloi, getting angry because someone has pointed out to us the frustrating truth? We see where Jesus’ resistance to the religious who’s who led: to the cross.

        Jesus’ trouble-stirring led to a different kind of salvation, a different empire, a different commonwealth, a different realm, not of this earth. And yet we live here on this earth just the same. Jesus lived among us just the same. He did not ask us to exit our lives and not be involved or care so that we could feel cozy and safe.

        He walked into Holy Week, stirring things up, by just being himself: God’s presence in the world; one who loved all sorts of people; taught lessons about wealth and security; healed, welcomed, invited, warned, and let people know a different sort of salvation was at hand.

        And so we, too, can live in the turmoil of our times, following Jesus to the cross, knowing that if we stand for what we believe, and are guided by the one we love – the one who loves us beyond imagination – we will encounter challenges. People might not like what we say, or do, or what we stand for.

        Imagine facing that sort of challenge. To be willing to stir things up, knowing that it might get us into some trouble, and taking the risk.

        As we enter Holy Week, just as Jesus entered Jerusalem, let us face forward into the turmoil. Let us let God stir things up in us. Let us stand fully, and boldly, as Jesus’ followers in this world as he heads toward the cross, and as we move forward in our lives, be willing to stir things up, too. Amen.