sermon notes from the Vineyard Church of Milan 04/01/2012
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21 As they approached Jerusalem and came to Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, 2saying to them, “Go to the village ahead of you, and at once you will find a donkey tied there, with her colt by her. Untie them and bring them to me. 3If anyone says anything to you, say that the Lord needs them, and he will send them right away.”
4This took place to fulfill what was spoken through the prophet:
5“Say to Daughter Zion,
‘See, your king comes to you,
gentle and riding on a donkey,
and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’ ”
6The disciples went and did as Jesus had instructed them. 7They brought the donkey and the colt and placed their cloaks on them for Jesus to sit on. 8A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, while others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. 9The crowds that went ahead of him and those that followed shouted,
“Hosanna to the Son of David!”
“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”
“Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
10When Jesus entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred and asked, “Who is this?”
11The crowds answered, “This is Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth in Galilee.”
Some years ago, I received a call from the wife of a Presbyterian pastor, the pastor of a large church near Detroit. He was dying of cancer, and all treatment options had been exhausted. She had heard that our church believed in God’s power to heal, and that we prayed for the sick, and she asked if we would come pray for her husband.
A couple of ministry leaders and I took a road trip to the hospital he was at, and met her there in her husband’s hospital room. He was gaunt and weak and unconscious, while she was strong and vibrant, full of faith, and grieving at the same time.
We began to pray, inviting the Holy Spirit to come and show us what the Father was doing. Almost immediately, something like a holy electricity filled the room. His face began to flush, and his muscles seemed to visibly relax. We understood that to be a sign of God’s presence, and whenever God is present, his power is also present, because the two are one and the same.
And so we prayed with quickening faith. Announcing the authority of Jesus over the cancer that was wracking this man’s body, proclaiming the nearness and the hereness of the kingdom of God, joining with Jesus in his healing work on the earth. The air felt thick, and our hearts were moved with compassion. All of us began to weep as we prayed, sensing Jesus’ strong, powerful love for this man.
Something extraordinary was happening. His face became radiant. His wife’s eyes were filled with renewed hope and deep, deep love. We prayed. And we prayed. And the life of God was dancing among us. Until it became clear that we had prayed all that we were to pray in that day, in that moment.
We continued to intercede over the next couple of days, hoping, maybe even expecting to hear news of healing, of a miracle, of recovery. But instead, the news we got was that he had passed away.
It was a bitter disappointment. We knew God had been there. We knew he’d heard our prayers. We knew he loved this man, and his wife. We knew we had cooperated to the best of our abilities with his new creation purposes for this family. I knew God could heal him. I’ve seen God do extraordinary things in other circumstances, right before my eyes. Things that only a God who still does miraculous things could do. And yet. And yet.
When I read Matthew’s account of the triumphal entry, I think about that experience. And others like it. I think about other times in my life that I know God was at work – sometimes in ways that go beyond my comprehension – times when I know he was up to something good, but all the evidence I have to hold on to is failure. Results that taste bitter in my mouth, that make him at first glance seem cruel for getting my hopes up.
As a pastor following Jesus with and among you, I know some of your stories, the same kinds of encounters with God that have this unsavory mixture of extraordinary hope, anticipation and unfathomable let down.
Palm Sunday, the Sunday before Resurrection Sunday, so named because of the palms that were waved and spread out before Jesus as he entered Jerusalem before his eventual arrest and torture and crucifixion, Palm Sunday is a day to find ourselves in communion with the crowd that welcomed Jesus with such acclaim that day. A day to come before him with our deepest desires, and trust him to be the Savior he desires to be for us, even if along the way, he becomes less of who we hope he is, and more of who we truly need him to be.
Let’s dive in to this scene, and invite God’s Spirit to speak to us through it…
Matthew is reporting on two realities at once. The reality of what he knows now, in hindsight, and the reality of the at-the-moment expectations and hopes of the crowd, and probably the disciples, too. Fascinating interplay between those two realities in this story.
Let's start with the on the ground experience.
Cloaks on the donkey and on the ground. Most people would only have one cloak, so this is a way of celebrating and valuing a person as highly as you can. A way of saying, if you needed it, I'd give you anything else as well.
Sidenote: Jesus only asks of us what we have to give, and only wants from us what we give to him gladly, from the heart. A cloak, like our time, our money, our words, our energies; something we may have had other plans for when the day started, but in the presence of Jesus we give for another purpose. And in so doing, it becomes a pathway for God to enter our city.
Like our mission as a church to create breathing room. Our task is a simple one, but matters no less for its simplicity, because God comes in the space we create and fills it with life.
The cloaks are probably also reference to 2 Kings 9:13 (Jehu anointed by Elisha)...
A statement about their expectations as to what is really going on. A New king being proclaimed in defiance of the existing king. This crowd, these disciples, are giddy with excitement, long-pent up anticipation and dissatisfaction. The emperor may have us under his thumb, Herod may be his lackey, but here before us is the King we acknowledge.
Sidenote: We know that feeling. Something bigger than us has us at its mercy. Sickness, the threat of death, death, economic realities, a dysfunctional family system, a broken past, a new and unwelcome normal not likely to change, etc. But then we see Jesus approach, and we know none of it stands a chance before him. And so we see him coming and we feel emboldened to rage against the machine, to thumb our noses at the things that have us down, and put our hopes in him.
The palm branches have a similar significance. When Maccabees had arrived in Jerusalem 200 years earlier, after conquering the pagan armies oppressing Israel, the people had done the same thing. It was the start of a 100 year royal dynasty.
Combine that with the royal chants "son of David" and "hosanna" (which means save us) the picture comes into focus. This crowd, and surely the disciples, too, expect that Jesus is the kind of king, of Messiah, that they had been hoping and praying for. A king like David has come again to save them from oppression! He will raise up an army, defeat Rome as David defeated the Philistines, restore glory to Israel, rule with justice, establish peace.
But Matthew knows that this isn't exactly what is going on. Matthew knows what awaits Jesus in Jerusalem (and so does Jesus!), and it isn’t a glorious enthronement. Not yet. Thus the reference to Zechariah 9:9, lowly and gentle. This isn't a military victory march. This is the God of the universe subverting power with humility, undoing evil's self-serving power with self-giving love. The path Jesus must walk, to accomplish what really needs to be accomplished, leads over the cloaks and palm branches of the crowd, yes, but it also leads to him being stripped naked and hung on a branchless tree.
"The people wanted a prophet, but this prophet would tell them that their city was under God's infinite judgment. They wanted the Messiah, but this king was going to be enthroned on a cross. They wanted to be rescued from evil and oppression, but Jesus was going to rescue them from evil in its full depths, not just the surface evil of Roman occupation and the exploitation by the rich." N.T. Wright, For Everyone
Nonetheless, fully aware of the gap between the heartfelt desires of these hurting people and the path that he must take – and the pain and disillusionment they would experience as he did - Jesus receives their hopes and expectations, he embraces their embrace. He doesn’t correct them, chastise them, redirect them, dismiss them. (after all, he set the stage for all of this with his instructions to the disciples) He says, in essence, you are right to come to me, and you are right to come to me just as you are, with everything on your hearts, and all your hope placed in me. You are right to come with celebration of God and defiance of evil on your lips. I know that your enthusiasm may fade just days from now, and you may think I or evil itself made you look a fool. But I hear you more deeply than you know, and more deeply even than you hear yourselves, and my answer, the answer that has been on my lips from before creation itself ever drew its first breath, is Yes. Always Yes. Forever, Yes. And so I give my yes to you, even though you cannot understand it now.
He relates to us the same way. Jesus doesn't always correct our requests as we bring them to him; instead he listens to our hearts and is gentle with our hopes, because he knows they are well placed. He will answer every prayer.
But he will always answer in his own way, because he is Lord. And because he is good, through and through, and only his way is faithful to his goodness.
And here is contained some of the mystery of God. Some of his Yeses are to us, on Good Friday and Holy Saturday, cruel and bitter disappointments. The cruelest and the bitterest. Some of his Yeses make us think we were wrong about him all along. Some of his Yeses cast a dark shadow over the future and the present and the past.
Yet, is in those very dark hours that he is at work like a kernel of wheat that has fallen to the ground, dying our death with us and for us, so that death itself might tremble at his Yes, and never be able to speak again.
And so our task is to continue to lay down our cloaks. Over and over. And our palm branches. And let our lips continue to be filled with praise and cry’s of hosanna. Until Easter dawns. And the resurrection Yes of our gentle king riding on the donkey shakes the earth, rolling away every obstacle, emptying the tombs.
Practical Tips:
Write your deepest hope down, desire, longing down and bring it forward during communion to place in this prayer box (share story of box…). After we celebrate communion, we’ll offer these expressions of our hearts to Jesus, and acknowledge him as king together.
After communion, pray psalm 118 together…
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