First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan
Palm Sunday April 5, 1998
Scriptures: Matthew 11:7-18, Matthew 21:1-11
In the midst of researching a sermon on the relationship between forgiving and forgetting (which I have yet to preach, because I have yet to figure it out), I stumbled on a sermon with the fascinating title, “Forgiving Your Ex”….as in “former spouse,” “prior partner,” that kind of“ex.” Since I have no “ex” to forgive (or forget), I was able to read the sermon with more curiosity than passion. Which is not a luxury available to a lot of you, given your closeness to the issue and the rawness of your wound.
Prior to writing the sermon, the preacher consulted several divorced folk in his flock, asking: “How goes it with you in this matter?” But when he got done listening to their answers, he almost didn’t preach the sermon. Because the persons he consulted either weren’t able to forgive….weren’t ready to forgive….saw nothing to be gained by forgiving….or didn’t want the church adding to the guilt they already felt, by asking them to forgive. Some had a litany of complaints a mile long. Others had a pool of pain a mile deep. On to which they wanted to hold….at least for a little longer.
So the preacher pondered: “Isn’t there some level at which this could take place….a beginning for forgiving, if you will?” Eventually he found one. But not at the level of specific grievances (“you hurt me….you hit me….you cheated on me….you walked out on me”). People still found it hard to forgive those. But, in a more generic sense, he found that divorced men and women were able to forgive their “ex” for not meeting their expectations:
You weren’t what I expected. Being married to you was not what I expected. Life, in the years we shared it, was not what I expected. But since I played a part in creating those expectations….or even changing them, midstream….I can’t hold you totally responsible for everything that happened. I wanted you to be “x.” You turned out to be “y.” Maybe you always were and I just missed it. Which I regret. But I can’t hate you for it.
Stay with this idea for a minute. Expectations are powerful things. The more expectations we hold….and the higher we hold them….the greater our capacity for disappointment when they go unmet. Consider simple things like concerts, plays, movies….even sermons. People tend to complain more about them, when they have great expectations concerning them. And I have seen Methodist preachers fail in a new assignment….not because of anything they did, but because the gap between who the Bishop sent and what the congregation sought was so great, so as to be unbridgeable.
Holding onto that thought, jump with me to Allegheny College, our United Methodist school in Meadville, Pennsylvania. Zero in on Ford Chapel at the heart of the campus. It is jammed to the rafters with 550 people (which is 100 more than the chapel is built to hold). People are crowding into the pews, sitting on the sills, lining the walls and overflowing the balcony. There are students, faculty, administrators, and people from the town. There are young and old, male and female, black and white. The act of overcrowding only adds to the excitement, generating a feeling that something truly electric is about to happen.
The occasion is Black History Month on Allegheny’s campus. The speaker is to be Rosa Parks, fresh from the pages of history. On this day, she is a stooped-over, frail-looking woman, nearing her 80th year. But when she was 42, she was the department store clerk in Montgomery, Alabama, who got on the bus at the end of her working day and more or less fell into one of the front seats.
Later she was to recall that day, saying that she was simply too tired to acknowledge or accede to the demand of the bus driver to “move on back.” Or maybe it was the “N” word (from the driver’s lips) that stiffened her spine. But as history records, she didn’t “move on back.” Her act of defiance surprised her as much as it did the driver. It was unintended and hardly conscious. As she has said so many times since: “I didn’t get on that bus intending to get arrested. All I wanted to do was go home to my family.”
But she was arrested. And, hearing of her situation, other blacks in Montgomery decided they were tired, too. Sick and tired of taking so many things, from so many folk, for so long a time. Thus began the boycott. “We won’t ride your buses,” they said. A young Baptist preacher came from Atlanta to lead them. And the rest (as they say) is history.
That’s the Rosa Parks that people jammed Ford Chapel to see. When she arrived, reports Don Skinner (the chaplain of Allegheny), she was escorted down the center aisle. The audience rose as one, erupting into spontaneous applause. Whereupon, she began to speak….retelling her story….reliving her frustration….relating her dream.
But Rosa Parks was not a lecturer. Her delivery was hesitant….her voice, soft. Occasionally she wandered from her outline or would begin a story, only to forget its point. Chaplain Skinner reported that a strange reaction set in. There was a slow but steady attrition of the audience. People began leaving….some early, others late. Some left alone. Others, by twos and threes. Those departing were neither noisy nor rude. They simply got up and left. On their faces could be seen a uniform look of indifference. Just minutes before they had been part of an audience that was barely able to restrain itself. Now they were like detached persons, strolling through a crowded airport without recognizing a soul.
Skinner added that it appeared as if students were the only ones leaving. He wondered why. One obvious explanation was that of age. These students were not alive when Rosa Parks boarded that bus. The name “Rosa Parks” triggered nothing emotional within them. The word “Montgomery” triggered nothing emotional within them. Even Martin Luther King triggered nothing emotional within them.
But then a second explanation came to the chaplain….one that made better sense. These students, he reasoned, brought a heightened expectation of what a historical figure ought to look like….sound like….be like. Granted, Rosa Parks was not a riveting lecturer or spellbinding orator. But it was not a flaw in her presentation….or her personality….that caused the students to walk out. It was a flaw in their expectation of her.
They expected her to be brilliant….scintillating….articulate….charismatic. Even “controversial” would have made them happy. Theirs is a generation which has been led to expect the spectacular. Theirs is a generation addicted to hype. “What did they expect?” the chaplain wondered.
So he asked them. Many of them expected a cross between an 80-year-old black Rambo and a grandmotherly version of Martin Luther King. Virtually all of them expected a sermon that would rattle the chapel windows and shake the chapel pews. They expected a tongue lashing from history, coupled with a visualization of the Promised Land from theology. Instead, what they heard was a little old woman, reflecting the weariness of her 80 years. If only they could have seen a movie about Rosa Parks, instead….one starring Whoopie Goldberg as Rosa and George C. Scott as the bus driver.
You know where this is going, don’t you? Of course you do. That’s why I like preaching here. Your lights come on quicker than other people’s. You have already figured out that we are going to Bethpage (literally, “Beth-pagee” or “house of figs”), where another rider is about to begin a journey. But this journey will take place by donkey rather than by bus. First, however, we have to back up. More to the point, we have to go north. Our goal is to set ourselves a context.
Jesus is with his disciples in Caesarea Phillipi. Today, this is as far north as you can go and still be in Israel. It is north of Galilee. It is north of the Golan Heights. It is at the base of Mount Hermon. It sits at the intersection of Israel, Lebanon and Syria. But, in the time of Jesus, Caesarea Phillipi is virtually a pagan city. There are few Jews there.
Jesus suggests a round of 20 questions. First question: “Who do men say that I am?” Answers abound. Some say “Elijah.” Others say “Moses.” Still others start naming prophets. “Let’s go to the second question,” says Jesus. “Who do you say that I am?” Whereupon Peter answers: “The Christ. That’s who you are. You are the Christ, the son of the living God.” To which Jesus says something that sounds like: “Good for you.”
Which means that the secret is out. And you know what happens to secrets, once they are out. They spread. That’s what happens. And the New Testament….especially Mark….has this big thing about secrets. Not just any secret, but the big secret. The Messianic Secret.
Now you need to know something about the Messianic idea. Classical Israel was looking for a Messiah. They held three basic expectations about what the Messiah would look like when he came. Over time, these expectations became braided together, like the strands of a pigtail. First, the Messiah would be a great prophet. Second, the Messiah would be a great priest. Third, the Messiah would be a great king. But, by the time Jesus came along, these braided expectations had been laid aside in favor of a more expedient (and political) one. The new Messiah would have profoundly political leanings and would identify himself with the revolutionary movement aimed at the liberation of Israel from Rome. The new Messiah might even serve as the rallying point for a “coup.”
Times were tense. Roman rule was oppressive. Roman taxation was outlandish (often exceeding 80 percent of income). False messiahs were turning up under every rock. Most of them were dealt with immediately….and severely. Don’t lose sight of the fact that even John the Baptist….who was as apolitical as they come, living as a recluse in the desert….was imprisoned and beheaded. People were hungry for a very different kind of food. Therefore, the identification of Jesus with the current Messianic expectation would have spread like wildfire. There would be no way to keep it quiet.
This is why the conversation at Caesarea Phillipi becomes “charged,” when pierced by a word from Jesus saying: “I think it is time we go to Jerusalem.” Why go to Jerusalem? I mean, really, why go? I love James Fleming’s answer. Why does Jesus go to Jerusalem? Because Jesus knows that you can’t save the world from a safe address. My oh my, doesn’t that say it all?
Down through Galilee they go. East of the Jordan they go. Over the river at Jericho they go. Then they cross the Judean wilderness, heading for Bethany. They reach Bethpage where they borrow a colt. There’s a great deal of Jewish nationalism caught up in this “colt” business. Jesus rides toward the city. Palm branches are stripped and strewn. The palm branches are yet another symbol of Jewish nationalism. But both the “branch” and the “colt” are safe symbols. The Jews will know them. But the Romans will miss them.
Once inside the city gates, the authorities suggest that Jesus rebuke his disciples. He refuses. The children keep on singing, just as children of revolutionary movements are always encouraged to sing, shout and throw stones. For the leaders of revolutionary movements know that reigning authorities will be reluctant to arrest (or shoot) a child.
What, pray tell, is going on here? Does Jesus understand all of this? Could Jesus be playing into this? Is it possible that Jesus is feeding this? Or is it only when Jesus gets to Jerusalem that he is overwhelmed by the paradox of the hour, finally realizing that the Messiah the people want cannot be reconciled with the Messiah that God wants. Is that why he weeps over Jerusalem, because he realizes the utter impossibility of holding his dream in the same hand with their dream? Could it be that he knows, only then, that he will never be the one they expect to see?
And you know what happens next. He comes down the center aisle. They give him a standing ovation. Then quietly, over the course of the next few days, they walk out in little groups of twos and threes.
Sometimes we do not get what we expect. We do not get charisma and confrontation. We do not get hype and hullabaloo. We do not get the spectacular coup d’etat….or even the less spectacular coup de grace. Sometimes all we get is quiet courage that stands in and steps up. Sometimes the faith is kept simply….in obedient ways….to an exalted authority….at an elevated price.
Last week I asked you (in the middle of a sermon): “Who tells you who you are?” This week I would ask you (at the end of this sermon): “Who pulls your chain?” Or, if you don’t like that phraseology, then
· Who constitutes the audience that attracts your attention?
· Who populates the constituency that arranges your agenda?
· Who plays the fiddle that calls your tune?
For in this modern era of finger wetting….field testing….focus group polling….and up-the-flagpole running….I doubt that many of us know who pulls our chain until we check the polls and crunch the numbers. “Vox Dei – Vox Populi.” The voice of God has, for all too many of us, become indistinguishable from the voice of the people.
I was ruminating on this last Wednesday when I heard Alan Frank of Channel 4 tell Mitch Albom of WJR that his television station was going to reposition the Jerry Springer Show from the 4:00 p.m. time slot to the 10:00 a.m. time slot, so as to distance it from the eyeballs of children and teenagers, sitting in empty houses and channel surfing for sick adult behaviors to alleviate their boredom.
I thought to myself that bumping Jerry Springer was a good call. Not just because of the sex. Not just because of the violence. But because of the absurd pretension that the people on his show represent normality. For today’s TV set is a modern cultural icon that baptizes as it televises, leading impressionable people to believe:
· if it’s on television, it must be real.
· if it’s on television, it must be important.
But notice what Alan Frank said in announcing the change. He said: “We looked at the numbers and (overall) they were great at 4:00. Jerry was great at 4:00. The audience was great at 4:00. The ‘deliverables’ for the 5:00 news were great at 4:00. The advertising dollars were great at 4:00. But our most loyal constituencies were feeling squeamish about showing Jerry at 4:00. So we bounced him back.”
Great! But don’t you wish he’d said….intimated….whispered….even hinted….
· that in a world where there are far more negative role models than positive,
· that in a world where people already know how to scream, shout and interrupt, but few know how to reason,
· that in a world where fighting is done at the drop of a hat, but forgiving is done seldom, if ever,
· that in a world (from the White House on down) where it is more exciting to light someone’s fire for an hour, than warm someone’s heart for a lifetime,
· that in a world where sanity takes a backseat to spontaneity….and where few of us have ever met a gratification we were willing to delay,
….that bumping Jerry was more “right” than it was “savvy,” and that there are times when serving the public good means more than counting the public’s noses….or even banking the public’s dollars.
One of the things you have got to like about Palm Sunday is that Jesus rides into Jerusalem and takes a poll of one. And when he gets his answer, he remains true to it and lives by it. Which is why I want to stick within shouting distance of Jesus….not so that he can meet my expectations, but so he can help me meet God’s.
