(Easter 3) Following Jesus When the Fog Is Thick

Revelation is the Lord’s Doing
John 21:1-19

If I asked this morning, how many of you are followers of Jesus,
most of your hands would go up.
If we are Christians, we have no trouble identifying ourselves that way.
At least in Christian company.
Of course we follow Jesus.
That’s what brought us here today.
We identify with Jesus,
we have gathered today with the Jesus community,
to be with each other in fellowship and worship.

But it’s so easy, 2000 years this side of Easter,
to say it, to mean it, but not fully grasp it.
We take it for granted, that we “follow Jesus.”
You know, if we believe in Jesus,
if we respect his life and teachings,
if we seek—to the best of our ability—
to model our life and values after what Jesus represented,
then we should be able to say, “I follow Jesus.”
We should be able to count ourselves a disciple.

Well, that’s just one of many reasons why it’s good for us
to stay rooted in scripture, especially in the Gospel stories.
Because here we see what a complex thing it is to follow Jesus.
And that was in a time and culture
so much more simple and uncluttered than ours.
If these folks struggled to follow Jesus
when he was right there with them,
without all the trappings and entanglements
of 21st-century Western culture,
wouldn’t it make sense that we struggle sometimes
to figure out how to follow?

This season of Easter is a prime time to remind ourselves
of what we need as disciples of Jesus,
and to rejoice in the good news that our Risen Lord Jesus
is not far from us,
is living and active and present with us,
provides whatever we need to meet him, and follow him.
Even when we’re in a thick fog.

That’s what’s happening in these post-resurrection stories
in the Gospel of John.
It’s Jesus making one appearance after another
to his confused and fearful followers,
and trying to get through to them
that they need not fear,
they are not alone and bereft,
that they have all they need to continue to follow,
to pick up where Jesus left off,
and keep on proclaiming the kingdom of God.

Last Sunday we looked at the story of Jesus’ appearance
in the upper room—first to all the disciples except Thomas,
and then to Thomas—
pronouncing peace, forgiveness, open-armed acceptance,
despite their shame and failure.

So now we come to the very next story in John.
And of course, one would think,
that after those appearances in the house,
after his reassuring words of love and peace and forgiveness,
after breathing on them the gift of the Holy Spirit,
after leaving them with a mission—
“as the Father has sent me, so I send you”—
that the disciples would be ready to roll.
What more do they need,
than full and free forgiveness,
and the breath of the Holy Spirit to empower them.
So we flip the page from chapter 20 to 21 of John,
and are fully prepared to see a story of how they left that house,
and proclaimed the kingdom of God with power and passion,
and how the Jesus movement flourished
under the bold leadership of these disciples
transformed by the spirit of the risen Christ.

Let’s look. Chapter 21, scene one.
Seven disciples in Tiberias, by the sea of Galilee.
Peter says, “I’m going fishing.”
The other six say, “We’ll go with you.”
On the face of it, that might sound reasonable.
They were fisherman, after all.
They had just been through quite a lot,
and it probably wasn’t entirely clear what they should do next.
And they knew how to fish.

But if you think about for a moment, you realize,
this isn’t the kind of fishing that you or I do.
It wasn’t a sport.
It wasn’t a way to relax after a hard day at the office.
It was a way to make a living.
And a mighty hard way, at that.
It was all-night work.
Demanding physical labor that required a team working together.
It also required—not insignificantly—
equipment that was in good repair.
Namely, a boat that had no leaks,
and a huge net with no tears or rotten spots.
Remember,
they left their boats and nets behind over two years ago.
Sold them, I presume.
Or if not, they would have been in terrible state of neglect.

I wasn’t there that day by the sea.
And scripture doesn’t tell me Peter’s motives and intentions,
when he said, “I’m going fishing.”
But I’m sure this was no simple afternoon fishing break.
This was not Peter saying,
“You know, we’ve had some stressful days.
Let’s go cool our heels down by the creek,
throw in a line, and get some breakfast.”
A couple years ago, these partners in business sold out.
They forsook their boats and their nets, and they followed Jesus
into a new life calling.
Their vocational identity shifted
from fisherman to rabbinical students.
No small change.
Now, Peter takes the lead here
in announcing...he’s giving up, and going back.
I don’t see any other way to read it.
This was a mindful turning away from Jesus’ first call,
and returning to their earlier vocation.
Going back to what was secure.
I guess this makes it clear that Thomas
wasn’t the only doubter in the bunch.
Peter was chief among them.

I imagine Peter and the others were thinking:
Yes, Jesus has appeared to us three times now,
but what does it really mean?
What are we supposed to do with that?
Yes, he’s sending us out,
but to where, and to do what?
We’re not the miracles workers, Jesus is.
We’d only make fools of ourselves.
Okay, so we have the “Holy Spirit,” Jesus said,
whatever that means.
But that’s not the same as having Jesus here,
walking on ahead of us,
taking the lead in everything,
doing the talking for us.
We could never do what Jesus did.
And even if we could, look where Jesus ended up—
hanging on a cross.
Are we supposed to leave this house and risk our lives,
promoting the same cause that got Jesus killed,
and do it all on our own?

I can’t prove it, but I believe it.
There were thoughts like that running through their minds
that day when Peter made his decisive and pivotal statement:
“I quit. I am going fishing.”
Six others quit with him.
Acquired a boat and nets somehow.
And labored all night fishing,
for the sole purpose of selling their fish,
and establishing themselves once again
as competitive merchants on the Sea of Galilee.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t going so well.
All night they were throwing out their net,
and had nothing to show for it.
Either no fish were running that night.
Or they had gotten awfully rusty in two years.

That’s when Jesus shows up for a fourth time after the resurrection.
Could have been an ugly scene.
Yet another time when confrontation would have been appropriate,
and expected.
But Jesus chose not to shame them for their blatant lack of trust,
for giving in to their fears and insecurities
and turning their back on Jesus and his call once again.
He simply went to where they were at,
just like he did in the upper room.
And without condemnation,
he opened himself to them in generosity and hospitality.

The fact that they caught nothing all night,
was sort of poetic justice, wasn’t it?
The empty nets were a pretty powerful lesson, weren’t they?
Jesus could have let them remain empty, to make the point.
He already had a fire going on the beach,
and some of his own fish on the grill.
He could have just invited them to join him,
and eat the food he had.
They would have gotten the point.
But instead of trying to make a point,
instead of scolding them for taking up fishing again,
after having called them away from it,
he helps them with it.
He provides for them, a huge catch of fish,
which they, of course, will sell for a healthy sum of money.
Then he invites them for breakfast,
and invites them to put some of their fish on the grill, too.
He doesn’t look at those fish they caught as ill-gotten gain,
even though they wouldn’t have been fishing
if they hadn’t turned their back on him.
Jesus shared in their bounty. Shared in the joy of the catch.
Ate some of the fish himself.

Amazing.
And after breakfast, with only a few words,
he gave Peter something he needed even more than 153 fish.
He had already forgiven Peter,
when he met them in the upper room, and pronounced peace.
Now he gave Peter opportunity, not only to be forgiven,
but to be fully restored to his community,
to his role as the Rock, upon whom he would build the church.

In the most gentle, and affirming way, yet with utmost clarity,
he asked Peter a question three times,
“Simon son of John, do you love me?”
The same number of times Peter denied that he knew Jesus.
Each time Peter answered, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”

Jesus wasn’t punishing Peter.
But he was holding him accountable.
He held up a mirror to Peter, for clarity, not condemnation.
“Do you love me, Peter?”
“Yes, Lord.”

That’s what it took to clear away the fog, I think.
The disciples were in a heavy fog after the resurrection.
They could see no more than a few feet in front of them,
so to speak.
They were in a fog of shame and guilt,
as well as fear and insecurity.

We’re in a fog, too.
For many different reasons.
We’re in a fog when it comes to following Jesus,
because we live in a culture that does not generally reinforce
our choices to follow Jesus—
at least not in a way that requires forsaking boats and nets
and other forms of personal security.
Our culture is no less hostile to the way of Jesus,
than the culture that Jesus himself grew up in,
and lived and died in.
We are encouraged to indulge the self,
to seek personal pleasure first,
to find our security by gathering possessions, money, and power,
to prize individual freedom above all.
That makes for a pretty thick bank of fog,
if we’re trying to see the way of Jesus clearly—
the Jesus who asked us to deny ourselves, take up our cross,
and follow him daily in life.

The fog rolls in for other reasons, too.
We all have many competing, and complex demands
on our time, our attention, our energy, and our passions.
We’re not all in position to throw everything up in the air,
and walk away from it all, and follow Jesus somewhere else.
There must surely be a way to be a faithful follower,
in the place where we find ourselves,
in our own community, and in our own place of work.
But it’s a complicated thing to follow Jesus.
More complicated, I think it’s fair to say,
than it was for Galilean fisherman in first-century Palestine.

The fog rolls in, too, in times of suffering.
We have all experienced some level of suffering,
when it’s difficult to make sense of life,
for one reason or another:
Life-threatening illness, death of a loved one,
a broken relationship,
depression,
abuse,
addictions.
And in a week like this past one,
we get in touch with suffering that results from mass tragedy.
We know, of course, that there is deep suffering
in other parts of the world,
on an even greater scale, on a daily basis.
But the Virginia Tech tragedy hits us in our gut,
because Tech is relatively close to us.
We are connected with people there.
We know current students Kari Stoltzfus, Kevin Hughes,
Phil Lehman.
Some of us are alumni.
Or we have friends on the faculty.
We might even know some of the victims, or their families.
We can understand, and appreciate, at least in part,
how difficult it must be for those who have suffered most
at Virginia Tech,
to think about just putting one foot in front of the other,
and moving forward in some fashion.

But whether we’re talking about massive disaster or tragedy,
or other kinds of suffering on a personal scale,
for those who are suffering, and who are followers of Jesus,
the questions are no easier.
How do you “follow Jesus” when you’re in deep pain,
when you are grieving loss,
when you are intensely afraid,
when you are feeling insecure and vulnerable?
Well, you probably do it like the disciples in John 20 and 21.
In fits and starts.
With hesitation and confusion.
Occasionally sounding courageous.
More often, not.

But the good news, dear sisters and brothers,
is that when the fog rolls in,
Jesus meets us right there in the thick of it.

Jesus does not condemn us,
when, in a time of suffering or confusion,
we slip into the default mode.
We go fishing.
We grasp for anything that looks secure.
We turn and run for cover.
Jesus does not condemn us.
Rather, Jesus finds a way to reveal himself to us.
To cut through the fog.
To make himself clear to us.
To give us another opportunity to come and follow.

That’s what was happening on the shoreline.
Jesus simply made himself present.
Made himself known.
Did not condemn the disciples for going fishing.
Just reminded them gently that they had a larger calling.
“Feed my lambs,” he said.
“Tend my sheep.”

Following Jesus when the fog is thick,
is no simple matter.
But God is a God of revelation.
God does whatever is necessary to be made known,
to be seen more clearly.
Whenever we find ourselves in the fog,
we can trust God to come to us in Jesus,
with kindness, with compassion, and in time, with clarity.
Lord, give us the courage to leave our boats and nets of security,
and follow you humbly.

—Phil Kniss, April 22, 2007


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(Easter 2) When Jesus Comes Looking for Us

Forgiveness is the Lord’s Doing
John 20:19-31

Here we are one short week after Easter Sunday.
We’ve hardly had time to catch our breath from all the “Alleluias!”
And what a glorious celebration it was!
Our last act of worship that day nearly raised the roof.
The organ pipes thundered, and we were at full voice, singing,
“The Kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ!
And he shall reign for ever and ever!
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”
The sense of victory was overwhelming.
There was an infusion of hope into this broken world,
and we let it be known!

It’s pretty easy to pull out all the stops, and celebrate,
when we see Easter from our vantage point.
That power and victory is found in that resurrection is obvious.
That sin and death are conquered is plain to see.
It’s not hard to embrace the joy of Easter day.

Not so for Peter and John and Thomas and company.
The Gospel stories we usually look at in the weeks after Easter
tell us a curious story.
Why don’t these disciples get what just happened?
Are they a little dim-witted, we wonder?
For more than two years
they followed Jesus everywhere he went,
and sat at his feet
while he taught them all about the kingdom,
and about his coming suffering, death, and resurrection.

The Gospel story this morning is a perfect example.
Let’s take a look again at John, chapter 20.
This story comes immediately after the story we heard last Sunday.
Peter, John, and Mary had all seen the empty tomb,
with Jesus’ graveclothes lying neatly inside.
Mary had the added benefit of having seen two angels,
and then seeing, and speaking to, Jesus himself.
And all three of them had reported back to the disciples.

But here they all are, in their designated meetinghouse,
cowering in fear behind locked doors,
unable to grasp the truth of what has been told to them.
Unable to trust. Unable to hope.
And Jesus came and stood among them—John 20:19.
His first words were, “Peace be with you.”
Those words were...appropriate, to say the least.
They were probably more than a little frightened
at this sudden appearance of Jesus.
Peace is what they needed right then,
A calming of their fears.
A release of their tension.

Then in v. 20 we read that Jesus showed them his hands and side,
supposedly to reassure them that this was no dream,
and that he was no ghost.
And the disciples’ response when they saw this?
They rejoiced!
Didn’t fully understand it, apparently,
but they were full of joy,
full of delighted astonishment,
full of hopeful anticipation.
And maybe in this rejoicing,
their fear and tension began to melt away.

So it’s a little curious, I think, that in the next verse, 21,
while they were rejoicing,
Jesus repeated himself,
“Peace be with you.
As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”
And he breathed on them, and said,
“Receive the Holy Spirit.
If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven.
If you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”

Now the Gospel story continues with a fascinating tale of Thomas,
who missed the first appearance,
but got a second chance, like the rest of them,
to see and believe.
And Jesus spoke the same words to Thomas:
“Peace be with you.”
Last year, I focused on Thomas on this same Sunday,
tried to restore his bad reputation as a doubter,
and emphasized his strong confession of faith,
“My Lord and my God!”

But this morning, I invite us to ponder on this first part of this story,
Jesus’ words about peace, the Holy Spirit, and forgiveness.
There is a powerful Gospel message in these few verses
that I think we sometimes miss
by moving right away to the drama
of Jesus’ encounter with Thomas.

Why was it that Jesus said, three times, “Peace be with you.”
The text tells us in v. 19 that the disciples were afraid.
They were afraid of the Jewish religious leaders,
and presumably the Roman authorities, too,
who together had conspired to crucify Jesus.
That was only a few days ago,
so their fear was well-founded.
They were not safe.
But I think there was something deeper behind Jesus’ words,
than simply calming their fears and anxieties.
Otherwise, Jesus would not have had to repeat himself,
and pronounce peace on them,
while they rejoiced in his presence.
I think Jesus knew that the peace they needed most at the moment,
was the peace that is set in motion by forgiveness.

Yes, forgiveness.
I have to believe that forgiveness
was the first and most profound truth about the resurrection
that the disciples needed to grasp.
Reflect for a moment,
what was likely going on in the disciples’ minds and spirits.
The disciples had all—everyone of them—
abandoned Jesus at the most critical moment.
They had failed to prevent their Lord and Master—
the one who they had come to believe was the Messiah—
from being crucified.
While their Messianic hopes were being crushed,
and Jesus was being tortured and mocked,
they all stood at a distance and watched,
or stood close and denied they knew him.
And then they all ran off and hid behind locked doors.
As disciples, they failed their master miserably.
And now they were standing face to face
before the one whom they failed.
I’m not saying I’d have done any better,
if I was in their sandals.
Their response was normal and understandable,
given their frame of reference.

But at this moment, immediately post-resurrection,
what they were just beginning to grasp,
was how miserably they had failed their master—
how little they had learned of the deeper truths
their rabbi and master had been trying to teach them.
John 20 says they rejoiced.
But I have to believe that their rejoicing was not
an open-throated, full-bodied, exultation
like we did with the “Hallelujah” chorus last Sunday.
If there was laughter, I’ll bet it was like...
the laughter of office workers caught playing cards
by the boss who gets back early from a meeting.
Nervous laughter.
I think the tension in that upper room was palpable,
the sense of shame, embarrassment, and failure,
just as powerful as the joy at seeing Jesus alive again.

And here is where we could imagine Jesus
giving his disciples a good tongue lashing, like they deserved.

We just got through the NCAA basketball season,
which ended with the Florida Gators’ well-deserved victory
over the Ohio State Buckeyes in the national championship,
which, contrary to Barbara’s comment last Sunday,
was, in fact, one of the stories of hope she was looking for.
(I just had to bring a little theological balance there.)

Both teams played a good game.
But imagine a basketball coach talking to a team at halftime,
who were playing a really sloppy game of barn ball.
With neck veins bulging, he’d probably yell at them,
for the most miserable, pathetic, lackluster, cowardly,
and downright despicable performance
he had ever seen on a basketball court—in his lifetime!
That could have been Jesus’ reaction to his disciples.
He could have chewed them out.
He could have fired them all on the spot.
They had talked big before the game.
They were full of bravado.
“I would die for you,” Peter said.
But it turned out they were afraid of the cross.
And they ran.
They got whupped.
And they didn’t deserve to play the second half.

But a good chewing out is not what they needed.
And that was not what Jesus would give them.
They needed the gift of forgiveness.

Craig Barnes, a professor at Pittsburgh Theol. Seminary,
writes in an article,
“At the center of the gospel is the proclamation
that Jesus Christ has come looking for us...
He walks right through the locked door to find us.
He shows us his wounds from the cross,
which are the marks of our forgiveness.
Then he says, ‘Peace be with you.’
You are forgiven, peace is restored to your troubled soul,
and you are free.”

The essence of the Gospel of Easter,
is that when we are at our very worst,
Jesus comes looking for us.
At the very time we are most wanting to hide the truth
about ourselves, from others, and even from ourselves,
when we are most crippled by shame,
Jesus comes looking for us, saying, “Peace be with you.”
The Gospel story is a freedom story.
It is freedom from sin,
freedom from our failure to trust,
freedom from spiritual humiliation.
It is Jesus coming and looking for us,
to pronounce peace and forgiveness.

And that is the story that is going on here in John 20.
Jesus is giving freedom to his disciples to come out of hiding.
But it didn’t stop there.
It wasn’t just freedom for the sake of the disciple’s freedom.

Jesus gave them the ministry of forgiveness.
He commissioned them to carry this Gospel of freedom
to every other person who was hiding from the truth,
in one way or another.
He breathed on them, and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”
And now go proclaim this same forgiveness I have given you.
Find other souls crippled by shame.
And be a priest for them.
Offer them the opportunity for repentance.
Proclaim their forgiveness.
That’s the role of a priest.
To act on behalf of God, inviting reconciliation.
And declaring forgiveness.
“If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them;
if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”
That is the ministry of forgiveness which we have been offered,
and which we have now been called to offer others.

In our humanness, in our temptation to play God,
we sometimes put the wrong accent on these words.
It’s not that God is telling us,
“Now go out there, and you decide
who’s going to be judged by me for their sins,
and who will not be judged.”
I think rather, it’s a statement that,
if we don’t get out there and proclaim the gospel of forgiveness,
who else will?
If we, the ones who have experienced this forgiveness of sin,
as a result of the resurrection,
don’t go out and pass on this peace, who will?
When we proclaim forgiveness to others, they are forgiven.
They find freedom.
When we fail to proclaim forgiveness, people remain bound.
Their sins are retained.
That’s an awesome, and wonderful, responsibility.

We have been called to be disciples of Jesus
not because we are any better than the others.
On the contrary,
what it means to be a post-Easter disciple of Jesus,
is coming to terms with how wrong we were about Jesus,
and knowing how much we need to be forgiven.
It is facing up to our shame,
and then hearing Jesus’ words, “Peace be with you.”
Be free of shame.
Undo the locks. Throw open the doors.
You are loved.
You are restored.

There is no room for human pride, in this ministry of forgiveness
that we have been commissioned for.
Quoting Craig Barnes again,
“What this means is that we disciples are not called to produce forgiveness. We're called to be the priest pronouncing that which has been produced on the cross. We're called to open the locks and throw open the door, and walk back into the world as a priest who is unafraid. The only alternative is to live in shrinking prisons of hurt.”

I believe it would be well to use this occasion,
the first Sunday after Easter
to embrace in a new way
the forgiveness offered freely to us by Jesus,
who comes looking for us,
arms spread wide,
with a warm heart,
saying, “Peace be with you.”
and to embrace the ministry of forgiveness
that we were given to share, when Jesus said,
“If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven.
If you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”
We have work to do. Priestly work.
The same work that Jesus did,
going and looking for those
who are huddled behind locked doors,
and proclaiming the peace of Christ to them,
proclaiming the forgiveness and freedom available
to all who will receive it.

I’m not saying, by any means, that forgiveness is as simple,
as opening our mouth and saying the words.
Forgiveness can sometimes be very complicated,
and painfully difficult,
and fraught with risk,
and can, in some cases, even take a lifetime.
Forgiveness is not to be taken lightly.

But what I am saying is, because of the resurrection,
forgiveness is not only possible,
it is a present reality in the living Lord, Jesus Christ.
And we are called to accept it,
and to pass it on,
in order to truly live.

I invite us into a time of prayers for forgiveness.
Throughout we will sing a short response,
“Healing balm, forgiving Lord, Kyrie eleison”

Let us begin to call on the merciful Lord,
and ask for the healing balm of forgiveness.

Healing balm, forgiving Lord, Kyrie eleison.

Risen Lord, who comes looking for us,
we are here this morning, some of us, behind locked doors.
There are doors we are afraid to open.
There are doors we have no idea how to open.
Despite that, right now, you have come to stand among us,
and pronounce peace.
Open our ears, Lord, to hear the words,
and open our heart to receive them with rejoicing.
For this we pray...
Healing balm, forgiving Lord, Kyrie eleison.

Risen Lord, who comes pronouncing peace,
there are many reasons we find ourselves
gripped by fear and shame.
Like the disciples, we have failed to grasp your Gospel fully.
We operate on half-truths about you,
or even on complete misrepresentations.
We are formed more by the dominant culture we live in,
than by your narrow way that leads to life.
We need your forgiveness and peace, so,
For this we pray...
Healing balm, forgiving Lord, Kyrie eleison.

Risen Lord, who comes with arms open wide,
meet us where we are at, in our state of fear, and shame.
We have failed to follow your way in good faith,
we have abandoned you, forsaken you,
sometimes even denied you.
We have lived with more attentiveness to
our own individual desires,
personal pleasures,
or immediate satisfaction,
and less attentiveness to the self-giving love
which you demonstrated so powerfully in your life,
death, and resurrection,
and to which you have called us.
Bring us out of this suffocating locked room,
free us from our small, self-absorbed, existence.
For this we pray...
Healing balm, forgiving Lord, Kyrie eleison.

Risen Lord, who has called us to a ministry of forgiveness,
lead us to share your words of peace and freedom
with others who are hiding in fear and shame,
hiding their truth even from themselves,
to the extent that they are unaware
of their need for freedom.
Give us the grace to live among these suffering children of yours,
in a way that allows them to hear the words,
“Peace be with you.”
Help us to be good ministers of your peace.
For this we pray...
Healing balm, forgiving Lord, Kyrie eleison.

Risen Lord, who has called us to love and forgive even our enemies,
help us learn to share your peace
even with those from whom we are alienated,
those who may hate us,
those for whom we may harbor hatred,
or at least, deep bitterness.
Help us discover the freedom we ourselves can have,
and the freedom we can offer others,
through the ministry of forgiveness.
Even when forgiveness is hard, painful, and risky.
Lead us on our journey toward that forgiveness.
We confess that we need it.
The world needs it.
For this we pray...
Healing balm, forgiving Lord, Kyrie eleison.

Lord, Jesus Christ, who comes looking for us.
We receive you with joy.
Have mercy on us.
Amen.
Healing balm, forgiving Lord, Kyrie eleison.

—Phil Kniss, April 15, 2007

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(Palm Sunday) Jesus, the Donkey, and the Powers That Be

Luke 19:28-40 (with ref. to Isaiah 50:4-9; Philip. 2:5-11)

Here we are at Palm Sunday already.
A strange and wonderful day in the church year,
marking a strange and wonderful event in the life of Jesus.
We call it Jesus’ triumphal entry,
but it’s an odd sort of triumph.
In a few days Jesus will have more enemies than friends,
and the crowds who shouted Hosanna, will call for his death.

Let’s jump right into the text.
You might find it helpful to keep your Bibles open to Luke 19.

There are at least two different, valid ways to read this story,
both of which lead us to valid conclusions.

The first way we’re quite familiar with.
It’s a way of reading where we emphasize the symbolism,
in order to reach a conclusion about who Jesus is.
This is the first time Jesus publicly allows
the people to proclaim him as Messiah.
Before this, when anybody suggested Jesus was the Messiah,
he shushed them.
His Messiah-ship was a closely guarded secret.

But now, by reading the symbolism of this event,
we clearly see Jesus is owning his identity as Messiah,
as the anointed King of Israel, in David’s royal line.

He arranges to ride in a parade through the city gates,
just like a new king, about to be enthroned.
People hold palm branches, like they would to honor a king,
although we get that from John, rather than Luke.
And in Luke 19:36, people take their cloaks, their own clothing,
and spread them out on the road for the king to walk on;
an expression of submission to this royal figure.
And in v. 38, the crowds shout words from Psalm 118,
a psalm celebrating a king’s victory.
And the whole scene fulfills the words of Zechariah,
predicting a king who will come riding on a colt.
Everything about this story—both word and symbol—
declare the identity of Jesus of Nazareth as the Messiah.

The only odd thing is he rides a donkey, instead of a royal stallion.
But that doesn’t mean Jesus denies his kingship.
I’ve read that in ancient times,
when a king and his entourage entered a city,
and they were approaching in peace,
he would ride a donkey to signal to the local ruler
that he wasn’t a threat.
Maybe Jesus was reassuring the occupying Roman authorities
that he wasn’t intending to storm the throne and take over.

But simply reading the symbols in the story,
we come to this valid conclusion
that Jesus is the Messiah,
the Anointed One who came to save the people of Israel.

־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־
And that’s all good.
It’s well to be reminded of the identity of Jesus.
But those of us who are believers already,
don’t need a whole Sunday every year,
to be re-convinced that Jesus is the Messiah.
We already accept that.

That’s where a second way of reading this story
can open new horizons.
There’s more to be mined from this wonderful narrative,
when we take seriously the larger context,
when we look at the events that preceded it, and followed it,
when we ask the question,
“What was going on in Jesus’ own mind,
and in the thinking and reactions of the disciples,
in the crowds, the civil and religious powers that be.”
This way of reading ingests this story,
finds a way to become part of it.
It’s not enough to read this story,
and only reach an intellectual conclusion
about Jesus’ identity as Messiah.
We need to discover why this event happened,
and what it led to,
and where it might lead us, if we allow it to.

־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־
So...what was really going on here,
in Jerusalem, in the days approaching Passover,
when Jesus was making his final approach to the Holy City?

Seems nearly everything that happened in Jesus’ ministry,
was setting the stage for this showdown in Jerusalem.
This grand entry into Jerusalem
is a huge turning point in the story.
It’s a moment, I believe, of great clarity for Jesus.
And the exact opposite for the people.
A moment when every misunderstood intention of Jesus,
every mistaken expectation people had,
every wishful thought,
every misplaced hope,
was confronted head on by Jesus himself.
This was true for his closest disciples,
for his larger circle of friends,
for those who were ambivalent,
and for those who saw him as a terrible threat.

Remember the social context here.
This was Jerusalem, the Holy City of the descendants of Abraham.
For generations now, this proud and independent people,
with a long and rich history of self-rule,
were living almost as prisoners in their own national capital.
Herod ruled with an iron fist.
Brutally murdering anyone who so much as threatened
to cause any trouble.
They were free to practice their own religion as they wished,
as long as they did it quietly, and kept to themselves.
But their royal palace,
the throne David once sat on,
was now being lived in by pagan Roman rulers,
henchmen of Caesar,
who called himself a god.
What an insult to these worshipers of Yahweh,
the God of their ancestors!
It was offensive beyond imagination.
Everyone...every Jew in Jerusalem and throughout Judea,
was waiting, desperately, for the Messiah.
The one who would put an end to this travesty.
Who would reclaim David’s throne and palace,
and be the new King of Israel.
They were eagerly studying the prophets, looking for signs.
Everyone was waiting for the Messiah,
the common people,
the scribes and Pharisees,
the Priests and Levites.
They wanted freedom. They wanted a Savior.

And during the last year or two,
and increasingly, in recent months,
rumors were rampant that Jesus was the one.
Many people loved him and followed him en masse,
soaking in every teaching,
witnessing every miracle,
hoping and believing in him.
But the religious authorities wrote him off, understandably.
He was soft on Jewish ritual law.
He didn’t keep himself pure.
He touched lepers and women.
Ate with sinners.
Broke the Sabbath.
That obviously disqualified him to be the Messiah,
no matter what the uneducated masses thought.
So the more crowds Jesus drew out,
the more nervous the religious leaders became.
The last thing they wanted was a Messianic pretender out there,
stirring up the people, and getting Rome on their back.
Their resistance to Jesus was both understandable, and noble.
They were protecting the people.
They knew how brutally violent Herod could be,
if things got out of hand.
They were trying to keep an orderly society,
for the good of everyone.

That is the kind of Jerusalem that Jesus rode into,
on the day we now call Palm Sunday.
That is why the crowds were lauding him as King,
and the Pharisees were telling Jesus
to order his followers to stop this dangerous nonsense.

Then, in about as much time as it took to organize the parade,
the tide turned against Jesus.
And it wasn’t because some evil and corrupt
Pharisees and High Priest found a way to manipulate the crowds
to turn against their hero.
It’s what Jesus did that turned the tide.
It was the clarity Jesus had about who he was,
and what his mission was,
the suddenly confronted all these misplaced expectations.
Jesus, in fact, turned out to be a huge disappointment to people.

You realize, don’t you,
where the people were expecting this parade to lead.
They were expecting Jesus to ride all the way to the palace,
and reclaim the throne.
They had seen all the other miracles.
Multitudes healed.
The dead raised.
Thousands fed with a few bread and fish.
This man was a proven miracle worker,
and he now accepted the title of Messiah, the deliverer.
They always knew that if they tried to seize the throne,
even if they had an army,
Caesar would crush them.
But a miracle-worker could do it.
They were about to witness Jesus’ greatest miracle to date.
And they were giddy with delight and anticipation.

But the parade ended prematurely.
Jesus got off his donkey not at the palace, but the temple.
Not at the headquarters of the pagan Roman oppressors.
But the headquarters of Jewish religious life,
the very center of Jewish peoplehood.
Jesus got off his donkey to confront the powers that be,
but they weren’t the powers that anyone else had in mind,
even his closest disciples.

In the verses immediately following this triumphal entry,
two significant things are recorded that give us a window
into Jesus’ mind and heart.

First thing we note, in v. 41 of Luke 19,
is that as the parade was approaching the city, Jesus wept.
He broke down in tears at the sight of Jerusalem.
And he voiced a lament in v. 42, “O Jerusalem,
if only you recognized today the things that make for peace.”
But you don’t see it! It’s hidden.
Because you are confused about who you are called to be.

And then in v. 45, Jesus enters the temple,
and starts driving out the people who were selling things there,
shouting out words of the prophet Jeremiah,
accusing the people of turning the house of God
into a den of robbers.

Why did Jesus do such a thing?
Why was Jesus so obsessed on some disorder at the temple,
when a foreign, pagan dictator
was oppressing his own people with the sword?
Weigh those two things in the balance—
the violent atrocities coming out of Herod’s palace,
and people selling doves in the temple courtyard,
so that worshipers would have something to sacrifice.
But Jesus confronted the temple, not the palace.
He rode in on a donkey,
so as to reassure Rome
that he wasn’t going to cause them trouble,
and then he attacked the temple of his own people.
And the next two chapters just continue the insults.
In one parable after another,
he challenges his own religious leaders.
He openly denounces the scribes and Pharisees.
And he conveniently avoids saying anything to offend Rome.
One time he was given a chance to, on the question of taxes.
But he was non-committal.
“Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s.”

Is it any wonder,
that only days later,
his people were calling for his crucifixion.
It doesn’t surprise me.
He bitterly disappointed them all.
Every last one of them.
Even his disciples deserted him,
completely confused about what was going on.

Yet, it was the time of Jesus’ greatest clarity,
when the purpose for his being and identity were without question.
That is why it says that he “set his face toward Jerusalem.”
He knew what needed to happen.
He needed to remind the people of God who they were called to be.

Now don’t get me wrong.
I’m not suggesting Jesus didn’t care
about what Herod & Caesar were doing.
You could hardly be a Jew in first-century Palestine,
and not have deep feelings about the Roman oppression.
I believe he wanted his people to be free citizens again.
But despite all that, Jesus had an even deeper concern.
His own people were losing their way.
It wasn’t Rome that was keeping them from living fully.
They were doing it to themselves.
They had forgotten what it meant to love and serve God
with their whole heart, soul, mind, and strength.
They had forgotten how to love and serve each other.
Their true faith and identity could survive and thrive,
even under the most brutal outside oppression.
But it wouldn’t stand a chance if they destroyed it themselves.

They were not treating each other with Godly justice and compassion.
The wealthy were taking advantage of the poor.
The widows and orphans were not being cared for.
Those who had position and power were luxuriating in it.
And those without were getting stepped on.

Jesus looked on the city of Jerusalem, and wept over his lost people,
a people who lost sight of who they were,
and what God desired of them—
a people too confused about their identity
to realize their biggest problem wasn’t Rome.
Their spiritual and ethical grounding
had eroded underneath their own feet.

But the only thing the people could see when they looked at Jesus,
was, Here is the one who will rescue us from Rome.
Here is one who will restore David’s throne.
Here is our savior.
“Hosanna to the Son of David.
The new king of the restored nation of Israel.”

־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־־
I wonder.
I wonder if the church of today is not in a similar situation.
I wonder if today’s people of God
are not so focused on the external threats
to church traditions and institutions,
that we neglect to examine whether we are being faithful to God.
I wonder whether our own priorities as God’s people,
match up with the priorities of God.
I wonder whether the church is losing its way,
as Christendom falls around us;
whether we are busy shoring up the institution and structures,
while the heart of our faith is being overlooked.

At the very time we need the saving, transforming,
life-redeeming work of Jesus Christ,
to be let loose among us,
to help us practice an authentic life of worship,
of community,
and of mission—
at the very time we need the personal and collective salvation
offered us in Jesus Christ,
we are being distracted by external pressures.
We are focused on preservation and survival.

Yes, let us work, let us speak, let us advocate against injustice,
wherever it shows up,
whether in Iraq, or Darfur,
whether in Washington, D.C.,
whether in a Harrisonburg Minuteman rally,
or whether in our own church structures.
But let us do so with clarity about our calling,
to be a people formed in Jesus Christ,
a people obedient to the will of God revealed in Jesus,
even when that obedience is costly.

I’m amazed at Jesus.
That he could be so clear about his mission.
So secure in his identity.
Even when everyone, including his disciples,
tried their best to remake him into someone else,
he didn’t lose focus.
He never wavered.
He set his face toward Jerusalem.

I’m amazed at Isaiah, whose words we heard a few minutes ago.
When his detractors and persecutors put on the pressure,
Isaiah wrote,
“I did not turn backward...
I did not hide my face from insult and spitting . . .
I have set my face like flint,
and I know that I shall not be put to shame.”

That’s the kind of clarity, in the face of resistance,
that gets people into trouble.
That’s what put Jesus on the cross.
His deep, unstoppable love and compassion for his lost people,
when others were more concerned about Rome.

We are called to same kind of clarity.
To have the mind-set of Christ.
To be willing to empty ourselves, as servants of God,
to bend the knee at the name of Jesus,
and confess with our tongues,
that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.

May it be so.

—Phil Kniss, April 1, 2007

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