Hey, Cobblestone,
One of the stranger theories I have for the meaning of
eternity involves being a witness to events I wasn’t there for – when time is
obsolete and we ramp back into eternity, going to a certain point of history
and geography to see something that changed the story of mankind. It’s not a
dearly held theory; I have no scriptural basis for it (maybe because I haven’t
looked very hard), and if it turns out to be bogus I won’t be terribly
disappointed. Meanwhile, I use it to entertain myself.
The scene might be one of Abraham Lincoln’s Cabinet meetings
or the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation, or maybe looking out the
window of the Apollo 8 command module with Jim Lovell to see the first earthrise
witnessed by the naked eye. I think you get the idea. By far, my favorite
imaginings involve scenes from the Bible, and our reading this week has
included a selection from the Top Ten list – the triumphal entry of Jesus into
Jerusalem. Whether you’re intrigued by my theory or sure I’ve gone completely
bonkers, humor me will you, and let’s visit the original Palm Sunday.
Now when they drew near
to Jerusalem and came to Bethphage, to the Mount of Olives, then
Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village
in front of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with
her. Untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, you
shall say, ‘The Lord needs them,’ and he will send them at once.” This took
place to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet, saying,
“Say to the daughter of
Zion,
‘ Behold, your king is coming to you,
humble, and mounted on a donkey,
on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden’” (Matthew 21:1-5).
The donkey figures largely in the scene. Don’t forget about
the donkey.
The disciples went and
did as Jesus had directed them. They brought the donkey and the colt and
put on them their cloaks, and he sat on them. Most of the
crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the
trees and spread them on the road. And the crowds that went before him and
that followed him were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of
David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in
the highest!” And when he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was
stirred up, saying, “Who is this?” And the crowds said, “This is the
prophet Jesus, from Nazareth of Galilee” (verses 6-11).
Plugging myself into this kind of scene is, as I said,
entertaining – until it isn’t. At first I can imagine being one of the people
on the right side of whatever issue is at hand, but the illusion doesn’t hold
for long. It’s like, when I read the story of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-32),
I cast myself as the compassionate father, only to find out I’m actually the honked-off
older brother. You and I may be headed for a similar experience with the
triumphal entry. Let’s see who the players are, and figure it out from there.
As Jesus rode into Jerusalem on the donkey (please don’t
forget about the donkey!), the whole city
was stirred up; almost everybody shouted, “Hosanna (“O save!”) to the
Son of David”; but not everybody placed the same item on the road in front
of him. It makes a difference. Most of
the crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from
the trees and spread them on the road. Since I’ve sucked you into this scene with my
overwrought imagination, tell me: which are you spreading – cloak or palm
branch? I’ll wait while you decide.
Time’s up. The cloak and the palm branch represent two
different perceptions of who Jesus is. Spreading the palm branch represents
commitment to creed and country; spreading the cloak represents commitment to
the king. Spreading the palm branch throws expectations onto the king;
spreading the cloak means receiving his rule.
In purely practical terms, look at it this way: Who carries a
palm tree around? The people who cut palm branches – were those cut from their
own palm tree or somebody else’s? And once Jesus had passed (on the donkey,
remember), reckon they picked up those branches, or left them in the road? On
the other hand, everybody in Jesus’ culture would have had a cloak of their
own. If you didn’t have a cloak, you got one, and quickly. The cloak was your
wearable camping gear, your shelter from the elements. If you reach to grab
someone else’s cloak to spread, you’ve got a fight on your hands. And here lay
cloaks on the road. Are you seeing a higher level of commitment? And since
donkeys don’t step out of the parade for bathroom breaks, almost everybody who
spread a cloak would have at least a hoof print for a souvenir, while a few
lucky souls would have… well, as the sign in the barn says: Manure Happens. I
told you the donkey figures largely in the scene. Pick up your cloak anyway –
you’re going to need it.
You and I, Church, we live in the time between the first
appearing of Jesus and the second. All the people who crowded the road between
Bethpage and Jerusalem that day, they lived at the very opening of the same age
we live in. Maybe it’s easier now to see ourselves in the scene (whether my
whimsical theory has any merit or not). They were living out the fulfillment of
prophecy. So are we.
Kings who come in peace come riding on donkeys – nobody among
Jesus’ kin and country could have been unaware of that symbol from their
history (see Zechariah 9:9). Sin and transgression and adversarial attitudes
can be dealt with, and no armies have to clash… yet. The King is offering
peaceful resolution – on his terms, of course. Don’t think the King is any less
serious or formidable because of the donkey. The donkey is for our benefit, not
his.
We needed the palm branches on the road – for contrast, if
nothing else. And while my imagination is in overdrive, I’m picturing more than
a few Israelites, bedding down in their unsoiled cloaks that night, thinking,
“Dang! I wish I had spread my cloak on the road.” Back here in present-day
reality, I’m praying we become a whole church of cloak-spreaders, receiving the
King’s rule.
Grace and Peace (in His dominion),
John
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