Matthew 21:1-11
Rev. Dr. Deborah L. Clark
April 2, 2023
Calling a special congregational meeting felt like the right thing to do. This was such a big decision—life-changing, church-changing, world-changing. We needed everyone on board.
It was less than two months ago that Jesus invited us to travel together, with him, toward Easter. We leapt at the invitation. He wasn’t a stranger, after all. We’ve been studying his teachings and singing about his love for 196 years. We turned his invitation into our Lenten theme, “Traveling Together Toward Easter.”
It started so well. The first Sunday in Lent was all about love. It was lovely. I love talking about love. I left church that morning with such a warm, fuzzy feeling.
The next week was nice too, though we began to hear hints that Jesus was not going to stay in his lane. Remember Jesus inviting himself to the tax collector Zacchaeus’s house for dinner? We heard the message loud and clear: Jesus wants us to open our homes and our hearts. I’m all over that. I’ll bake the cookies– vegan, gluten-free, nut-free so everyone is included. I’ll even clean the house.
The part that made me nervous was the tax collector thing. What would the modern-day equivalent be? Whose house would Jesus invite himself to today? What if it was someone whose actions we find deeply offensive? An indicted politician, a hate-filled shooter, a war criminal… Would Jesus expect us to come too? That doesn’t feel quite so warm and fuzzy.
Every week Jesus upped the ante. Remember how he left the disciples—us—down in the valley while he went up the mountain? While he was basking in the glow of transfiguration, we were with the original disciples trying to heal that father and son, we were here trying to heal the pain of today’s world. I’m still annoyed that Jesus left us to deal with it on our own, without properly training. And he never apologized: he just told us to keep trying and keep praying. Who does he think we are?
The next week it started getting out of control. “That which you do to the least of these my beloved you do unto me.” It’s a beautiful sentiment, until you try to live it. Maybe the pain of the world wasn’t quite so in-your-face back when he first spoke those words. Doesn’t he understand how overwhelming it is when the news keeps telling us about more people who are suffering?
Last week was over the top. Calling us to go proclaim the good news with no suitcase or spare shoes, not even with a dollar. What does he not get about being church in the real world? If we didn’t bring our dollars, we wouldn’t be able to call the plumber and repair the leaky pipe in Edwards Hall so we can offer hospitality to our neighbors. I love his passion, but really, come on now, let’s be real.
By the time I learned what Jesus had planned for today I was already wondering whether this relationship was sustainable. Then he told us we’re going to have a parade. I love a parade. This one, though, is downright dangerous. The prototype, from 2000 years ago in Jerusalem, set in motion a series of events that were so incredibly painful. Back then, he rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, with a bunch of disciples like us waving palms, on the same day the Roman governor rode into the city in a chariot, surrounded by phalanxes of soldiers carrying spears. It was one thing to put himself in danger like that, but didn’t he care about the danger he was putting his disciples in?
Of course, this parade, 2000 years later, is different. There is no Roman empire to threaten us. But we know that when Jesus asks us to join this parade, it’s about so much more than walking around the block with a pony. It’s about committing ourselves to confront the powers of hate and greed and despair in our own world today. That’s a lot to ask.
You can see why I thought we needed a congregational meeting to decide if we wanted to travel this leg of the journey with Jesus. I made a call to our moderator—imaginary, of course–, we sent out a link—also imaginary—and you all showed up in my vivid imagination.
As always, everyone brought wisdom and faithfulness to the conversation. As always, there was a wide range of perspectives.
There were folks who care deeply about the well-being of this community, wanting to preserve it for the next generation. Someone wondered whether the parade might offend our neighbors; we know having good relations with them is essential to our church’s mission. Might we lose members? Are we putting our children in harm’s way? Someone who values our interfaith relationships raised the question of how our Jewish, Muslim and Buddhist siblings might experience our parade. Would they think we were trying to say Jesus is better than their faith leaders? And what about people who have been hurt by narrow-minded, judgmental Christianity? If we walk around shouting Jesus’ name, would they think we were judging them? Then there were the questions about strategy. Could we use our energies more effectively behind the scenes, quietly changing hearts and minds through the power of deep listening? Maybe, someone said, we’re giving this Jesus too much power and we need to listen to other voices.
There were other folks who spoke just as eloquently in support of the parade. They pointed out that we’ve been claiming to follow Jesus for 196 years at Edwards Church; isn’t it time, someone asked, to live that out? One person said that the reason they joined this church is our willingness to take bold stands. Someone else added that what they love about our church is that no one has to take those bold stands alone. Another said, “when hate is loud, love cannot be silent.” We need to put our bodies out there, they said, boldly, loudly, persistently saying NO to hate and greed and injustice. Someone pointed out that people who are under attack these days—transgender folks, immigrants, communities of color—need to know they are not alone.
Every single person spoke powerful truth—truths that sometimes seemed to bump up against each other. How were we going to reach consensus? How do we honor the whole of who we are as we respond to Jesus’ call to join the parade?
At just the right moment, another voice entered the conversation. It was one of those congregation members who doesn’t say a lot, who listens deeply and brings a fresh perspective. They unmuted. “When we were talking about the call to say NO to hate and injustice, it made me think about last week’s children’s message. Remember, Debbie, how you were getting us all to shout “nope” about all the things Jesus didn’t want us to bring on the journey?” I nodded. They went on. “Then little Max interrupted yes and cried out, ‘Jesus says Yes.’” The whole zoom meeting laughed. They continued.
“Well, I think that’s what we’ve been missing in this conversation. Absolutely, that parade back in Jerusalem was a bold NO to the power of Rome. But even more, it was a bold YES. Yes to God. Yes to choosing the power of God’s love instead of being cowed by the power of Caesar. That’s what Jesus is asking us to do in this parade. Jesus is calling us to say YES. Yes, we choose to trust that God’s love is more powerful than hatred and greed and fear, even when we don’t understand how that can be true. Yes, we choose to make God’s love the center of our lives. Yes, this is so important to us that we are willing to take a risk.” They muted themselves.
Even on Zoom, you could have heard a pin drop. Finally, another voice: “I move we say YES to God’s love. I move we join Jesus in the parade.” The second came from one of the folks who had initially urged caution. The vote was unanimous—not even any abstentions.
So that brings us to today. Jesus is already here in the sanctuary with us. The pony, our modern-day version of the colt, will arrive soon. Given that our vote this week happened only in my imagination, I’d love to confirm it before we move forward. Would someone make a motion that we join Jesus in this joyous and courageous parade? Anyone willing to second? So friends, are you ready to vote? All those in favor of saying YES to God’s love, shout it out now!
Whew! We’re on. After our prayers and offering, Karen Nell and the young people and I will invite us to travel back in time to Jerusalem. We’ll pass out palms and sing our way out the door and down the hill—walking or in our special donkey carts, otherwise known as cars.
Thanks be to God for this congregation, for our thoughtfulness, our faithfulness, our courage to name o