Between the Cheering and the Jeering

 

Rev Dr Mark Porizky

 

3/16/08

 

Matthew 21:1-11

 

Some years ago a book was written by a noted American historian Gene Smith entitled "When the Cheering Stopped." It was the story of President Woodrow Wilson and the events leading up to and following WWI. When that war was over Wilson was an international hero, there was a great spirit of optimism abroad, and people actually believed that the last war had been fought and the world had been made safe for democracy.

 

On his first visit to Paris after the war Wilson was greeted by cheering mobs. He was actually more popular than their national heroes. The same thing was true in England and Italy . In a Vienna hospital a Red Cross worker had to tell the children that there would be no Christmas presents because of the war and the hard times. The children didn't believe her. They said that President Wilson was coming and they knew that everything would be all right.

 

The cheering lasted about a year. Then it gradually began to stop. It turned out that after the war the political leaders in Europe were more concerned with their own agendas than they were a lasting peace. At home Woodrow Wilson ran into opposition in the United States Senate and his League of Nations was not ratified. Under the strain of it all the President's health began to break. He suffered a stroke and in the next election his party was defeated. So it was that Woodrow Wilson, a man who barely a year earlier had been heralded as the new world Messiah, came to the end of his days a broken and defeated man.

It's a sad story, but one that is not altogether unfamiliar. The ultimate reward for someone who tries to translate ideals into reality is apt to be frustration and defeat. There are some exceptions, of course, but not too many. 

 

And then, of course, there is the Great Exception.  Let’s read His story

 

Matthew 21:1-11

When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, ‘Go into the village ahead 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, just say this, “The Lord needs them.” And he will send them immediately.’ This took place to fulfil what had been spoken through the prophet, saying,


‘Tell the daughter of Zion,
Look, your king is coming to you,
humble, and mounted on a donkey,
and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’


The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting,


‘Hosanna to the Son of David!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!’


When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, ‘Who is this?’ The crowds were saying, ‘This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.’

 

My mom is not a crowd person.  For the most part she disdains all overcrowded places.  But I love to kid her about the one individual she was willing to wait six deep in a crowd to try to catch a glimpse of.

 

"He's coming!" my mom said to my sister. "That's got to be him."

 

Sure enough, a commotion is brewing, way down the parade route. You can hear the cheers -- faint at first, now rolling forward like some unstoppable wave. Everyone's leaning forward, craning their necks, hoping to be the first to see him.

It's been a long wait, for the true believers. Like my mom, they arrived early, at the side of the road, to stake out the best vantage-points. Now, their forethought is about to pay off. Why, they'll be almost close enough to touch him!

Things are happening fast, now. Coming around the corner, could it be? Yes! It's him. The crowds are going wild. Pandemonium!

The limousine glides to a stop. The doorman scurries over to open the passenger door. Camera strobes are flashing, people are cheering, police officers hold the crowds back. A shiny black shoe emerges from the open door...then a tuxedo-clad leg...and suddenly, there he is!

 

Turning to wave to the crowd, he flashes that trademark toothy grin. It's him, all right. It's....Jack Nicholson!

 

That was my mom a few years ago at the annual awards ceremony of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (better known as "the Oscars"). Countless Americans stayed up late, their faces lit by the glow of their TV screens, waiting for the words, "May I have the envelope, please?"

My mom has made it clear that my inheritance is up for grabs should Jack Nicholson show up at the house, in need of money, but willing to take her to dinner!

There are some who claim that movie stars are the closest thing our country has to royalty.  Ever since the days of Gable and Monroe, of Bogart and Bergman, movie stars have alighted from their limousines outside the appointed place: to receive from their followers something very much resembling worship.

 

My friends, everyone worships.   The question is not will we worship, but what, and who, and is the object of our worship worthy of the adoration we give to it.

 

We worship now.  They worshipped in Jerusalem .  Earlier this week as I read today’s Scripture passage of the crowd’s worshipful adoration of a man I don’t believe many understood, I found myself asking a few questions:  First, do I really understand the meaning of the palms?  Second, am I different from the people who cheer Jesus today and yell, “Crucify him” on Friday?  And, finally, is there anything in this story that I know so well, that I have preached so often that I have missed?

 

Palms, people and overlooked moments with Jesus.   That’s what I’d like to focus on today.  (Pause)

           

So, what's the meaning of the palms, held aloft by the Jerusalem crowd? (Pause)

During the Maccabean revolt of a century before, the Jews had driven their Greek rulers out of Jerusalem . During the brief period of self-government that followed, the Maccabeans minted a victory coin, with palm branches on it.

Yet, their triumph was short-lived. The Romans soon replaced the Greeks, obliterating all hope of Jewish independence. The Romans eventually minted their own victory coin: on it was the image of a Jewish slave, kneeling before a Roman soldier. Across the top of the coin was a broken palm branch.
  

To the Jerusalem crowd, the palms are no benign symbol of rejoicing. They are a political provocation. We have no comparable symbol in our country, but if you can imagine the United States under the domination of a foreign power, and what it might mean to display the American flag in such circumstances, you might have some idea of the power of such a symbol.
 
    The Romans surely felt the same way about palm branches in the hands of a jubilant Jewish crowd.  Palms in front of any Jewish man were surely going to get the attention of the Romans.

 

And who is in that crowd?  Just who are those people who come out to see Jesus, as he triumphantly enters Jerusalem ?

 

Well, some of them are true believers: hailing the carpenter from Nazareth for religious or political reasons, or both.

Others are passersby, caught up in the excitement -- "Who's this character coming down the street? You say he's against the Romans? Well, then, I'm for him!"  Remember, it was Passover and the city of Jerusalem was said to swell from 100,000 to well over a million at Passover.

 

Perhaps the largest contingent lining the streets that day are there for another motive -- for a motive best described by Winston Churchill. Once, after giving a speech to 10,000 people, a friend asked him, "Winston, aren't you impressed that 10,000 people came to hear you speak?"

Churchill replied, "Not really. 100,000 would come to see me hang."

It's kind of like the people who stand there watching a desperate person perched on a rooftop, or atop the railing of a bridge. "Jump!" they cry. They have no personal animosity towards the poor, despairing person. They don't even know the person. They merely crave the vicarious excitement that would come of watching such a tragedy.

Surely there are some palm-wavers -- possibly a great number of them -- who have come out for no other reason than because Jesus is a celebrity. They just want to see him: to bask, for a brief moment, in his notoriety. Whatever happens next -- whether Jesus triumphs or whether he dies -- is of little import. Just so they have seen him...

 

It doesn’t really surprise me that Jesus could be celebrated in a parade on Sunday and killed on Friday with a crowd calling for his death.  Just look at Eliot Spitzer, the Governor of New York.  I imagine the same crowd that voted him into office by the widest margin in 50 years is now calling for his political crucifixion.  Maybe he deserves it, but I am not surprised by the way people have turned on him.  People turn quickly.  My prayer is that I worship Jesus in good health and bad, in prosperity and poverty, in success and in failure.  If I don’t, I’m no better than the crowd that simply wants a show.  Jesus, my Lord, no matter what. 

 

Finally, what have I missed in this oh so familiar story.  I had an experience two days ago, Friday morning, which makes me think it might be Jesus’ hands.  Let me repeat, Jesus’ hands.

 

There was once a cowboy who listened attentively to the story of the first Palm Sunday. After hearing it he had only one small response to make to the story. In his own straight forward way the cowboy simply stated, “Jesus must have had wonderful hands.”

 

 But his words only confused the others around him. Out of curiously they asked, “What do you mean by that statement?”  “Well,” the cowboy replied, “if Jesus could sit on a colt on which no person ever sat, an untried, unbroken animal; if he could soothe it and control it and guide it while people were shrieking hosannas in its ears, waving the branches of palm trees in front of its eyes, and throwing down clothes in front of its feet,  Jesus must have had wonderful hands!”

 

The hands of Jesus are indeed wonderful hands. Those hand reached out to people from every walk of life. Those hands touched the sick and dying, raised the dead, feed a hungry throng of people. Those hand of Jesus calmed the wind, were folded in prayer as he prayed. Those hands of Christ are hands that now reach across the span of time and touches our lives through his Holy Spirit.


    The hands of Christ are indeed wonderful hands. Those hands allowed Christ to ride on a colt into Jerusalem on what we now call Palm Sunday. Those hand held the reins of that animal so that it would not be frighten with all the shouting and throwing of palm branches on the ground as Jesus rode as a king into the city.
 
    Yes, the hands of Jesus are truly remarkable hands.
 
     Do you see the hands of Jesus as special hands that have reached across the eons of time to touch our lives?
           

But don’t stop with Jesus’ hands.  What about your hands? What do you see in them? Do you see them what the woman I met two day ago does:

On Friday morning I visited a 93 year-old woman who was recently placed in Hospice.  As she shared her story with me she kept looking at her hands.  Finally, I mentioned that she kept looking at her hands and asked if there was something wrong.  She said no, but then started talking about her hands.

 

I don’t remember word for word, but I wrote it down as best I could as soon as I left her, even rudely writing during the men’s lunch last Friday because I didn’t want to forget her words.  Essentially, this is what she said:

     “Chaplain, have you ever stopped and thought about the hands you have, how they have served you well throughout your years. These hands, though wrinkled, shriveled and weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace life. They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed upon the floor. They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child my mother taught me to fold them in prayer.  They dried the tears of my children and caressed the love of my life.  They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and now, badly bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn son.  Yet, they were strong and sure when I held my two surviving children when my oldest child died.  These hands have held children, consoled neighbors, and shook in fists of anger when I didn’t understand.

     “But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when he leads me home.”
 
    Friends, I hope that I will never look at my hands the same again.  Thank you, God, for hands."

 

And so the Passion begins.  Palm branches, cheering crowds, a king who rides a virgin donkey, hands calming the wild beast.  What do you see?  How will you participate? 

 

Will you pray with me now?

St. Andrew Presbyterian Church, Groton , CT

Web Site: WWW.SAPC-CT.ORG

Office Email: OFFICE@SAPC-CT.ORG

"Permission to use is granted provided use is not for publication."