April Madness

Philippians 2:5-11

 

        I bet most of you hadn’t given it even a second thought that today is Palm Sunday until you opened your bulletin or heard the opening hymn. Stuffed between Lent and Passion Week, Palm Sunday kind of gets lost in the shuffle particularly when it falls on the Sunday of the Masters, that magical day when yearly an incredible drama plays out somewhere between Amen Corner and the awarding of a Green Jacket. But Palm Sunday? It’s the same year end and year out. While the music might be a wonderful break from Lent, the story is always the same. Jesus borrows a donkey, the disciples line the streets with palms, the children holler “Hosanna”, and the folks in charge git a bit agitated. On the practical side, Palm Sunday alerts us that Easter is just around the corner.  I mean how embarrassing would it be to show up next week without a fancy tie or new hat.

        But other than that, why should we get all that excited about Palm Sunday? I can’t think of one good reason, unless you are willing to look beyond the disciples, beyond the crowds, even beyond the children and take a closer look at Jesus. What exactly was he announcing? Do you think he was thrilled to bring so much attention upon himself? Jesus was not stupid. He knew parading into Jerusalem crossed a line and there was no going back. People in places of authority, such as Caiaphas and Pilate, did not tolerate public displays of unbridled emotion. To make it worse, Jesus entered Jerusalem as the people were coming to commemorate Passover, that yearly celebration of escape from oppression and slavery. Tempers were flaring. Tension was at a seasonal high. If Jesus wanted to go unnoticed this had to be the worst time to triumphantly enter a city occupied by an Empire that celebrated its power through parades. I’ve seen Ben Hur. Rome knew how to celebrate its majesty. So why did Jesus ride into town on a donkey?

        Could you imagine George Washington crossing the Delaware and then hopping on a horse so petite the General’s feet dragged on the ground?  That would be out of the question. So why couldn’t Jesus, a man who had the ability to heal the sick and turn water into wine, locate a descent ride to the party?

        300 years before folks gathered at Nicaea to officially turn Jesus into Christ, thirty years before the gospels were written, and more than three years before Paul attempted to explain the whole Jesus phenomena in his book to the Romans, a song was sung in many of the worshipping communities.  Paul recorded this song in his letter to the Philippians. People sang it as faithfully as we sing Amazing Grace. It describes the man who got up one morning and decided to ride a donkey into Jerusalem.    

        Let the same mind be in you that was in Jesus, who though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited. Jesus emptied himself, took the form of a slave and humbled himself to the point of death. Therefore God exalted him.

        “Jesus humbled himself.” How is that even possible? If we were to make a list of words to describe God, how long might our list be before we added “humble”? Perhaps the better question is would the word humble even make the list.  During the time of Jesus the god of the day was the Emperor of Rome. With the possible exception of Marcus Aurelius, I struggle to think of any Roman Caesar that would have considered humility in a positive light. GOD’S DON’T CHAMPION HUMILITY. THEY HUMBLE ANYONE WHO CROSSES THEIR PATH, or so we have been told. So what do we make of this Jesus and his donkey? What do we make of this man who allegedly said, “Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth?” What do we make of this idea that Jesus humbled himself, becoming vulnerable, and weak, and exposed to the very wickedness he came to eliminate. 

        Of course that is just the warm-up question. I just threw it out there to tease you a bit. When Jesus left, the responsibility to continue what started fell on ordinary folk. If you don’t think the disciples were ordinary, read the gospels. If you don’t think the early church was made up of ordinary folk, read Acts and the letters of Paul. The leaders of the worshipping communities were not the powerful, not the rich, not the elite, not the leaders, not the Who’s Who of Greek and Roman society. They were ordinary people, with ordinary lives, armed only with the story of a man who had the unmitigated gall to ride a donkey into Jerusalem.

        You and I both know the first time an evangelism committee was formed in one of those early churches the question asked was, “How do we go out and convince our neighbors Jesus is real? Why would folks even desire what we believe? They have power; they have authority; they have wealth; they have everything. Why would they want to hear our story? What do we have that they don’t?”

        The response given was this, “Let the same humbleness that was in Jesus, be in you.”    (stop)

        History records that everyone was not all that keen to this particular idea. Challenged with the hard road of humility, many took the easier of path converting emperors, raising armies, fighting over dogma, and lining their pockets. Opportunities for reconciliation were turned into openings for crusades as the church became a well-oiled institution. But thankfully each generation spawned a voice or two that took the road less traveled.  Quietly, humbly, they continued to live the story of the man called Jesus.

        Then the most wonderful thing happened.  The church became irrelevant. Folks realized you didn’t have to be an elder of the First Presbyterian Church to qualify to be the president of the local bank. People began looking around and noticed the folks who went to church weren’t that much different from the folks who stayed home. Children complained church bored them and they would rather play soccer. Even adults began to notice the folks who stayed home seemed happier because they could get the earlier tee times. Attendance dwindled. Allegiance to particular denominations disappeared. Time Magazine declared the church to be in crisis and we Christians believed what we read. First we tried to guilt people into the pews with more sermons on hell and damnation. Then we tried guitars. Next we introduced used car salesmen promising prosperity.  Finally we declared ourselves God’s spokesperson on every hot-button issues creating a vicious paradigm of winners and losers making every one mad. Meanwhile Jesus, still riding that silly looking animal, began to ask, “My God, My God, why has the church forsaken me?”     

        Let me ask you, what could Rockfish Presbyterian possibly lose if we decided to swallow our pride, humble ourselves, and become imitators of Jesus? What is the worst that could happen? We might empower someone else? Word might get around? Time Magazine might come to Nellysford and ask us where we came up with such a crazy idea?

Well that’s when we and point to the guy on the donkey riding into our hearts.                    Amen.