It’s the weekend where I get to pretend again. One of my favorite things - pretending. I was a theatre major in college, was a part of many plays and a few musicals. I loved the performing, but also the preparation. I loved learning the lines and thinking about the movement. I loved setting the stage and even building the sets. I loved the whole experience, to be honest. I could have done it for the rest of my life, to be honest. And in a way, I do. And on this weekend I come the closest to those days.
Palm Sunday is the Sunday I don’t preach. Or don’t preach in the usual way. It’s all preaching for me, all proclamation, all exhortation. Incidentally, one of my person goals is to redeem the word “preach” for our use once again. I’ve read in the paper a lot recently about how being “preachy” is a bad thing, and we don’t want our leaders to “preach” to us. All this negativity. Preaching is what I do. And, frankly, it is what you are supposed to do too. We’re all about proclamation. We’re all about exhortation. About creating an experience, about changing hearts and minds, about opening windows in the soul so that the Holy Spirit can blow through and bring about transformation. I’d love a leader who could preach in such a way that I begin to believe in possibility, to believe in greatness. I don’t want to be shamed into making America great, to be bludgeoned into a blind patriotism, or cajoled into drawing lines and pointing fingers. I’d rather be exhorted to a better dream, I’d rather hear a proclamation of a better hope. Preach to me!
Sorry, a little preachy there, I suppose. A little soap boxy. Anyway, this weekend I am not preparing a sermon but using the one Dr. Luke prepared some years ago. I use Matthew’s sermon some years and Mark’s too. Can’t use John’s, however, my head won’t hold all the words. The Jesus of John’s Gospel was pretty talkative. But this year it is Luke’s sermon that I intend to present. So, today I learn my lines again. Today I think about staging and about emotion, I think about impact and interpretation.
Yes, there is interpretation in the presentation. There has to be. I could, I suppose, read the words in a monotone, conveying nothing of significance other than the “pure word” of the text. There are some who think that is the way scripture ought to be read. Let the words do their work, they will argue. Just cast the seed of the Word of God and it will take root and produce fruit. You don’t need to do anything to them.
I disagree. Words always have something done to them. Words always come to us laden with emotion and interpretation. Tone of voice is crucial to proclamation. The context in which the words come to us make all the difference in the world. The emotional context as well as the interpretive context. How are we to hear this news? How are we to appropriate this information? Some of the words from scripture are simply conveying information, and for those a dispassionate delivery would be best. But most of those words are trying to proclaim an experience. And without that interpretive context we would miss much of what is going on in that text. If we hear the story of the passion of Christ as mere information, even information for our good, then we miss the depth of what was done on our behalf. We miss the power of the Christ event that is Holy Week.
But perhaps the best defense of a dramatic presentation of the story of Christ’s passion is that Jesus knew the power of a dramatic presentation. That is what Palm Sunday was all about.
Luke 19:29-40 When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, 30 saying, "Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. 31 If anyone asks you, 'Why are you untying it?' just say this, 'The Lord needs it.'" 32 So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. 33 As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, "Why are you untying the colt?" 34 They said, "The Lord needs it." 35 Then they brought it to Jesus; and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. 36 As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. 37 As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, 38 saying, "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!" 39 Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, "Teacher, order your disciples to stop." 40 He answered, "I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out."
Jesus took to the stage in this story. All along the way he had been holding them back. His disciples were chomping at the bit to run with this story. To let people know, to shout and sing and wave their arms around that the one they had been waiting for was here. And he was better than we had hoped. More real, more loving, more powerful and more caring than whatever they had dreamed up. He was God with skin on, right in front of them, right among them and He knew them by name. But Jesus kept saying, wait. Not yet. Keep it quiet. Over and over He held them back. Now is not the time He would patiently repeat to their misunderstanding faces. Hush. Sit down. Wait.
But now, the waiting was done. Who let the dogs out! He did. He let the dogs out. And like the golden retriever pups that they were, they bounded all over the place with joy. They threw off their cloaks. Made a red carpet of many colors for the little donkey with the incarnate God on its back to stroll into town. And they shouted. They laughed and cheered and waved branches they ripped off the trees along the route. I know, Luke doesn’t mention the palms, but the others do. The Old Testament does.
Jesus was acting out a scene from the Old Testament. An enthronement scene. A king riding the cheers of the adoring crowd right into the seat of power, the throne of authority. A victory scene. A conquering hero, a general back from the wars, still striped with the blood of vanquished foes, riding the relief of a saved society, finally feeling safe and secure, and wanting someone to bless, someone to thank. Jesus took the role of the king, the role of the victor. And changed the script a little bit. Instead of war horse, it was an unridden donkey. Instead of a well-drilled but war weary military force marching in step at his side, it was a rag-tag bunch of back country disciples, eyes goggling at the sight of the big city, jumping and dancing with joy as though their team made it to the final four. Instead of the leaders of government and establishment, he was surrounded by the broken and the needy, the poor and the outcast, the lost and the forgotten. He changed the script, rewrote the scene and then played it to the hilt.
It got so loud that those who stood outside the circle of drama, shook their heads and complained about the noise. “Keep it down, will ya? You’re making a spectacle of yourselves. Calm down a little bit, for heaven’s sake!” But Jesus just smiled and said “Now’s the time. The time for shouting, the time for singing, the time to let the story be told, be felt, be lived. You can’t stop it. This story is bigger than you, bigger than your fears, bigger than your hesitations, bigger than your decorous behavior and proper manners. This is a belly laugh in the midst of funeral. This is a guffaw that breaks out during a reprimand. This is a waving of palms in front of the wagging of fingers. You can’t stop it. Now’s the time.”
Now’s the time to act out the story. So we can feel it. So our hearts can soar and then break and then sing again when we thought the music had died. So our hopes can rise to be dashed into pieces only to be puzzled back together again with joy. So our eyes can smile and then weep and then shine again. This is not just a head story, this is a full body story. And you’re in it. Come and take the stage with me. You won’t be sorry.
Shalom,
Derek
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