Pasadena Presbyterian Church Sermon Text
April 13, 2003 - Palm Sunday

"Invading Jerusalem"
Preached by The Rev. Dr. Mark Smutny

Scripture:  Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29; Mark 11: 1-11

(1) O give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his steadfast love endures forever! (2) Let Israel say, "His steadfast love endures forever."

(19) Open to me the gates of righteousness, that I may enter through them and give thanks to the LORD. (20) This is the gate of the LORD; the righteous shall enter through it. (21) I thank you that you have answered me and have become my salvation. (22) The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone. (23) This is the LORD's doing; it is marvellous in our eyes. (24) This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.* (25) Save us, we beseech you, O LORD! O LORD, we beseech you, give us success! (26) Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the LORD.  We bless you from the house of the LORD. (27) The LORD is God, and he has given us light.  Bind the festal procession with branches, up to the horns of the altar.* (28) You are my God, and I will give thanks to you; you are my God, I will extol you. (29) O give thanks to the LORD, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures for ever.

Psalm 118: 1-2, 19-29

(1) When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples (2) and said to them, 'Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. (3) If anyone says to you, "Why are you doing this?" just say this, "The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately."

(4) They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. As they were untying it, (5) some of the bystanders said to them, 'What are you doing, untying the colt?' (6) They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it. (7) Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it.  (8) Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields.

(9) Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting, 'Hosanna!  Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! (10) Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!  Hosanna in the highest heaven!'(11) Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.

Mark 11: 1-11

Four months ago, at Christmas, the central proclamation of the Gospel was "God is with us, Immanuel."  Today's proclamation is no different but takes the concept of "God is with us" into new and multi-faceted dimensions as we begin Holy Week on this Palm Sunday. 

The image that always fixes in our mind on Palm Sunday is the image of Jesus riding on a donkey, invading Jerusalem where almost certain death awaits him. 

This image is perfectly consistent with everything else he has done. 

He first invades creation by being born in an unlikely Bethlehem stable, then throughout his ministry, he constantly intrudes into our settled contentment with hypocrisy, disease and injustice.  He invades with truth in his words, healing in his hands, and compassion in his deeds. 

Four months ago, the proclamation was "God is with us," such that his mother, Mary, named him Immanuel.  So today we shouldn't be surprised when this God/man Immanuel, who is with us, sticks his nose into places such that it seems a lot like an invasion. 

Jesus enters Jerusalem amid crowds waving palm branches and shouts of joy.  We welcome him with joy, as well, because it is a wonderful and joyful thing to be greeted by a loving God.  God is with us.  Hosanna! 

Yet, there is a foreboding in this day.  There is a sadness in this day.  For God to come to us.   God endures great suffering for we are a violent lot.  Nonetheless, beyond the dwindling shouts of joy, fading into shouts of "Crucify him!" there is good news God is still with us.

Have you heard the truism, "You can't help someone unless they want to help themselves?"  Usually the phrase is applied to someone with an addiction.  "Until he hits bottom, there's really nothing we can do.  Maybe then he'll come to his senses.  You can't really do anything until that point comes," we say.

Years ago, the phone call came to our house from David, a father of a 16-year-old son.  David had just forcibly taken his addicted son, Mark, off to an alcoholic rehabilitation center, a lock-up, a 28-day lock-up right in the middle of Mark's school year.  He had just taken his own son and locked him up for his own good. 

For weeks the conspiracy had been hatched. Mark's pastors, his father and mother, his school teachers and his senior high youth advisors had decided to trick him into getting in a car, bundling him up, and driving him to an alcoholic rehab prison.  He screamed and cried and accused and swore and then was left in the hands of people who wore white coats and locked doors with two keys.  A 16-year-old, middle class boy in rehab prison.  His dad called us because he needed to talk about how his heart was breaking and the need to reclaim the good of it.

You have heard it said that "You can't help someone, unless they want help."  I say to you "Nonsense!"  Who in the world would want this kind of help?  During those 28 days, that 16-year-old went through hell.  He was forced to look at his life, all that was ugly and bitter and scared and painful, and the addiction that he used to numb it. 

Did he want help?  No.  Would anybody ever want to stare in the jaws of hell and enter it?  No.  He was forced to look.  Somebody - his father and mother and pastors and youth advisors - loved him enough to force march him into treatment, and only then did he begin to turn his life around.  He didn't choose it, not at first.

Jesus invaded Jerusalem.  Did we invite him?  Did we collectively say, "You know our world is filled with violence and disease, maybe we need a savior?"  I don't think so.

Amid shouts of joy and waving palm branches there were those who wished him well, others wanted nothing of him, others plotted to silence him.  Into that seething cauldron of Jerusalem, Jesus intrudes, invades and confronts.

As a pastor, over the years I have heard dozens of decent church people justify their inattentiveness to people who are going through difficulty by saying,

"I'm not really the professional here.  You are, Mark.  That's your training.  Go."

"I didn't visit her after her husband's death because I didn't know what to say."

"It was awkward what to do and say after the divorce.  They'd always been a couple; maybe if he wants to talk, he'll call me up.  I'm here, but I don't want to seem pushy." 

It takes an enormous about of courage to enter someone else's pain.  Better to say and do nothing then to enter into someone else's pain and necessarily one's own.  And besides, hurting people have a way of putting up hard boundaries because they are scared, too.  It's understandable why we are so cautious.

Jesus entered the city.  He invaded it.  God is with us.  Immanuel, Mary named him.  He grew up, left the stable, grew into a man who ministered by invading all the sad and sorry places of the world's injury, injustice and spiritual poverty.  We hail his entry into Jerusalem with shouts of joy and waving palm branches.  On the back of a borrowed donkey he comes, moving into the city where, by the end of the week, he will stare into the jaws of hell and be crucified. .

Whether we like the message or not, intuitively we know that a true leader is one who pushes the boundaries and defenses of a people or organization or a church or a nation to see what otherwise cannot be seen.  Good leaders promise not the good life, but the meaningful life.  Courage, not popularity, is the plumb line of true leadership. 

Our leader, our Savior, the one we seek to follow invades Jerusalem.  God intrudes into human history, into our history, into our sinfulness, into our suffering  because, after all, without God going there, we won't get it, we can't get it.  We don't have the courage.  We don't have the intestinal fortitude to embrace the immensity of human pain. We haven't the guts to stare into the gates of our own complicity in violence, disease and injustice.

Today's story is a parade, a joyous, grace-filled parade with children singing and palm branches waving, and our leader is at the head of the procession.  Hosanna in the highest!  

It's still an invasion.  His disciples urge him to avoid the trip.  They knew his enemies were there.  They knew his death would be the consequence.  Yet he turns his face toward the city, he invades the city and resolutely rides into the place where he will die. 

In the last book of the Bible, the story of our salvation concludes with these words, "See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more."  It is an image of great solace, but before it comes to pass there must be an invasion.

God is with us, Immanuel.  This Jesus is on the move.  He rides into our corrupted temples, our violent palaces, enrages power both religious and political, unmasks idolatry and brings healing with his hands. 

This God is with us, enters into the depths of human suffering, and invokes upon himself the violence on that our culture and all cultures are created, hangs it upon his back, takes it in the gut, bleeds from it and breathes his last. 

We do not choose such love, so amazing, so divine, but it is our salvation.  Ride on.  Amen.

(c) Copyright 2003 by Mark K. Smutny.  All rights reserved.  Permission granted for non-profit use with attribution.