Invitation to Transforming Mystery

 MESSAGE “Invitation to Transforming Mystery” 

Friends, this is the last week of this Lenten sermon series I’ve put together, utilizing the book “Invitations of Jesus” by pastor and author Trevor Hudson. In every chapter of this short, devotional work, Hudson explores a few verses from the Gospels where Jesus is “inviting” the reader to a spiritual experience. This week, the last week in the season of Lent, this Palm/ Passion Sunday, Hudson suggests we explore Jesus inviting us to holy mystery.

This week brings us right to the edge of what we, as people, think we know and understand about life and death, and then pushes us over it. Jesus knew that, and knew that each decision he made this week had to be measured and intentional, because many people would see him in these vulnerable moments for the last time–at least for the last time as a man who has never faced death.

He begins the week by achieving a traveling goal that was a year in the making–get from Nazareth to Jerusalem by foot. With twelve official travel mates, and countless more unofficial ones. The timing of his arrival in the capital is as intentional as all his other choices–right in time for Passover. He’s on Holy Ground, in Holy Space and Holy Time. And he’s spent the whole last year going back and forth between being Israel’s most loved, and Israel’s most wanted. Either way, if he’d lived today, he’d have spent a whole year in tabloid magazines. He has quite the public reputation by now, so he’s entering Jerusalem far from anonymous.

If you had spent a year trying to reach your destination, and you finally made it, how would you make your entrance? Would you want the red carpet treatment? Would you show up in a limo? Would you want to tell Ryan Seacrest which designer you’re wearing? Would you want to go old school, in a horse drawn carriage? Or would you go in a different, but no less cool direction, and show up on a Harley?

Would any of us show up on a donkey? This morning we’re reading from Luke’s account of this story, which views Jesus, and the public reaction, mostly from the lens of non-Jewish people, and from the lens of women, the sick, the poor, and the disabled. All the folks left off the guest list at the Who’s Who passover meal, the folks who won’t have a table to sit at anywhere, and maybe not even a roof overhead. What did they see when they saw a man with Jesus’ power and repute show up, knowing he could have materialized a chariot, steeds, and an army if he wanted to, and instead he rode on the back of a baby donkey, an animal he’d look ridiculously oversized riding? I have to imagine they saw a man who didn’t care what he looked like, and a man who was willing to look out of place and ridiculous. I imagine he looked like the guy I’d want to talk to first.

It’s similar to the view Matthew gives us, except that he focused on the perspective of the Jewish audience, those who had a set of expectations for what the Messiah would look like–a burly warrior showing up ready for battle to evict the Romans from Israel once and for all, to take his homeland back for its citizens by force, and to bring all the long lost descendants of Jacob back home. They wanted to see many of the same things we may want for ourselves if we showed up to a heavily populated city right at party time–the royal treatment for the man who is supposed to be the next King David, and the next Moses. Instead, they’re seeing the cartoon character riding the tiny non-horse over a bunch of leaves. What a bizarre image. What does any of it mean?

The week moves too quickly for the folks around Jesus to ponder any one moment for too long. According to Luke, this trumphal entry happened right after Jesus confronted a diminutive tax collector named Zacchaeus in the public square, dragged him out of a tree, and then invited himself over to his house for dinner. After the tiny donkey parade, he loudly expressed his disdain for hypocrisy, and those who felt a bit too comfortable abiding it, and chased the vendors out of the Temple with a whip. He alienated both the Pharisees and Scribes, even more than usual, by publicly denouncing their work, and then praised a poor widow who donated a penny to the Temple treasury. He then predicted that the Temple would get wrecked, that the city would get sacked, and that the world would blow up. Then he turned around and dissed a fig tree. We know and revere the story, so it can be very hard for us to look at these events as anything other than the Gospel of Luke, chapters 20-22. But if you didn’t know how the book ends, this would have looked like nonstop chaos to you, and during the most sacred week of the year. Does this guy have no respect?

Apparently the Pharisees really liked figs, because Jesus getting mad at a tree, of all things, was the last straw for them. I wonder if it was the last straw for Judas, too, because by Thursday he had turned all the way to the dark side, after a year of tight rope balancing right on the line, and occasionally leaning too far in the bad way in moments of theft. By Thursday, the Pharisees have placed a monetary value on Jesus’ life, and have paid it to Judas, who conspires in the summary execution of one of his best friends. Within days, both Jesus and Judas die.

In this chapter of the book, Hudson drew the readers’ attention to an important teaching of Dutch Catholic priest, professor, and author Henri Nouwen–life is loss. To live is to lose what you value, love, and depend on over and over. When you were born, you lost the safety and comfort of the womb. When you aged, you lost your childhood, and then your youth. When you graduated and earned that degree, you lost your school days. When you got the job you love, you lost your free time. When you chose a life partner and had children, you lost your freedom, and the ability to just do whatever you want with only your own needs in mind. Glorious, beautiful moments are laced by what we must leave behind to embrace them. And then, of course, we face losses that seem to come with no silver lining–the death of a loved one, the loss of an important job with no new one lined up, a devastating diagnosis, the end of a marriage, acts of betrayal and abuse, war, crime, famine, and disaster.

Hudson gently reminds us that there are two kinds of death. There’s one that happens when we clench our hands shut, and refuse to let go even when we know we have no choice. And then there’s the other kind of death, the one where we keep our hands open, give away what was never ours to keep, and face the future unafraid. I would argue that Judas died the former, and Jesus died the latter. Life, when we’re right in the thick of it, is a giant mess of mystery, of chaos we have no ability to understand. In this last week of his earthly life, Jesus showed us that all people must lose, and die. We can go the Judas route, clench our fists, incite mob violence, steal innocent lives, and pass destruction on to those who follow us. Or we can go the way of Jesus. We can refuse the sword and disarm our friend Peter. We can answer Pontius Pilate bravely and honestly. We can face violence and abuse without losing ourselves in it. And, even on the worst day, we can still imagine the possibility of paradise.

We might not understand anything in this life, and that’s okay. There is so much at work that’s way too big for our minds to comprehend. All we need to understand is the only thing that matters, then, now, and always, whether it’s palm Sunday or Good Friday: Jesus is love incarnate, and love never dies.

Amen.