Roger Lynn
March 28, 2021
Palm/Passion Sunday
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It’s funny how you can learn so much in one day, and not even realize what it is you’ve learned until years later. I was there that day – the day he came riding through the gates. I was in the crowd, shouting and waving branches, acting as if I knew what I was doing. But, it would not be until much later before I began to have even a glimmer of understanding about what I learned that day – about myself, about the world, about God, about how all those things fit together.
It’s difficult to describe what happened. Everyone was so caught up in the euphoria. The mood swept through the city like a flood, carrying along everyone in its path. It was amazing. I never really thought of myself as the fanatical type, but I certainly got carried away that day.
It has always confused me when I try to tell this story. I want to tell the whole thing at once, because to tell any one part of it is to tell it wrong. Starting at the beginning has always seemed so inadequate to the task, but I’ve never come up with a better way, so at the beginning is where we will begin.
Rumors had been filtering in to Jerusalem for months about a young itinerant rabbi named Jesus. He was wandering about the countryside with a small band of followers, preaching and teaching and, some said, even healing. The reactions to these rumors were mixed. Some said he was the long awaited messiah, come to save us all. Some said he was Satan, come to damn us all. There were a variety of opinions, but very few people seemed to be without some feelings on the matter.
Then one day the rumors began to change, or maybe I should say they began to grow. They sounded more first hand. They sounded closer. Jesus was coming to Jerusalem and he would be here very soon. The excitement built. The tension built. Street corner discussions became public debates. If I had been Jesus, Jerusalem is not where I would be coming right then. But still the rumors persisted.
Then came the morning of that day. People were running through the streets, shouting and screaming and waving branches. Jesus was right outside the city. He would be riding through the gates at any moment. God’s Messiah was coming to God’s holy city! Whatever dissension had been present in the days before seemed to fade into the shadows in the face of the excitement which was surging through the city. If there were folks who weren’t excited, I guess they just stayed off the streets that day. I soon found myself being carried along with the crowd and caught up with their enthusiasm.
I have heard others tell this story, both those who were there and those who have only heard it third and fourth hand. Often when it’s told, Jesus’ entry into the city is referred to as the triumphal entry. Over the years I have had very mixed feelings about that title. At the time, and for a few days following, it certainly seemed to be a triumph. Jesus had come through the gates and was welcomed by the accolades of the crowd. Shouts of “hosanna” were on everyone’s lips. It was a victory celebration! Even the skeptical were beginning to believe that this might really be the messiah, and the fact that Jesus was riding on a donkey instead of a war horse didn’t seem to cut into anyone’s sense of exhilaration.
Well, as I said, that sense of triumph lasted for a couple of days, but the mood of the crowd changed all too quickly. After they arrested him on the evening of Passover, people reacted very badly. I’m ashamed to admit that I was one of the many who were caught up in the “anti-Jesus” sentiment which was being encouraged by some of the Pharisees and other teachers of the law. After all, they were our spiritual leaders – the ones we looked to for guidance and leadership. It was amazingly easy to fall right in with this latest mood of the crowd. As we gathered in front of Pilate’s palace that night, shouting for Jesus to be crucified, I remember looking around and seeing many of the same faces who had been present the Sunday before when he came riding through the gates. The same voices were shouting again – only this time they were shouting in angry, hateful tones. And mine was one of the them. The sense of triumph was gone. Tragedy hung in the air like a fog, clinging to us so closely that we didn’t even realize it was there.
For a very long time after that I couldn’t understand how everything could have gone so wrong. How could someone who claimed to teach about God’s love come to such an end? How could such triumph end in such tragedy? How could we have misunderstood so badly?
And then one day, years later, something happened which brought all my questions and confusions into a sharper focus. I encountered Jesus as someone more than a wandering rabbi. I became more than merely one of the crowd. I met the Christ – and in that meeting many things became clear. As I said in the beginning, “It’s funny how you can learn so much in one day, and not even realize what it is you’ve learned until years later.” That day when he came riding through the gates really had been a triumphal entry. It really was God’s messiah entering God’s holy city. We had not been wrong – but we had not been right either. We missed it because we were looking for a different sort of messiah. We wanted a savior who fit our expectations, rather than one who fit God’s generous and grace-filled intentions. I learned that things are not always what they seem and yet, sometimes, they are exactly what they seem, for all the reasons we could never guess. I began to learn to let God be God, because only then will we begin to find triumph in the most unexpected of places.
I was there that day – the day he came riding through the gates. I was in the crowd, shouting and waving branches, acting as if I knew what I was doing.
It’s funny how you can learn so much in one day, and not even realize what it is you’ve learned until years later. I was there that day – the day he came riding through the gates. I was in the crowd, shouting and waving branches, acting as if I knew what I was doing. But, it would not be until much later before I began to have even a glimmer of understanding about what I learned that day – about myself, about the world, about God, about how all those things fit together.
It’s difficult to describe what happened. Everyone was so caught up in the euphoria. The mood swept through the city like a flood, carrying along everyone in its path. It was amazing. I never really thought of myself as the fanatical type, but I certainly got carried away that day.
It has always confused me when I try to tell this story. I want to tell the whole thing at once, because to tell any one part of it is to tell it wrong. Starting at the beginning has always seemed so inadequate to the task, but I’ve never come up with a better way, so at the beginning is where we will begin.
Rumors had been filtering in to Jerusalem for months about a young itinerant rabbi named Jesus. He was wandering about the countryside with a small band of followers, preaching and teaching and, some said, even healing. The reactions to these rumors were mixed. Some said he was the long awaited messiah, come to save us all. Some said he was Satan, come to damn us all. There were a variety of opinions, but very few people seemed to be without some feelings on the matter.
Then one day the rumors began to change, or maybe I should say they began to grow. They sounded more first hand. They sounded closer. Jesus was coming to Jerusalem and he would be here very soon. The excitement built. The tension built. Street corner discussions became public debates. If I had been Jesus, Jerusalem is not where I would be coming right then. But still the rumors persisted.
Then came the morning of that day. People were running through the streets, shouting and screaming and waving branches. Jesus was right outside the city. He would be riding through the gates at any moment. God’s Messiah was coming to God’s holy city! Whatever dissension had been present in the days before seemed to fade into the shadows in the face of the excitement which was surging through the city. If there were folks who weren’t excited, I guess they just stayed off the streets that day. I soon found myself being carried along with the crowd and caught up with their enthusiasm.
I have heard others tell this story, both those who were there and those who have only heard it third and fourth hand. Often when it’s told, Jesus’ entry into the city is referred to as the triumphal entry. Over the years I have had very mixed feelings about that title. At the time, and for a few days following, it certainly seemed to be a triumph. Jesus had come through the gates and was welcomed by the accolades of the crowd. Shouts of “hosanna” were on everyone’s lips. It was a victory celebration! Even the skeptical were beginning to believe that this might really be the messiah, and the fact that Jesus was riding on a donkey instead of a war horse didn’t seem to cut into anyone’s sense of exhilaration.
Well, as I said, that sense of triumph lasted for a couple of days, but the mood of the crowd changed all too quickly. After they arrested him on the evening of Passover, people reacted very badly. I’m ashamed to admit that I was one of the many who were caught up in the “anti-Jesus” sentiment which was being encouraged by some of the Pharisees and other teachers of the law. After all, they were our spiritual leaders – the ones we looked to for guidance and leadership. It was amazingly easy to fall right in with this latest mood of the crowd. As we gathered in front of Pilate’s palace that night, shouting for Jesus to be crucified, I remember looking around and seeing many of the same faces who had been present the Sunday before when he came riding through the gates. The same voices were shouting again – only this time they were shouting in angry, hateful tones. And mine was one of the them. The sense of triumph was gone. Tragedy hung in the air like a fog, clinging to us so closely that we didn’t even realize it was there.
For a very long time after that I couldn’t understand how everything could have gone so wrong. How could someone who claimed to teach about God’s love come to such an end? How could such triumph end in such tragedy? How could we have misunderstood so badly?
And then one day, years later, something happened which brought all my questions and confusions into a sharper focus. I encountered Jesus as someone more than a wandering rabbi. I became more than merely one of the crowd. I met the Christ – and in that meeting many things became clear. As I said in the beginning, “It’s funny how you can learn so much in one day, and not even realize what it is you’ve learned until years later.” That day when he came riding through the gates really had been a triumphal entry. It really was God’s messiah entering God’s holy city. We had not been wrong – but we had not been right either. We missed it because we were looking for a different sort of messiah. We wanted a savior who fit our expectations, rather than one who fit God’s generous and grace-filled intentions. I learned that things are not always what they seem and yet, sometimes, they are exactly what they seem, for all the reasons we could never guess. I began to learn to let God be God, because only then will we begin to find triumph in the most unexpected of places.
I was there that day – the day he came riding through the gates. I was in the crowd, shouting and waving branches, acting as if I knew what I was doing.
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