Thought for the Week

 

16 March 2008 – Palm Sunday

 

Collect:

Almighty and everlasting God,

in your tender love towards the human race

you sent your Son our Saviour Jesus Christ

to take upon Him our flesh

and to suffer death upon the cross:

mercifully grant that we may follow the example

of his patience and humility,

and also may be partakers of his resurrection;

through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ,

Who is alive and reigns with You

in the unity of the Holy Spirit,

one God, now and for ever.  Amen.

 

Readings:

 

 

Liturgy of the Palms

Zechariah 9, 9 - 12

 

(Philippians 2, 1 – 11 : omit if Passion readings are used)

 

Matthew 21, 1 – 11

 

Psalm 118, 1 – 2 & 19 – 29           

 

 

Liturgy of the Passion

Isaiah 50, 4 – 9a

 

Psalm 31, 9 – 18

 

Philippians 2, 5 – 11

 

Matthew 26, 14 – end of 27 (or Matthew 27, 11 – 54)

 

(Note:  Because few people nowadays attend Church services except on Sundays, the reading of the Passion on the days of Holy Week passes most people by.  The Church has therefore decided to read the Passion not only on Lent 5, traditionally known as Passion Sunday, but also on Palm Sunday.  This does have the unfortunate effect of detracting from the momentous events of Palm Sunday and Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem.  Some congregations therefore prefer to use just the readings for the Liturgy of the Palms.)

 

 

Forty years ago this day, it was what we call Palm Sunday.  It was an amazing day.  It was just before the Passover, and my family, like all the others from our village in Galilee had gone down to Jerusalem for the festival.  We always stay in the same inn just outside the city, in the village of Bethany, near Bethphage, as its far too expensive to stay inside the city, and anyway it’s always completely full.  The innkeeper puts up tents for us in the field behind his house.  That year, there was a big party from Nazareth, and Jesus and his disciples were in a tent really close to ours.  I knew about Jesus, of course, everybody in Galilee did – in fact I dare say everybody in Jerusalem did too. 

 

I had even heard Him speak once, a couple of years before.  We had had a day off to go and hear the new Rabbi, and what He said was absolutely amazing.  Here was a man in whom the Spirit of God rested, just like Elijah or Moses.  He was a prophet for sure.  When we set off, we hadn’t realised how long He would speak for, nor how much we would want to hear every word, and nobody had brought anything to eat.  There was just one boy who had two little fish and five little loaves, and Jesus gave thanks to God for the food, and broke it into pieces, and there was enough for everyone, and there must have been thousands of us.  I stayed till it got nearly dark, and I could see the disciples gathering up the bits which filled twelve large palm-leaf baskets.

 

Most of the twelve, those who were closest to Jesus, were fishermen, but our village is a little further inland, and, like everybody else there, I am a farmer.  So when I heard Jesus asking two of the disciples to go and fetch a donkey, I said, straight away, “Can I go with them?”  He smiled and said “Thank you”.  Well, what does a fisherman know about donkeys?  I wanted to do something for Jesus, but with just two words, “thank you”, and a smile he did something for me – He changed my life. 

 

Anyway, we got to the village, and, just as he had said, there were the donkey and her foal tied up.  One of the fishermen was taking charge, and he tried to undo the donkey.  Fortunately, she was tied up with a farmer’s knot, rather than a seaman’s, and he just made a complete snake’s wedding of her halter.  I said, “Here, let me”, and untied them both – you have to take the foal as well, because there’s no way you will ever get the mother to leave her foal behind, and you can’t just pull; a donkey’s a lot stronger than you or me.  We were just about to lead them off, when a man standing there, said, “Here, what do you think you’re doing, untying that donkey?” One of the disciples said, “The Rabbi needs them, and will send them back directly.”  I suppose he recognised our Galilean accent, and must have known that it was Jesus who needed to borrow the donkey.  He looked a bit embarrassed, and said, “Oh, I see.  You should have said.  If it’s for the Rabbi, of course, you carry on.”

 

Anyway, we got back to the others, and they put a cloak over her, so that Jesus could ride.  “Here,” said Simon Peter to me, “you know about animals, you’d better lead the donkey.”  We both looked at Jesus, and he smiled again, so I did.

 

Well, then it all started happening.  The people were getting all excited.  They ripped branches off the palm trees, to spread before donkey, but she didn’t seem to mind, she just kept going, however much they shouted and pushed.  They were shouting “Hosanna to the Son of David!”  and “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!”.  Some of them were even throwing their cloaks down in front, to smooth out the track.  It was almost like a triumphal entry that a great general might have been given when he returned to Rome.  Of course, I’ve never seen a triumphal entry into Rome – in fact this is the first time I’ve come to Rome at all, and I wasn’t exactly in a position to see anything.  But I have heard of the triumphal entries.  A great new gate built specially for the occasion, and cheering crowds, and bands, and parading soldiers, and the great man on a white horse and wearing shining armour.  But that day in Jerusalem, it was all spontaneous.  It was how the people, the ordinary people, really felt.  It wasn’t stage-managed by some underling of the Emperor’s, and it didn’t cost huge amounts of money, just the odd cloak a bit muddy, and some palm trees missing a few branches.

 

This was totally sincere.  OK, Jesus was just wearing a simple woollen robe, not golden armour.  And He wasn’t riding on a great white stallion, just a humble little donkey with me leading her.  And there weren’t any bands, or parades of soldiers, just the people who had come up to Jerusalem for the Passover, shouting and singing.

 

I thought it was all starting, and it was, but not what I had thought.  I had read the scriptures, and I knew that the Messiah would come, and set all things right.  I thought it would be like Judas Maccabeus, with fighting, and just as he threw out the Greeks, Jesus would throw out the Romans.  In that crowd, on that day, it felt as if we could do anything.  We all wanted to serve him, and most of us would gladly have died fighting for him.

 

When we got to the Temple, I stayed outside, holding the donkey and the foal, and everybody else went inside with Jesus.  I waited for a bit, but I couldn’t see what was happening.  I thought perhaps the High Priest was going to crown Jesus King of Judea, and then start issuing weapons.  I knew that would take some time, so I walked the donkey and her foal back to Bethany, where we got them from.  There was nobody about, so I made sure they had some hay, and left them tied up.

 

I wasn’t the only one who thought the uprising was starting.  Quite a number of the crowd had weapons left over from the Maccabean wars, and some had certainly brought them with them.  Even Simon Peter had a sword hidden under his robe. 

 

But we hadn’t understood at all.  It wasn’t that we were going to have to fight and possibly die for Him – he was going to suffer and die for us. 

 

We should have known from the donkey.  Generals don’t ride donkeys – even ordinary soldiers have proper horses.  It’s the ordinary people who ride donkeys.  We should have known from the palms.  Generals get palms made of gold, but the ordinary people make baskets out of palm leaves.  We should have known from all that he taught.  That day when I heard him speak before the loaves and fishes, there was nothing about taking revenge on the brutal Romans.  There was nothing about righteous indignation.  There was nothing about striking blows for freedom.

No, it was all about loving people, even your enemies.  It was all about forgiveness, for does not God forgive us our sins?  And it was all about turning the other cheek for that to be struck as well.

 

So, what of me?  Well, I kept out of the way while Jesus was being tried and executed.  It was all too much.  So many of the prophets before him had been murdered in the same sort of way.

 

But Jesus’ death was not the end of the story at all.  I became one of his followers at Pentecost.  Hundreds, perhaps even thousands of us did.  They didn’t call u Christians then, we were first called “the People of the Way”.  It was a few years later, in Antioch, that we began to be called Christians.  And I am happy with that.  I am one of Jesus Christ’s people.  That day of Pentecost, the Holy Spirit fell upon me, and what I had heard Jesus say on the day of the loaves and fishes all fell into place.  He was, indeed He is, the Christ, the Messiah, but his Kingdom is not of this world.  And it’s not about freedom from Rome just for the children of Israel, it’s about freedom from sin and death for all mankind.  That Palm Sunday was forty years ago, and I have given my life to serving Him, and telling people all about Him ever since.

 

I shall probably be with Him in heaven by the time you read this.  You will have heard that there was a terrible fire in Rome, and the whole city is going to have to be rebuilt.  Some say that it was Emperor Nero himself who arranged the fire, so that his grandiose plans for rebuilding the city should be able to start with a clean slate.  But Nero blames the fire on us Christians, and like thousands of others, I was arrested and brought to Rome to die in the Arena, for the sport and amusement of the citizens of Rome.  I am not afraid of dying.  I am afraid of the arena, because it will hurt.  But most things are more important than money, and some things are more important than life – Jesus certainly is.

 

It’s ironic, isn’t it – I thought I could do something for Jesus with the donkeys, but in fact He did everything for me.  I was leading the donkey that He was sitting on, but actually He has lead me ever since.  I thought I could give my life fighting for Him, and He gave his life overcoming sin and death for me.  God bless you, my dears, for coming to visit an old Christian in prison, and may God fill you with the love and peace that Jesus brought me.  Amen.

Father Charles Howard: Anglican Chaplaincy of Midi-Pyrénées & Aude

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