Risking Reputation Preached at Wollaston Congregational Church On March 1st, 2020 Scripture: Matthew 21:1-11 This morning we stand at the threshold of Holy Week, the entry into Jerusalem. Usually we would read this story on the Sunday before Easter, Palm Sunday. And, indeed we will return to it then. But for now, we pause to look at the scene of Jesus entry into Jerusalem. We ask is this a parade or a protest? And would we risk our reputation to join in? Our character, Phillip, stands high on a rooftop. He’s seen many Passovers in Jerusalem. Now he’s here with his with grown children and small grandchildren. They found lodgings in a neighboring village. As the head of the household, Phillip returns to the temple each day to mingle, pray and make arrangements for the festival. He’s a merchant, he expects to run into a few clients during the holiday. Right now he is looking in on the action from on high. Earlier in the day Phillip saw the Roman parade of military power and might coming into town. He saw Pilate, the Roman governor, mounted high on a noble warhorse, leading a column of soldiers. Pilate was in full armor, carrying an immense sword and was flanked by military guard. At the head of the parade the standard bearer held a scepter bearing the Roman Eagle, a symbol of triumph. Phillip had waved and cheered, without conviction. This is not a time to be seen resisting the occupying forces. This is a time to lay low, to enjoy the Passover holiday with family and friends. It’s time to be seen supporting the temple authorities and the status quo. But his cousin, Enoch, has convinced him to stay and watch the Rabbi ride in to town. He’s heard whispers that this is it, the revolution! Should he stay and watch, or get out now back to the village? Things could get ugly very quickly. He’s heard that the Rabbi, Jesus, has gathered crowds from the countryside: subsistence farmers, servants, slaves, and sex workers. They are the hungry, hurting people at the very bottom of the Roman food chain. He’s heard that the Rabbi’s disciples are young, passionate and ready to fight. Dare he risk being seen by his Roman clients, as he observes this revolutionary parade? He looks down, trying to catch a glimpse of the disciples brandishing farm tools and swords. He imagines Jesus leading the charge. Has he acquired one of Pilate’s warhorses somehow? Then he hears the first chants of the Jesus parade. “Hosanna!” God save us now, it is a prayer! The crowds have gathered branches, and they are laying down their worn old cloaks to make a path. From around the corner, coming down the rocky path into the city, the Rabbi appears. And he is riding a tiny mount, his feet grazing the ground. It’s a colt, the foal of a donkey. “O Lord!” he thinks “I can’t be seen following this Rabbi! My Roman patrons can’t see me following a fool on a donkey. It would kill my business.” Jesus is performing a pantomime to highlight the contrast between the way of God and the way of Rome. The Romans ride mighty warhorses. The soldiers wield swords in a show of power. They insist on cries of “hail Caesar!” Their intent is to maintain control, to affirm the loyalty of the masses. And so Jesus borrows a baby donkey, and his followers sing ‘hosanna’ … “save us now.” They sing the truth: that the current conditions are not satisfactory. They show their conviction that Jesus can make things better. Their parade is provocative and it is truthful. The disciples and followers and buoyed up by the spectacle. They are thumbing their noses at Pilate! The city is full of Jewish people who have come from far and wide to celebrate the feast of the Passover. The holiday itself declares that God rescues God’s people from oppression and slavery. The people are primed with scriptures that anticipate the coming, saving Messiah. He will be the Son of King David and will re-establish the legendary reign of justice and peace. He will come into the city in peace, riding on a colt, the foal of a donkey. And the crowd will sing “hosanna.” I have attended a good number of parades in my time, small town 4th of July and Memorial Day events. I’ve marched with the Girl and Boy Scouts from the town dump to the cemetery to the war memorial. The scouts held their banners and flags respectfully high. I admit, though, I am more reluctant when it comes to protest marches. I’ve only ever been on a few. I like to think that I pick and choose my causes carefully. And yet, I wonder if my reluctance has more to do with the risk that comes with a protest. I’m nervous about the safety of protest marches. They can turn rapidly from peaceful to violent. The passion of a crowd is potent thing, not easily contained. Violence can be injected by those with other agenda. Nervous law enforcement can get caught up in the moment, even triggering violence themselves. Then there’s the question of being seen. Where do I want to be seen and with whom? If I join a protest, might there be one of my co-workers among the onlookers? Will someone take my picture and post it on social media for all to see? Am I ready to tell the world about the causes I support and whom I follow? And if I’m honest a large part of my reluctance is apathy. I am far more comfortable sitting at home on my couch, than making the trip to join the protest. I’m happier cheering on the protesters from the comfort and privacy of my own living room. These past months I have been doing just that for the brave folk who are protesting the gas compressor station being erected just a couple of miles from here. I admire the good work they have done researching the health and environmental impact of the project. I admire from a safe distance as I hear reports on the radio, and read about the protests in my newsfeed. Once in a while, though, I have been sufficiently roused from my apathy to join a protest. I remember walking with the young women of our church in the “March for Our Lives” protest two years ago on Palm Sunday weekend. We were walking in support of the Parkland, Florida students who were demanding a meaningful response, following the mass shooting at their school that year on Valentine’s Day. From the few marches I’ve joined, I’ve learned what makes for a good protest: singing and dancing. Of course, there are the banners with their pithy slogans. And there is anger, over issues like equal pay, fair treatment under the law, health and education, or the government’s failure to act when our health and environment is threatened. But it’s the spirit and hope of coming together, joyfully in a common cause that empowers and encourages most protesters. It takes a lot to rouse us to join a protest parade doesn’t it? Often times we’re sleepy. We don’t want to get off the couch. We feel stuck with things as they are. We don’t want to risk our reputation, being seen out and about with rebel rousers like Jesus. I wonder what would it take, to rouse all generations to join the Jesus parade. What would it take, to declare that our communities could be freer, more just, more equal, healthy and whole, if we follow his lead? I wonder what it would take, to rouse the young from their habitual, path to from sleep to work and from work to sleep. To rouse them from the conviction that the boomers have created their destiny. The conviction that there is no escape, from debt and drudgery, from climatic devastation, from the inevitability of ingrained party politics. I wonder what would it take to rouse the middle aged, from our conviction that retirement is our goal. To rouse us from the conviction that we’ve made our contribution and so we deserve a rest. The conviction that our responsibility to shore up worn out institutions. The conviction that our reputation is what counts. I wonder what it will take to rouse the old from the belief that they barely have the energy to get up each day. That they can only do the necessary things to stay alive. From the conviction that they cannot take on anything new, or anything different. The conviction that their life path is now defined and they cannot deviate. I don’t know what it would take, but just imagine if it happened. Imagine if this story, of Jesus and his disciples, followed by the crowds, woke us all from our apathy and from our fear of looking foolish, of risking our reputation. The young sing, dance, and set the pace. The old are not far behind. Many are ambulated in wheelchairs by the young, who create a dance for the ones who cannot walk. They sing old tunes that the lost ones can remember and they warble along. They push the white haired and feeble to the front of the line. They place crowns on their heads, wrapping velvet blankets over their knees, making them kings and queens. They sing ho-sanna, hey-sanna. The middle aged, well you have to look for us. Most still haven’t gotten the news. They haven’t heard that this is the place to find vibes, energy, and zesty-ness of spirit. They hang back like Phillip, the man who observes the parade from the balcony. He is thinking that this Jesus fellow has some good ideas. But he’s untested. To go with him would mean letting go of all he knows. “Better the devil you know” they say. “Stay with Pilate,” he reminds himself, “rest on solid ground.” Then he feels the smallest tremor rippling under his feet. The ones who are hanging back are the only ones who notice it. The young and the old in their songs and dances don’t feel a thing. They’ve been swept away, awoken by the moment. Pilate and the military machine of Rome track slowly forward. Boots and hooves stomp the ground too solidly to be swayed. But Phillip feels the tremor. He has the troubling feeling this Passover week is going to be different from any other. Then he takes a deep breath, shakes his head of these silly ideas. He will let the parade to go on without him. He needs make arrangements for his family’s Passover dinner. He has responsibilities. He can’t risk his reputation. May all God’s people say, Amen
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