Shouting Stones - Luke 19:28–40 Jesus enters Jerusalem to cheering crowds

 What an image Jesus paints.  There is so much excitement and so much momentum that there is no containing the call for change.  That even killing him will not control the people hungry for hope.  Hungry for new ways of being in community.  Hungry for peace and freedom from fear and anxiety, tragedy and trauma.  That hunger was so strong they threw their coats down on the road and cheered a simple peasant riding a small untrained animal in public.  And so there was so much momentum that, like a snowball rolling downhill, picking up speed and size as it accumulates more snow, that it can ultimately flatten everything in its path, the crowd grew and cheered louder and louder.

No wonder some of the officials tried to silence the crowd.  His challenge to all in power was on full display.  And to be fair to the Pharisees who challenged him, they feared that this rally would degenerate into open rebellion and the Romans would slaughter everyone indiscriminately.  They were right to be afraid, as 30 years after Palm Sunday, the first Jewish-Roman war destroyed Israel as an independent nation until 1948.

They were right to attempt to dial down the rhetoric and the passion.  But Jesus was right to say that nothing would silence the people.

This is one of those stories that makes me wonder how one ordinary human being could be so clear on their purpose, so brave, and so determined to go through with what he felt called to do.  We are in awe of the sheer determination of the Ukrainian people right now to do what needs to be done for their country.  It’s like that, but I think it’s more.  Jesus had no hope that he would survive Good Friday.  His people didn’t understand that.  Even when Jesus bluntly told his disciples again and again, they denied it, scolded him, or tried to make him think in more positive terms.  They thought he was heading towards Jerusalem to replace Pilot and Herod, to create a political solution to their problems.

They were caught up in their small hungers, the hunger for power, the hunger for significance, the hunger for personal freedom.  Jesus was thinking of the larger hungers, of peace and healthy relationships, of accountability and authenticity and community.  Jesus had a sense of the historic, seeing that this was a time to push for radical change. 

Just as Moses saw his people enslaved in Egypt, being treated as tools to build pyramids and temples to stone Gods, or Jeremiah facing down the politics that had brought the Babylonians to the walls of Jerusalem, or Ezekiel having a vision of dead dry bones that needed to be preached at, or Isaiah guiding the exiles back to a devastated and destroyed city, Jesus saw that the situation was dire and people needed something fundamentally different.

Not unlike the times we are living in today.  At our Lenten Book chat on Wednesday, we talked about ethical dilemmas, and how many we face.  Even something as simple as which grocery store we walk into and whether we wear a mask when we go in, who do we sit next to, do we go for coffee, these many decisions become weighted with possibility and risk and challenge.

It’s exhausting to have so many decisions.  Sometimes it is downright depressing.  Some of us search for good news about Ukraine, some of us debate about who to vote for in the upcoming UCP leadership conference, some of us struggle to decide how to cast our ballots for our union recommendations, some of us celebrate the new union at Amazon, some of us lament the power of unions, some of us wonder about how to live more intentionally into the understanding that we are all treaty people.  And some of us wonder how we will get our kids to do their homework or how we will survive their brand-new school recorders.  And just like the ancient Hebrew people in Egypt, the exiles in Babylon, beleaguered Jerusalem, it’s too much; we need some hope.

So we call out “Hosanna” like the people watching Jesus on his colt.  Hosanna means help us or save us.  While it’s not mentioned in Luke, who was a Greek and wouldn’t necessarily know the Hebrew language, it is in all three of the other gospels.  Save us.  Help us.  And Jesus told the authorities that the need for help was so great that even the stones would cry out.

Not unlike now for many people around the world.  Afghanistan women crying out, first nations people, our young people who may never be able to afford their own homes, Koreans tired of war, Syrians struggling to get out of their country which is no longer in the media spotlight, people of color dealing with racism in Europe, and so on.  We call out for help even when it seems most helpless.

And while I would like to promise that all will be well, and all manner of thing will be well, we do need to call out for help in times like these.

Our faith story is full of communities asking for help.  The answer comes in unexpected ways.  Moses, a convicted murderer, leads the people on a forty-year hiking trip, Jeremiah starts a real estate company in the middle of a war, Isaiah inspires the grandchildren and greatgrandchildren of the exile to return home and rebuild. Unexpected help still appears today.  I stumbled across a poem written in Cologne Germany in a basement during the Second World War.  It was scratched in the wall by refugees hiding from Nazis. It goes “I believe in the sun, though it be dark; I believe in God, though He be silent; I believe in neighborly love, though it be unable to reveal itself.”  When we are calling for help, it is a reminder that we all can still call for help, and help comes.

When amazon workers ask each other for help, unions start to form.  When people in war-torn countries ask for help, dictators get kicked off the UN Human Rights Council, and when friends of Lee and Kelsey Thunder ask for help so that their graves will not continue to be unmarked, it is answered with stunning speed and generosity!

Jesus encourages us to call for help to build a world of peace for everyone regardless of the language they speak, the God they follow, the temple they worship in, the dream that have for the future.  Let us cry out Hosanna and be ready for God’s surprising answers us in this time of need. May it be so for us all!

Homecoming

I’ll never forget the day I came back to church.  I had grown up going to church every week, but once I moved away to Edmonton after high school, I vowed never to step foot in a church again.  As far as I was concerned, church was for hypocrites and Pharisees, people more interested in telling us how bad and wrong we were.  I was done!

Just like the prodigal son, tired of the family dynamics, tired of his bossy older brother telling him what to do, one day up and told off his dad and high-tailing it out of town, leaving the father shocked, the older brother saying, “I told you so!” and the poor mother in tears, weeping and wailing as the yelling escalated until the young man stormed off, never to return.

The family conflict was very serious.  In the time of Jesus, his culture was steeped in honor and shame.  Families were very hierarchical and competitive. Men battled for status like chickens in a coop, constantly pecking at each other to prove their superiority.  Honor was the touchstone of every action, and when honor was diminished by a child, the whole family was judged.  Honor killings were real.  From the point of view of North American values, it is abhorrent, but in the days of Jesus, a breaking of honor could result in a family losing so much status that their very livelihoods were threatened.  Just as Joseph in our Christmas story had the responsibility to restore his family’s honor by sending Mary away, in this story, the father had the responsibility to discipline his son, and could even have his son stoned according to the law.  By demanding his share of the inheritance, the son had disgraced and dishonored his family in the eyes of the community.  By allowing his son to get away with it, the father had disgraced and dishonored himself in the community, proving that he was a weak man and a terrible leader.

That was compounded when the young man returned.  The father again disgraced himself in public by running to his son and welcoming him so lovingly.  Again, his emotional excess would have been condemned by all who saw it. 

Jesus used this shocking story to attack the honor system and the claims of superiority that the Pharisees were asserting when they criticized Jesus for socializing with dishonorable and shameful people.  He consistently connected with those who had been hurt and victimized by the high expectations and competitive toxic culture that left people feeling hopeless and excluded.

We may not be shaped by an honor culture the way the Pharisees are, but our culture still needs to return home to a healthier way of relating to one another.  Many of you have heard of the term ‘toxic masculinity’, which is when men feel the pressures of cultural expectation to be tough, to be unemotional and to seek power over others to gain status.  Even 5-year-old boys are told to not cry, to suck it up, not be a sissy.  Toxic masculinity encourages emotional detachment and in worst cases can lead to violence against women and children.  When world leaders start wars and don’t know how to stop them even when they are losing, that’s the ultimate in toxic masculinity.

We also still get caught up in the shame/blame dichotomy.  It’s very addictive.  If I don’t feel good about myself, I can blame others for my emotional dis-ease.  If I struggle with addictions to unhelpful habits or obsessions, if I feel that there’s a huge gap between who I want people to think I am and who I am in private, if I don’t want to admit that I make mistakes, and avoid taking ownership of my actions, I can get caught up in flip flopping between feeling shame about who I am, and blaming others for the life I am experiencing.  The shame-blame game can escalate until we drive off to Ottawa and deny that our constant honking and partying is not hurting the people around us. 

How do we come home?  How do we break the shame-blame flip flop?  How do we get the big party and the fattened calf and the bear hugs from someone so incredibly happy to see us return? 

The prodigal son hit bottom, feeding the pigs.  It was the worst job possible for a boy raised in a kosher household, unimaginable as far as the Pharisees were concerned.  But he realized that the only one who had landed him in the pigsty was himself.  He chose to admit that he had screwed up.  We practice that every Sunday when we say words like “When I kept silence, my body wasted away, while I groaned all day long.  Then I acknowledged my sin to you, my guilt I did not hide.” (Psalm 32) In church talk, that’s called confession, or in modern psychological jargon, accountability.  When we acknowledge where we’ve gone wrong, where we’ve missed the mark, we shift from shame and blame to accountability and vulnerability and that, my friends, frees us in so many beautiful ways!

Many of us have gone through turmoil and conflict these last few years, not knowing if or how we would have a chance to see family and friends.  Many of us have said goodbye to toxic relationships and wonder if they will ever be saved.  Lent is when we take time to become more accountable to ourselves and others so that we can experience the amazing love and healing that our loving parent God has for us.  The joy that can be ours for the asking, the healing of our deepest shames as we come home to a loving embrace and a party that never ends.  When I wandered back into that church so many years ago, I realized that the biggest hypocrite in the building was me.  As the tears streamed down my face, I had a sense that I was starting an amazing journey that would take me on many adventures with many wonderful people.  That there is always a way back home into love.  May it be so for us all!