Christ in Disguise

I don't remember that horrible day when Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot and killed in Memphis fifty years ago; I was only two years old when it happened. My father was 27, having graduated from seminary a year before to become the pastor of a small community church in Quincy, Massachusetts in the shadow of next-door Boston. King was murdered just three days before Palm Sunday. As other preachers no doubt did, my father sensed a contemporary version of Holy Week unfolding before him on the evening news. In his Palm Sunday sermon, my dad said this:  

"Palm Sunday is a tragic symbol of Jesus' brand of messiahship and our response to it. If there's anything that Palm Sunday points to, it is how fickle and insincere we really are. And to some extent it's a lack of understanding, too, I suppose. We don't understand what sort of messiah Jesus is, or if we do understand then we don't want him. Like the crowd at the Jerusalem gate, for a while Jesus appears to be fulfilling our fondest dreams. We want a warm, comfortable home, a good family to be proud of, a secure job, a friendly little church where we're all alike. Here comes a king who will secure it for us! 'Hosanna!'

'The king is coming! The king is coming!' Yes, the king is coming, but not as earthly kings with pomp and circumstance and every detail attended to. This king comes as the Christ, the suffering servant, riding on a borrowed donkey with a shabby crowd to greet him. The kingship of Christ is not seen in terms of a crown and a throne but rather in terms of a basin and towel as he washes his disciples' dirty feet. The kingdom of Christ is not seen in terms of a royal procession with him at the head but rather in terms of his teaching, 'whosoever would be first among you must be your servant.' 

Can't we see that he is riding a donkey? Can't we see that there is no splendor surrounding him at all? No, we can't see. Like the Jerusalem crowd we are blinded by our wishful thinking that finally a king has come to restore our Israel. It's only Palm Sunday now; we are cheering. Give Jesus the King just a week to force our hand, to make us demonstrate in a bloody way how we really feel about his brand of kingship, about his way to redemption.

You know, there is another very ironic sort of 'Palm Sunday happening' going on today and these last few days which clearly and cruelly points out what we've been saying here. Today we are shouting the praises of another king - The Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.  We are piously yielding up our hosannas to this man who we say has been the champion of his people. Civil rights leaders, politicians, religious leaders, newsmen, even George Wallace -- are deploring the tragedy of his death and offering eulogies to this great man. In the mass of news that has been released so far, I have yet to hear a single negative comment about this great apostle of non-violence. We're all shouting 'Hosanna to King!'

But where were our hosannas while he was actually doing the non-violence, when he needed our support? Where were the politicians, the religious leaders, the newsmen and the George Wallaces when King was showing this nation that servant-hood meant leading a bus boycott or defending the cause of garbage men in Memphis? Where was this adoring crowd when King was saying that the way of the cross this summer would be a massive demonstration by the poor in Washington, D.C.? No. There were no hosannas then. There were only countless statements by public officials and editorials denouncing this self-styled messiah as un-American and un-Christian. All too frequently we heard someone yelling that terrible anathema, 'Communist!', and sounding curiously akin to another shout heard 2,000 years ago: 'Crucify him!' Yesterday, it was 'Crucify him!' Today he is dead, and it is 'Hosanna!'

The sequence of our emotions is reversed from that first 'Palm Sunday happening' to this one, but the dynamic is still the same. It is our sentimental cheering when the challenge of the Gospel is distant and our utter repulsion when the challenge of the Gospel is aimed point blank at our hearts. The happening has occurred. And similar happenings will, over and over again, whenever Christ in person, or Christ in the disguise of his many suffering servants, enters and challenges our way of living.

May God give us the grace to do more than shout 'Hosanna!' and waive a palm. May God give us the grace to be counted with Christ at his trial and death."

From: "The Happening"

Preached Palm Sunday, April 7, 1968

at Adams Shore Community Church 

Scripture: Luke 19:29-40  

Rejoicing on the Brink

Thirty-six years ago today, on March 28, 1979, central Pennsylvania experienced the worst accident in the history of commercial nuclear power in America – the partial meltdown of a reactor at Three Mile Island. Over the next few days, utility company officials, government regulators, news reporters, and even the President of the United States descended on the scene to assess the damage done and weigh the risk of further harm. 140,000 people voluntarily evacuated, but many more stayed put. In the resulting media frenzy, corporate and government spokespersons offered contradictory claims and uncertain advice. For those who lived in the vicinity, including my aunt and uncle, this all was terribly and personally frightening. But even for Pennsylvanians who lived further away, there was a palpable sense of dread.

Three Mile Island

Eleven days after the meltdown, on Palm Sunday, my father stepped into the pulpit before his congregation in Easton, Pennsylvania and preached a sermon entitled “Rejoicing on the Brink.” Here’s the heart of his message that morning:

"No one really knows for sure how close hundreds of thousands of people came to disaster over the last week and a half around Three Mile Island. The prospects of catastrophe were variously described by the electric company, the government, the media, and many independent experts. But all agreed there was a risk, and there were a lot of grim faces on the people involved in that situation. Not much rejoicing in the Middletown area.

The nuclear accident, while certainly important in itself, also stands as a symbol of a more widespread condition developing in our world today. We are getting used to living on the brink of disaster. There are a whole host of problems – certain foods and food additives, industrial wastes, crime, governmental scandal, economic collapse, the energy crisis, nuclear accident or war, earthquake, just to name a few – problems which have become so commonplace in the headlines that we are almost used to them. In the beginning when a new life-threatening problem is discovered, we get disturbed about it for a while, but soon it just takes its place alongside the others. There is a kind of grim resignation to living with the tension created by all these threats to life. You probably noticed this on the faces and in the comments of the residents around Three Mile Island as they were interviewed on TV. No tears, but no laughter either – because more and more all of us are being conditioned to living on the brink. There is growing, I think, a deadly serious, even morose attitude toward life. I even detect this is the children I know; there is not that totally carefree feeling among them that I enjoyed as a child.

In contrast to our modern predicament, we catch a glimpse on Palm Sunday of a man out of the distant past who is also standing on the brink of disaster – his own personal disaster. I speak, of course, of Jesus, mounting a donkey to ride into Jerusalem where he will spend the last week of his life. And he knows very well what is coming; he is not ignorant of the fact that he is flirting with death. His whole life has been geared toward the Cross. One might say that he lived on the brink from the day he was born.

Here Jesus is, with every reason to be terrified, or maybe bitter, or at least grim. But what does he do? He lets himself become the center of a triumphal celebration. The scriptures even tell us he took part in planning it. In one of the Gospel accounts he even insists that the celebration go on, over the objections of some. I think it is a faithful reading of the text to see Jesus enjoying this moment immensely, rejoicing on the brink. He is letting himself be part of this celebration.

If we could see and accept this interpretation of the Palm Sunday, it would be very refreshing and helpful to those of us who nervously teeter on the brink, either in our personal lives or along with mankind as a whole. To see Jesus relax and enjoy, with the Cross less than a week away, gives hope that this kind of peace and joy might just be possible for us as well. But how can we do this? From where does Jesus summon the strength to approach the brink with rejoicing?

Jesus knew what his mission, his job in life was. In the Temple at 12 years of age he said to his nervous parents who had been searching everywhere for him, 'Didn't you know that I must be about my Father’s business?' From childhood on, his whole life was consumed with the mission of doing his Father’s business, of manifesting the love of God to sick, broken, guilty and hard-hearted people.

Some people look at their lives as something like an empty box. To such people, teetering on the brink is horrifying because the box might spill and they will lose everything that they have. But other people look at life as a mission, a calling.  They feel their life is not just theirs to live as they please. God has a plan for them, has work for them to do. And so their whole life is spent discovering and following that mission, seeking to do God’s will for them. Such people are not shaken when they approach the brink because they know that they can never lose the experiences they've had, and that even this impending disaster will become yet another opportunity in their mission, another building block in the Kingdom that God is building through them.

Jesus rejoiced on the brink of his death because he trusted God, because he knew who he was, and because he knew where he was going. If we decide to lay aside everything else and follow him in faith, he will give us the grace to rejoice with him on the brink. Life with him, even if it is on the brink, will be so exciting and full of meaning, that we will never stop praising him. We will know then what Jesus meant on that first Palm Sunday when he said, 'I tell you, if these [people] were silent, the stones would shout out.' Luke 19:40 (NRSV).

He is Lord of all! He is Lord over the brink. Nothing shall separate us from the love of God! Praise the Lord!"

From: "Rejoicing on the Brink"

Scripture: Mark 11:1-10; Zechariah 9:9-13

Preached on April 8, 1979

Calvary U.M. Church, Easton, PA