Fasten your seat belts! We are in for some sharp turns in the road. A donkey ride of hope and hosannas leads to the tomb of total despair. The tomb of weeping leads to the laughter of new life. The darkened house of doubt opens to the light of a peace you can touch. The dusty road of disappointment reveals the surprise of resurrection. Yesterday's tragedy does not rule God's tomorrow. It's resurrection time. When hurt meets up with hope, we keep finding God. Christ is risen! Thanks be to God!
April 4, Palm Sunday: Show and Tell
Isaiah 50:4-9a, Philippians 2:5-11, Matthew 21:1-11, Psalm 118:19-29
I was once described as "a good preacher, though dramatic." I wonder if Jesus ever received such a description? After his palm parade into Jerusalem, he certainly deserved it. For the demonstration march into Jerusalem, Jesus requested a donkey to ride. Preacher Jesus assumed that everyone would quickly catch on to his show-and-tell lesson on servanthood.
Zechariah 9:9 speaks of God who is coming not only as "humble and riding on a donkey," but as "triumphant and victorious" as the oppressors are forced out of power. The crowd that gathered for the demonstration wanted to have their occupied country set free of Roman rule. The donkey was a beast of burden. Jesus' ride symbolically trampled not only the Roman rule, but the privilege of the high priesthood who collaborated with the foreign occupation. Jesus dramatized the hope that Israel would be a servant people, with neither Roman or Hebrew imperialism.
Palm branches waved madly. The branches recalled the Maccabean Revolt against the Syrian Empire, a time of liberation from foreign control. Shouts of "Hosanna" greeted Jesus all along the palm parade route. "Hosanna" means "save us." Jesus boldly walked toward the power seat amid the cries and hopes of a people longing for freedom.
Years ago, we demonstrated in front of the federal prison in Atlanta for the release of the Cuban detainees. The prisoners shouted hosannas from their prison cell -- loud cries for freedom, "Libertad!" Our 6-year-old daughter peered through the iron gates waving her small white handkerchief in response to the prisoner's desperate waves. Then she looked at me and asked, "Are we going to stay here until they get out?"
Jesus' march into Jerusalem answered her question. Yes. We are staying right here in this imprisoned land until all are set free. Hosanna!
April 11, Easter: Lifting the Veil of Tears
Acts 10:34-43, Colossians 3:1-4, John 20:1-18, Psalm 118:14-24
The disciples were dizzy with despair. They had shared such a compelling vision that they had given up all to follow Jesus. They had left businesses, fishing nets, and family ties to follow the wandering teacher. This Jesus had trained them as heralds of the new kingdom. But no more. It was all over. The kingdom needed a king, and he was gone. The inner terrain of their lives lay in rubble. Now what? Go back home? Had Jesus brought them this far only to leave them?
One of the followers, a woman, stood at the side of the tomb and wept. Her hope was gone. Her grief was unbearable. Jesus came to her and asked, "Woman, why are you weeping?" (John 20:13). Woman, we know why you are weeping.
The resurrection came to people who were at the end of their rope. The resurrection came to people who were shaking their heads and saying, "There is no hope." For most Americans, Easter has become a day to fortify our great optimism, a day to look at our privilege and to celebrate its continuance. But the first resurrection did not come to people of privilege. The resurrection came to people who were devastated with no hope for the restored kingdom that they longed for, with no hope for pulling any meaning out of this great tragedy.
Resurrection happened, not with trumpet sounds, Easter lilies, budding trees, and a great burst of sunlight, but in the early morning mist, while it was still too dark to see clearly. It came through weeping and weariness, through fear and confusion, through the disorientation of grief, through arms reaching out to feel the way in the darkness.
Resurrection came. It came, not because they'd found some surefire way to enliven the worship services on Sunday morning. It came, not because they finally got their political party in office. It came, not because they found an innovative program for mission action. It came because our God is a God who breathes life into dead bones.
The disciples moved on through this Good Friday world. Yet nothing looked the same to them again. They found themselves singing Jesus' words now: "In the world, you will have tribulation, but be of good cheer for I have overcome the world."
April 18: A Shelter for Doubt
Acts 2:14a, 22-32, 1 Peter 1:3-9, John 20:19-31, Psalm 16:5-11
It was not the best of times for early Christians around the turn of the second century. Actually, it was some of the worst of times. Doubt barricaded their hearts, and questions exiled their hopes. They doubted that Roman persecution would ever end. They doubted that tensions would ever cease between the church and the synagogue. Racial and religious divisions among them left the church doubting their unified identity in Christ.
The first eyewitnesses to Jesus' life, death, and resurrection were long-ago dead. Jesus' return was long overdue. For these deeply doubting believers, hearing John's gospel story of Thomas was to hear their story.
Thomas listened to the disciples' tall tales of seeing the resurrected Jesus. Thomas was not buying the story unless he could feel the mark of the nails. Eight days later, he got his chance. The disciples were once again huddled behind closed doors, fearing for their lives if linked with Jesus. Jesus came speaking peace. Then he invited Thomas to touch his wounds. "My Lord and my God!" Thomas exclaimed (John 20:28).
Jesus knew exactly what Thomas needed. Jesus never offered one prescription or formula for bringing people to faith. He did not hand out a tract on the four spiritual laws to every person he met. Jesus did not chide Thomas for his doubts or questions. Thomas' doubts were his avenue to a deepened discipleship. He did not run away from community with his doubts. Thomas expressed them openly and freely, without fear that the faith community would shun him or excommunicate him for lack of belief.
The early church longed for a home to shelter their doubts. The story of Thomas assured them that into the house of doubt, the Christ enters. "Peace be with you" (John 20:26).
April 25: The Incognito Christ
Acts 2:14a, 36-41, 1 Peter 1:17-23, Luke 24:13-35, Psalm 116:12-19
Jesus died. Misunderstood. Misjudged. A fallen hero. In the blink of an eye, a movement died. His disciples had followed this Pied Piper of a new world order, but now all hope was gone. Where were they to go? What were they to do?
Two despairing followers made a choice to walk back down the road, away from the reminders of ruin in Jerusalem. They replayed the events of the past days, trying to absorb the shock waves. A stranger walked beside them, listening to their story. They were astounded that he had not heard the headline news. Then the truest of feelings, out of the depth of disappointment, came blurting out: "We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel" (Luke 24:21).
They had hoped that he was really going to be the one to set the oppressed free. They had hoped that he was really going to be the one to lead their movement for liberty and justice for all. They had hoped, but no more. Tragedy had struck. Devastation and despair crashed through hope's door and demanded entry into their inner chambers. Two defeated disciples dropped their heavy hearts on the dusty road.
When we find ourselves on the road of disappointment, like the two on the road to Emmaus, we may be startled to find the Christ walking alongside us, incognito. This master of disguise was not easy to recognize before or after death. Had the disciples never really seen Jesus as he was, but only as they had wanted him to be? "We thought he was the one."
No sooner did they know him than he vanished from sight. This Messiah sneaks up alongside us in our times of darkest despair. Then he surprises us with ordinary blessings over everyday bread. This Messiah never has been one to nail down. So keep your eyes open. All heaven keeps breaking loose on earth.
Nancy Hastings Sehested was pastor of Prescott Memorial Baptist Church in Memphis, Tennessee when this article appeared.
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