3/30/58

Scripture: Luke 19: 28-48

Jesus had been in Jerusalem several times. Though he grew up in Nazareth, a village of Galilee, far to the north of the capital city, he had been born in Bethlehem of Judea. And at least one of the gospels recounts that, as a babe, he was carried to the Temple in Jerusalem to be dedicated before the family at length went north to Nazareth. [Luke 2: 22].

And, of course, it is clear that he had returned to the Temple in Jerusalem when he was 12 years of age when his family made a pilgrimage with others from their part of the country. [Luke 2: 41-51]. There may have been other occasions when he came to Jerusalem. Each time he came, it was a matter-of-course entry into the city, with a trip to the temple for worship and dedication.

But his entry into the holy city the last week of his mortal life was different. He came in such manner as to stir up some excitement!

Bible students find it difficult to reconstruct, with any assurance of accuracy, all of the details of the triumphal entry. Some of the writers were so earnestly engrossed with the attempt to prove that all that Jesus did was in fulfillment of prophecy that one wonders if they can have been entirely objective in their reporting. Writing, as they did, some years after the event, they were constrained to prove that Jesus was the Messiah whom the Old Testament Scriptures seemed to herald.

There has been debate as to whether Jesus’ intention was to proclaim himself the Messiah by the manner in which he came into Jerusalem. But we are not on debated ground when we take a certain historical view of the story, as the church has taken it, that the entrance into Jerusalem is a meaningful symbol of Jesus as King.

The right of Jesus to kingship in the life of a person such as you or me, and in the life of society, has continued to gather evidence through history and experience. We see the kingship of Jesus validated by the way in which he met, and meets, the deep needs of the human soul.

Our dissatisfaction with ourselves, as seekers for things, our need to be more than selfish animals, points to his realm beyond the borderland where our reach exceeds our grasp.

His kingship is validated, further, by the long line of people down through the centuries -- people who have accepted Jesus as Master and Savior, people whose lives have become evidence that His kingship leads his disciples to fullness of useful living far beyond their former circumscribed existence.

The most effective arguments for the truth of Christianity are not spun from the theories of philosophers and theologians so much as from the history of experience. For some generations there has been a mental picture of Jesus as a gentle, mildly deluded sentimentalist -- a good figure for poetry and art, but not fitted to deal with the world’s rough realities. That picture keeps steadily changing for all those who are willing to see. Jesus is emerging as the sternest kind of realist who ever injected hard truth into the world. And the sentimentalists are those who suppose that hate, revenge, greed and competing sovereignties will build security or peace.

Back in 1919, after the Versailles Peace conference which followed the end of World War I shooting, Clemenceau, the French Premier, directed a scornful sneer at Woodrow Wilson, who was then President of the United States. He said that the President “spoke like Jesus Christ.” And one keen-minded man exclaimed, “Ah, if only he had!”

If anyone there, at Versailles, or at Yalta, or anywhere else, were to speak like Jesus, it might be a saving word such as to change the world’s direction!

Well, what were the preparations made for the King to enter the city of Jerusalem? He had been on the way toward the city for some time. When he arrived at the suburban villages of Bethphage and Bethany, he sent two of his disciples to a neighboring village on an interesting errand. They were to find a colt tied; they were to untie it and bring it to him. If anyone should question them about it, they were to say, “The Lord has need of it.” It sounds like “code” talk. It is the same kind of instruction that he would be giving some of his followers later in the week when he was to send them into the city to find an upper room to be prepared for his Last Supper with them. Several writers have made conjectures that Jesus had a kind of “underground” working in the Jerusalem neighborhood.

Jesus may very well have had supporters in Jerusalem who could be compared to the “underground” patriots of certain nations in World War II days. Has he an “underground” in our city? -- A network of people; a dependable force alerted to his purposes; acquainted with his mind; ready to act for his cause?

At any rate, when the two disciples did find a young but sturdy colt tied in the village and did untie it to take it to Jesus, and the owner did ask them why they did this, and they did explain: “The Lord has need of it,” the explanation seems to have been satisfactory, as though the owner acknowledged a priority.

Should not this be the response of a lot of us to the Lord’s need of anything we have? There are so many powers and aptitudes and abilities, as well as possessions, of which it can be said: “The Lord has need of it.” There are skills in teaching, in music, in leadership with youth, in directing mature folk, that are needed for the Lord of life. Feet can do his errands; lips and voices can speak his word; hands can convey his mercy and lift burdens. The Lord has need of these.

Suppose the owner of the colt had spoken as he might have done: “Here, what are you doing with my colt?

“The Lord has need of it.”

“What do I care, I need it myself. Go on and let it alone.”

This is a rougher language than we would knowingly use to God’s demands. But there is no doubt of our frequent blunt refusals.

God needs our time. “Sorry, I can’t take on one thing more. I’m almost exhausted as it is.”

God needs our mind. “Sorry, but I have all I can give my attention to, and more. I have troubles enough of my own to think about.”

What kind of priority does God get with us?

The colt was brought to Jesus; and he, riding thereon, began his entry into the city. There was no little excitement. And the enthusiasm seemed spontaneous. There was no debate about it. People just shouted, waved branches, or strewed them on the way.

Disciples had laid their cloaks on the colt for a blanket or saddle. Others of the people spread their garments on the road where Jesus was to ride. Do we ever spread anything costly before him? A maximum offering of mind, of heart, of skill without any book-keeping prudence to determine if the minimum might be enough?

People along that way shouted their “hosannas” to one whom they were ready to acknowledge as king. Before the week was out, some of them would have changed their shouting to jeering. They had everything to learn yet about what kind of king they could expect him to be. But on that Sunday morning, the joy was a spontaneous, uncalculated ovation: “Blessed be the King who comes in the name of the Lord.”

When we come to church on Palm Sunday, it is not just to celebrate an incident of some 19 centuries ago. Palm Sunday is a reminder of something that has relevance now. It is the beginning of the most significant week on the calendar of the Christian Church. The world could afford to lose this week least of all the 52 in the year.

Now what is some of the meaning of Palm Sunday for our contemporary life? Halford Luccock gives us one of the meanings when we says, “This story presents a picturesque and powerful symbol, of something that needed a symbol, both in the first few centuries of the church, and ever since --- the kingship of Jesus.” When we want to remember that Jesus merits the right to rule in our hearts, and in the world, we think of his being given that acclaim on his entrance into Jerusalem.

In our sophisticated moments, we can easily see that this so-called triumphal entry is a strange symbol of kingship. For Jesus, there in that modest procession, looks much different from the usual king. In fact the procession is but a caricature of the pomp and circumstance that was accorded most kings.

At the time of this incident, it was the usual custom for a king, returning to his own city from some conquest, to be preceded by the spoils and slaves of his victory. And he would be followed by his army. Jesus had no spoils, no slaves, no army. The conquering king would be coming into his city riding in a horse-drawn chariot. Jesus rode into Jerusalem on the humblest burden-bearing animal of the farm -- a symbol of peaceful pursuits and not of conquest. A conquering Roman knew that he was riding into a career of great privileges. Jesus was riding to his death, and he was aware of it.

Of course many of those people might have thought of Jesus as King in the accepted sense, since they welcomed him as one who was, they hoped, about to restore the Kingdom of David. But a few thoughtful glances would have made it apparent to them that he was not that kind of king.

We who live in this land, in 1958, would be repelled by the Roman conqueror type of king. We seek no such ruler or leader. Such kings have been having a hard time of it in recent years. Most remaining kings or queens govern under a constitutional monarchy. The real rulers are elsewhere than in the palaces. And surely none of us are eager to give our loyalty to the kind of king who exacts obedience by force.

But there is an attraction for us in the kind of king who rode into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday -- the kind of king of whom even the Roman centurion at his later crucifixion would exclaim this was the “son of God.” For he is more than a king in the usual sense.

He is king in that he merits the loyalty and devotion of people. He does not impose it. No army, and no engines of force, will hack a way for his ascendancy to power.

He is the kind of king who really can be acclaimed, because he does not compel, save by the persuasions of unfailing love that will go even to death. He is king in that highest realm of the spirit where free people follow him willingly.

When the church uses this day to proclaim the kingship of Christ, it is saying that His is the way that merits our loyalty. It is the way of service, of forgiveness, of surrendered pride, of strong trust in God in a truly realistic way of living.

Because Jesus is not the sort of king who compels folk by force, devotion to him can be quite superficial. Like a lot of the people in that crowd, any of us can raise a shout or two. Or we can wave a branch, especially if it can be plucked from beside the road or from the grove of someone else. These can be sobering symbols of our fickle and superficial following of him.

But this celebration can be used to rouse us from our lack of depth in Christian devotion. It can continue to remind us of a King who deserves the loyalty and gratitude of our lives --- not because he compels us, but because we want, with all our hearts, to be subjects to His kind of will.

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Dates and places delivered:

Wisconsin Rapids, March 30, 1958 (Palm Sunday)

Wood County Infirmary, April 16, 1958.