Palm Sunday | Mark 11:1-11

*Preached by John R. Mabry at Grace North Church April 8th, 2001.*

Jerusalem's walls were swelling with pilgrims as people from miles around journied to the Holy City to celebrate the Passover the old-fashioned way--at the temple. But it was different this year than last. There was a buzz about the City. Less than a week to go to the big night, and already the City was unrecognizable.

The zealots were painting signs on the sides of buildings, the Roman soldiers were wary and uneasy, and there was an infectious mania surrounding the Rabbi Jesus Bar Joseph, who was rumoured to be on his way, as all good Rabbi's would be. The tension was high, the mood dangerous yet still strangely celebratory.

The disciples, traveling with Jesus, had no inkling of what was happening in the City. They were tired from the constant traveling, and stressed out by Jesus' wierd and apocalyptic mood. He kept talking about his death, like he knew what was going to happen, and had no interest in stopping it. Once Peter had said, "So don't go!" But he got such a tongue-lashing that the others kept their mouths shut and tried not to say anything that might set Jesus off.

Finally they could see the City in the distance. The roads were lined with hundreds of crosses set in the hard-baked earth: a constant reminder to the pilgrims of just who was in charge around here and a warning: "don't get any ideas." John was sullen, and Peter was spooked, but he didn't say anything. Birds pecked at the corpses that had not yet been taken down and buried. Apparently they had no family, and had to rely upon the scavengers for their "burial."

The silence of death hung over the little band as Jerusalem loomed and grew larger, visible now just beyond the suburb of Bethany. Finally Jesus stopped. He turned to the disciples with a quick and elevated look that he used to get when he had just thought of a great joke or had a sudden inspiration. "Andrew, Peter," he said.

"Oh, great," thought Peter, "What now?" What could he possibly be thinking? Did it have anything to do with these crosses? Peter didn't want to stay one more minute than absolutely necessary on this road. It made him feel ritually unclean, but he knew his imagination was getting away with him.

"You guys run on ahead, and just as you reach the village, you'll see a donkey's foal. Get it and bring it back to meet us. If anyone questions you tell them that the Lord needs it. Now get going."

Peter looked at Andrew and shrugged. Then the two of them started walking double-time to Bethany. "Foal?" Peter thought, "what the heck does he want with a foal? We don't need it to carry anything--we have Philip for that!" He grinned at the thought of Philip, built like a Greek wrestler. So what did Jesus want with a foal? A donkey's foal at that? Jesus usually like to travel light, and once they got to Jerusalem, it was only going to hinder them. Peter had expected Judas to make a stink about the cost of stabling such an animal in Jerusalem, but oddly, he seemed so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't said a word.

"Hey, hurry up," yelled back Andrew. Peter's reveries had slowed him down and he quickened his pace to catch up with his brother.

Peter was winded by the time they reached the first house in Bethany. And sure enough, just as Jesus had predicted, there was a donkey's foal, tethered and chewing a mouthful of hay. Peter started to say, "How did Jesus know--" but he stopped himself. Life with Jesus wasn't just wierd, it was crazy. He didn't know how Jesus knew--in fact he didn't WANT to know. "Too much wierdness already," he thought as he untied the donkey.

"Hey!" said a blacksmith, coming out of his shack a little ways distant, wiping his hands on his apron. "Whatcha' doin' with the foal?"

Andrew stiffened, but blurted out, "The Lord needs it!"

The blacksmith's eyes narrowed as he took the two filthy fishermen in. "Now look, you two. I don't know what's going on here. A young gent in a white gown was here yesterday and asked if I'd watch this foal until someone called "the Lord" asked for it. Then he just disappeared. You two look too grimy to be angels. I don't know what your game is, but by all means take the foal, it's obviously waiting here for you."

Peter nodded and grabbed the reigns. Par for the course, he thought as he and Andrew set off back down the road to Bethany.

When they met up with Jesus, he thanked them and petted the foal's nose as if they were old friends. Then with one arm on the donkey's mane, Jesus wordlessly trudged on to Bethany.

Apparently the watchmen at the Jerusalem city gate had seen them coming for some time, because when they got within earshot, they could already hear people singing "Hosanna!" People started to pour out of the gates and gathered around them. Suddenly their little band of thirty or so had swelled to seventy, a hundred, and more. Jesus stopped just short of the gate and went to nuzzle the foal.

"What's he doing?" asked Thomas.

"He and the donkey are having a moment" said Peter wearily. He tired of second-guessing what Jesus was up to. He was increasingly annoyed by Jesus' cryptic stories and sullen demeanor. The romance of being a disciple was wearing off fast, and he wondered what his wife and daughter were doing back home.

Whatever business Jesus and the donkey had been discussing was apparently settled, and Jesus walked back to Mary and asked her for a clean tunic. He put it on and then amid the cheering mob, he swung his leg up and sat up on the foal.

"Um...Lord, what are you doing?" Peter asked impatiently.

"Making my entrance. Get out of the way."

Peter gulped and stood aside. The next few moments made a surreal blur in his memory. People tore branches from the palm trees, they tore off their coats and, just as Jesus rode through the City gate, they paved his way and sang at him.

Peter felt faint and had to sit down, as he was overcome with feelings. "Oh, dear," he thought, "this is going to make a lot of people very upset."

Looking at the Roman gaurds, he noticed they were yelling at each other, sending messengers tearing off through the streets with the news. Peter knew what they were thinking. Jesus was riding in like a king. Well, except for the donkey part. But the people were certainly acting like he was a King. Bad news...he thought, cradling his head. This, we do not need.

Next Peter looked at the cheering masses. Jesus' fame had gone before him wherever they went, but this was different. Peter knew what they were thinking. They were thinking that Jesus was the Son of Man. The Son of Man of course was a popular character in lots of the dime-store apocalypses, the kind of book that a justice-starved population of dreamers just couldn't get enough of. They were cheering wildly and singing, but many of them didn't look comfortable or convinced. Still, the energy of the crowd held sway, and the eiree carnival atmosphere prevailed.

At the rim of the crowd, Peter noticed some whispering men, mostly younger. Zealots, he thought. Same butch haircut that Judas was sporting when he joined up with them. They did not look happy. Nor did the priests and the Pharisees peering down on the crowd from their upper story windows. Peter saw a couple of Sadducees whooping it up, but most were reserved and silent, observing.

Jesus rode placidly, half-smiling at the cheering masses surrounding him. The donkey was spooked, but Jesus held the reigns tightly, and the little beast plodded in a reasonably identifyable direction. After a couple of streets of this kind of royal treatment, the crowd thinned out, and Jesus turned the donkey down a sidestreet. Many followed him, and crowded around, hoping to touch him or hear a word of wisdom.

Peter shook himself free from his daydreaming and leaped to his feet. Sprinting to Jesus' side, he saw Jesus hand the donkey off to Andrew with some instructions he couldn't hear. Then Jesus spoke briefly to the crowd about keeping a holy passover, and bid them good day. He turned and went into one of the houses owned by the Sadducees. Peter followed him.

"Where are you going?" Peter asked.

"This is the guest house for the high priests. I'm going to rest a bit." Peter looked confused.

"They'll toss you into the street!" Peter said, "Are you crazy?"

"My uncle was high priest for 50 years." Jesus answered. "He's only been dead for ten. I will be welcome here. You go on with Mary and the others. She knows where she's going. There's lots to get ready."

"I'm not going anywhere until I get some answers." Peter said defiantly. His voiced cracked, betraying how scared he was to actually face Jesus down like this. Jesus turned and gave Peter his full attention. "Peter," he started, "I'm tired..."

"I want to know just what kind of circus act you were trying to pull out there!" Peter said. His voice wasn't cracking, now that his anger was kicking in. "Things aren't bad enough as it is, you have to go and pull a stunt like that?? What were you thinking, Jesus?? Did you get sunstroke? Did the sight of those crosses unhinge your head? What were you thinking??"

Jesus signaled for Peter to follow him up the stairs. He turned in at a small room and sat down. "Put yourself in my place, Peter. What do you think I was thinking?"

"If I had a clue, I wouldn't be standing here imposing myself on your nap time."

Jesus noted the way Peter turned bright red from the neck up. You could almost draw a line around the base of his neck where the redness started. Plus there were two huge veins that popped out of his forehead. Jesus always had to suppress a smile when Peter was mad. Just then he thought, "Those veins stick out so far you could rest a goblet on his forehead," and then of course he grinned.

"What is so blasted funny?" Peter raised his voice. "You just pulled a very dangerous publicity stunt, and you're already in enough hot water to lose your head. I want to know what is so funny."

Jesus thought about telling Peter that he could rent his forehead out for a pantry but decided against it. "Tell me," Jesus said, "what do you think those people out there were looking for when I came through those gates?"

"Do you always have to answer a question with a question?" Asked Peter.

"Do you?" Asked Jesus.

"There were lots of people, Lord." Peter started. "They all wanted different things."

"Go on."

"Well, the Romans thought that a really popular Rabbi was coming into town."

"Isn't that what happened?"

"Yes, but you came in like some kind of farcical royal procession. If they want an excuse to blame us for sedition, you just gave it to them!"

"I did not pretend to be the Roman emperor."

"That's not the point," Peter shot back, "You intentionally made fun of the emperor."

"I did no such thing." Jesus knelt and started arrangeing blankets on a mat in the corner.

"Okay, what about the people cheering you on?"

"What about them?"

"They were looking for the Son of Man."

"And they have found him."

"They expected the Son of Man to ride out of the sky and defeat their enemies, like in those cheesy Apocalypses people are always reading nowadays."

"That is a poetic but accurate description." He said passively. "I am the Son of Man, and you could say I 'came from the sky' thirty...." he counted on his fingers "...thirty three years ago. And as for defeating their enemies, in a week's time I will have done that too."

"You're going to defeat the Romans in one week?" Peter asked incredulously.

Jesus stood up and narrrowed his eyes. "Rome is nothing." He said. "Our biggest enemy is not Rome."

This only made Peter madder. "What about the zealots--some of them support you, you know. If you wanted to score points with them, you should've had your angel or whatever he was deliver a war horse--then they would have proclaimed you king and rallied around you as their leader. Did you have a donkey delivered just to frustrate them?"

Jesus grinned ear to ear. "Yes," he said, "I thought that was a nice touch."

"You don't care, do you?" Peter was shouting now. "You don't give two shakes about making friends, do you? You're a virtual enemy factory, that's what you are! Are you trying to upset everybody in the whole city? Promise them the world and then give them what they do not want?"

"Sit down, Peter, before you break something." Peter did what he was told and Jesus continued. "Tell me, Peter, are you so sure that those people did not get what they wanted?"

Peter thought about it. He put all his questioning and anger on hold for a moment and thought about it. Hard. Jesus waited for awhile and then started to rock to the sound of a lyre being plucked out on the street. Finally Peter broke his reverie. "No. I guess you're right. They all got exactly what they wanted, but not in the way that they expected. That's the point, isn't it? We all get what we want, but not the way we expect it."

Jesus grinned non-committally. Then he started to pull off his tunic and get ready for his nap. "And what about you, Peter? What is it you want?"

Peter started to seeth again. "What do you care? What do you care what I want? You break up a good business, you take me away from my family, you make us trudge all over Judea living like paupers, and then you go and pull a stupid stunt like this that's going to get you killed! I don't have any hope of getting what I want. I know what I am getting, though--an ulcer!"

"And you're giving me a headache." Jesus said. He laid down and put a towel over his eyes. "You didn't answer my question. What do you want?"

Peter choked back the emotion that had begun swelling in his throat. "I want you to live. I want you to LIVE."

Jesus exhaled deeply. "You will have what you want, Peter. But not the way you want it."

Let us pray.