On Palm Sunday we commemorate Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem on a donkey. In the What are the dumbest interpretations of the Bible sweepstakes, this story has inspired real winners. Here, we’ve been told by clergy who should know better, is a picture of a meek and mild Jesus riding into Jerusalem. This is very dumb.
In ancient Israel, you could tell who was king because he rode into the city on a pack animal. In the Book of Judges, Jair had 30 sons who owned 30 donkeys and they ruled 30 cities in Gilead. [Judges 10] King David’s son Adonijah couldn’t wait for the old man to kick the bucket so he made a bid for the throne and announced himself as king, the successor to David. When word reached David, he gathered his trusted officers — Zadok the priest, Nathan the prophet, and Benaiah, one of his mighty men — and commanded them, “Take your Lord’s servants with you and set Solomon, my son, on my own mule, and take him to Gihon. There anoint him king over Israel. Blow the trumpet. Shout, ‘Long live King Solomon!’” [1 Kings 1]
Jesus’ riding into Jerusalem on a donkey at Passover (nobody does that) put Rome and the religious establishment on notice. I own this city, is what Jesus was saying. This place is mine. He deliberately staged the whole thing.
The Christ who promises to be with us always, the one who says, “I tell you these things that in me ye might have peace. In the world you will have trials and tribulation, but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world,” is no milquetoast. He is the same one we say this to on the 5th day of every month in Morning Prayer.
The earth is the Lord’s and the fulness thereof, / the world and those who dwell therein; / for he has founded it upon the seas, / and established it upon the rivers. / Who shall ascend the hill of the Lord? / And who shall stand in his holy place? / He who has clean hands and a pure heart, / who does not lift up his soul to what is false, / and does not swear deceitfully. / He will receive blessing from the Lord, / and vindication from the God of his salvation. / Such is the generation of those who seek him, / who seek the face of the God of Jacob. Selah / Lift up your heads, O gates! / and be lifted up, O ancient doors! / that the King of glory may come in. / Who is the King of glory? / The Lord, strong and mighty, / the Lord, mighty in battle! / Lift up your heads, O gates! / and be lifted up, O ancient doors! / that the King of glory may come in. / Who is this King of glory? / The Lord of hosts, / he is the King of glory! Selah
Welcome to St Stephen’s.
—PCE+
Dear Chums,
“Every Sunday is a little Easter and every Easter is a big Sunday,” Our boss in New York, Bill Tully, used to say that to me and Christine twenty-five years ago. I want to call Bill today, down there in Santa Barbara, to check on him and say, like a good protégé, every Sunday is a little Palm Sunday. Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and might, / heaven and earth are full of your glory. / Hosanna in the highest. / Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. / Hosanna in the highest. Hosanna in the highest.
We sing the Sanctus and the Benedictus every Sunday in church when life is normal and we keep saying them at home in our slippers now that life is cattywampus. (When coronavirustide has blown over and we all get to go back to church, bring your slippers. Let’s be Japanese. We’ll take our shoes off at the door. Christine and I want to see you in the mules you wore for livestreamed services.) Every Sunday, at the Altar or at the altar you make of your sofa, we say or sing Hosanna. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest.
Hosanna in Hebrew is a signal flare; it means ‘Help!’ or ‘Rescue us!’ It has always meant that. What’s different now is that we’re more aware that we need to be saved. This year, we tell the Most High we need him to come among us and sort things out and we put our hearts into it.
I was perplexed last week. Anxiety announced that she would be staying for a while. And as I said Compline that night, I remembered where I was in time: the Eve of the Annunciation. On the 25th of March we commemorate the announcement of the Archangel Gabriel to the blessed Virgin Mary. All he asked her to do was become the mother of God the Son, Jesus Christ. Mary said to the angel, “How can this be?” She was perplexed.
Sometimes in life the unexpected happens, something big, something that demands a lot from us. We cannot fully comprehend what’s happening. St Bernard of Clairvaux, commenting on this scene from the Gospel of Luke, tells us how the whole world waited anxiously for Mary’s response. Without it, humanity would never have received its savior. “I am the handmaid of the Lord,” said Mary. “Let it be done to me according to thy word.” Her Yes means that in nine months time it will be Christmas Day.
One of my favorite pictures is this thirteenth-century one of Mary sorting the devil out whilst an angel holds toddler Jesus who’s clapping or praying.
Mary doesn’t have enough middle fingers for the devil. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.
Our thoughts at this time are especially with the sick, the poor, the elderly, with medical professionals caring for us in hospitals and in research labs. They move us to tears. At 8 o’clock sharp here in Tiburon every one of us in the parish it seems steps out onto our decks or sticks our head out of a window to shout cheers into the night sky in support of them. Hosanna! I hoop n’ holler and take myself to Austin, Texas and my niece Hannah, a nurse, and so many others like her. You are a kind of nurse when you bring meals and cookies to people. Those are signal flares, prayers made soup or banana bread.
Perhaps you’ve seen the pictures of two nurses who posted a video of themselves holding up signs through the window of their intensive care unit: “We are at work for you. You stay at home for us.” It’s a small thing, but it’s a big ask. That’s how we can all help and show our solidarity, looking not after our own interests but also the interests of others. Our faith unites us with our Creator and those willing to do his bidding. Learning of how you're going about that business puts me in touch with my deepest longings. Together with you I ask the Lord for the grace, energy, and power to do what would otherwise be impossible. To bear sickness, suffering, tragedy, and even death. To bear one another’s burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ. It is my prayer today we’ll soon overcome this crisis and be able, like Mary, to look forward to the future with confidence, whatever the cost.
On the eve of Palm Sunday, thinking of the donkey who gave Jesus that ride into Jerusalem, I want the poem I gave you in December for Christmas, a poem from Ursula Askham Fanthorpe, to be now a Palm Sunday card. The poem gives us what she called “an ass’s eye-view of the manger.” In the poet’s fancy, the narrator is the ass in the stable whom Jesus will later ride into Jerusalem.
No room in the inn, of course,
And not that much in the stable
What with the shepherds, Magi, Mary,
Joseph, the heavenly host –
Not to mention the baby
Using our manger as a cot.
You couldn’t have squeezed another cherub in
For love or money.
Still, in spite of the overcrowding,
I did my best to make them feel wanted.
I could see the baby and I
Would be going places together.
—PCE+