Palm Sunday

This is the text of the message I prepared for KSSM for Palm Sunday 2019.

Isaiah 50:4-9a; Psalm 31:9-16; Philippians 2:5-11; Luke 19:28-40

Palm Sunday is one of those days when you’d think the sermon, and the Bible readings, would be obvious.  Maybe that’s true, but then you all know me well enough now to know that the obvious sermon topic is very unlikely to appear when I am preaching, and even if it does appear it will be given a surprising slant.  So no, today we heard from Isaiah and Paul rather than Luke, but don’t worry, the donkey is on his way.

Today’s passage from the Hebrew Tradition, from Isaiah, is the third of four so called “servant songs”; in this song the servant is speaking directly to those Israelites who have strayed from God’s ways while they have been exiled.  The teacher in this case is not so much one person as he is a representation of the true Israel, the nation (and the group of people within it) who have stood their ground amidst abuse and disrespect from The Fallen because they know that The LORD is Israel’s companion and vindication.  The advice is to the straying people of Israel, but also to the Babylonians, and it is to say that God is faithful and dependable and so all hope is far from lost, even in this dire situation.  The teacher’s task, as it is in all four servant songs, is to take the word of God which God has spoken to him and to proclaim that word to the world, beginning with the fallen within Israel, the ones described as weary in Isaiah 50:4.  Conversely it is this mob of weary and disheartened who rise up and beat up the prophet with all the spitting and sneering and beard-pulling action; but even this has not disheartened the prophetic voice, since it shows to him how much his message of deliverance is required.  The servant says in Isaiah 50:8, he who vindicates me is near: who will contend with me.  In other words, God has my back, so bring it on, and let’s argue this thing out.  At the same time the teacher knows that scorners are gonna scorn, so he’s aware that even though God will vindicate him as a teacher and God will vindicate his message, he will still be beaten up and worn down in the work of teaching.

The same theme is seen in today’s Psalm, 31, which reads as a prayer for deliverance in the midst of distress.  Read, indeed hear how the psalmist complains to God how worn out with trying and with sorrowing he is.  This worshipper comes to God and tells The Father that he is mocked, shunned, abandoned, and shamed by his neighbours.  The psalmist has no friends except for God, but God is trustworthy and faithful, God is listening and compassionate, and God is his God who has eternity in sight.  No matter what other people say or do or think, the man or woman who remains faithful to God and to the calling of prophecy and teaching will be saved because God is steadfast in love.

Many of you know that I used to work as a schoolteacher.  I once might have said “I used to be a teacher”, but that’s not true: I still am a teacher, I just don’t work in schools any more.  So, as a teacher still, and one of God’s people set apart by God and the Church to bring the word from God to the people of God, I have some insights into this.

The first is that teaching can be physically dangerous.  Regardless of what we read in Isaiah, I can tell you that I have been assaulted at schools where I have taught.  I have been spat at and spat on, I have been kicked, punched, pushed, wrapped in sticky tape, had furniture thrown at me, had nuisance phone calls threatening me with arson, and I have been the subject of graffiti and emotional bullying.  (And that was just in the staffroom…)   And whilst no one has had a go at my physical person at church, yet, I have been emotionally beaten up in my teaching ministry in congregations through gossip, derision, and agendas pushed through councils of the church to have me banned from preaching because my words (which I  maintain were God’s) pricked somebody’s pimple.  I get why the Pharisees were angry at Jesus, and the exiles angry at Jeremiah and the suffering servant, I’ve been there on the receiving end and I’ve had my theology and my mental stability questioned by people who were offended by the gospel as I proclaimed it.  I know that I can also get shouty and sarcastic in my speech, and because of that I’m focussing today’s thoughts on those few times when I was not in the wrong.

The second is that teaching as an activity is useless if no one is learning.  For example, I could pause here for a moment and give you a twenty minute run down on how to add numbers across the tens barrier.  If you have enough fingers you can add three and five to make eight; but how do you add three more to eight when you run out of fingers.  I can teach you how to do that, I can teach you a number of ways how to do that, but you wouldn’t actually learn anything.  Why not?  Well because you all know, already, how to do that.  Even as I gave this example, of adding three to eight, many of you went, “yup, eleven”,  in your head, and none of you needed to remove a shoe to get enough digits.  What is the point of my teaching if you are not learning?  In fact if you are not learning then I would argue that whatever it is that I am doing up here, it isn’t actually teaching at all.  In the same way I could give you an excellent sociolinguistics lecture on Russian Formalism and the concept of ostranenie, as developed by Viktor Shklovksy.  You would all be amazed, no doubt, but would you be educated, would you actually learn anything?  Or would you be confused?  Even if I translated ostranenie into English as “defamiliarisation” would that help?  Even if I tell you that this is more of a narratological concept than a sociolinguistic one, and ask whether any of you noted the deliberate mistake three sentences ago, would that help?  Again, if you’re not learning, then I’m not teaching.

And perhaps putting points one and two together, if you don’t want to learn from me, then I’m not teaching you.  I cannot teach you if you don’t want to learn, and since this is church and not school I can’t force you to learn and keep you in your seat until you do.  In fact the last time I tried to force someone to stay in his seat until he learned something he stood up and threw the chair at me.  But, again, this is church and you can’t do that.  I hope I’ve made my point though, even if I am not in physical danger of immanent assault, and even if I pitch my sermons and Wednesday Bible studies at your level rather than at child or postgraduate speciality level, if you don’t want to learn then you won’t.  And if you don’t want to learn then I can’t teach you.  That’s okay, maybe you don’t need me to teach you, maybe you already know everything there is to know and so nothing that I say, even with eloquence and a sound pedagogical structure, will interest you in the slightest.  Maybe you don’t need to be here at all, or I don’t.  Maybe that’s what the exiles in Babylon and the Pharisees in Jerusalem thought about the bearers of God’s word.

Jesus wasn’t like that.  From Paul’s letter to the Christians at Philippi we read how the mindset of Christ Jesus, an attitude of humility and self-emptying, complete trust even in death lead to his exaltation and glory.  In a congregation where many of you hold the doctrinal position of “no creed but Christ”, here in Philippians 2:5-11 is a manifesto for us to proclaim, the complete words of scripture telling the life story of Jesus from incarnation to resurrection.  What it means to be like Christ, to be a Christian, is to be humble in humanity and obedient toward God.  We know this is the right way because the man who acted most fully in this way was exalted by God to the highest possible glory.  This is the attitude and the conduct that God rewards, because this is the human life by which God is most fully blessed.  Blessed are the teachable, for they will hear God most clearly and therefore obey God most fully.  The existence of Jesus, (more than his shape or his attitude) his very being is one not of grasping but of surrender.  More than what Christ does or even who Christ is, this is what Christ is as Christ, God the Son.  Christ is open-handedness, Christ is letting go, and Christ is unambiguous and unlimited trust in The Father, even as Christ is The LORD.  When all of that was accounted for in the incarnation and death of Jesus, at the resurrection the God-ness of Christ was restored.  Both are the real Christ, God the Son was no less God for being Jesus from Nazareth, the Son of Man.  Neither are we or anyone else any less the image and likeness of God (Genesis 1:26) for being alive as women and men today.  Godliness is not about how much of a spiritual presence you are, rather than flesh-and-bone, godliness is about how much like God you are when God was flesh-and-bone.  Are you humble, do you know who you are and who you are not?  Are you teachable, do you know what you need to learn, and are you willing to listen to whichever teacher God sends you, be that a preacher, a podcast, a book, a shared experience with a mate, or an epiphany at the end of your bed.  And if you want God to speak to you in a book or a podcast, and God speaks to you in a sermon or a song, will you listen, or not?

When Jesus entered Jerusalem on the Sunday before the Friday on which he died, Luke tells us that Jesus was riding a colt.  Previously two disciples had been sent ahead to find the colt and to inform anyone who asked that the Lord needed the colt and that they should be allowed to take it.  The fact that Jesus was actually riding the colt shows that the colt was allowed to be taken to Jesus, and for him to ride it.  Someone was listening to God at that point, even when God spoke in the accent of some random Galilean who was sprung in the middle of untying the beast.  When Jesus (and the colt) rode into Jerusalem the people cried out “blessed is the king who comes!” and “peace in heaven and glory!”  Again, they had been listening for God and were ready to hear the word of Heaven however it came.  The ordinary Judeans heard God speak, even in their own voices, and even when the highly educated and rigorously theological scholars could not.  How ambivalent do you need to be to the coming of the Word of God that you are dull to the sounds of worship, dull to the presence of the Word Incarnate (even in humble form) standing in front of you, so dull that even the singing or rocks would probably escape you?

Seriously, how dull?  Dull enough that within a week you’ll hang the King of Kings for treason, and the God of Gods for blasphemy?  Today is Palm Sunday, open your ears, open your eyes, open your hearts; let worship alone open your mouths.  And in the name of every teacher who has ever lived to help you learn, please, resist every urge to be dull.

Amen.

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Palm Sunday B (Annunciation)

This is the text of the message I prepared for Morwell Uniting Church for Sunday 25th March 2018, which was Palm Sunday and also the Feast of the Annunciation.

Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29; Philippians 2:5-11; Mark 11:1-11

Today is Palm Sunday, I’m sure you already knew that without my having to tell you.  I wonder however, did you know today is also the day of the Feast of the Annunciation, the day upon which we celebrate the messenger Gabriel and his news to Mary that she has become pregnant by God?  Think about it, it’s nine months today until Christmas day.  Have you heard of that idea before?  March 25th, yeah?  That would be why we’ve just read from Isaiah 7 and sung “O come, O come Emmanuel”, yeah?  Clever.

 Well if you did know all of that, well done, but did you also know the tradition that the actual Good Friday upon which Jesus died was March 25th?  The theory goes that Jesus died on the anniversary of his conception; thereby completing the cycle of God the Son’s incarnation all rather neatly.  I must admit that I am radically unconvinced by this theory, for many reasons, but it is a rather nice puzzle even if it is all conjecture.  And hey, “Christ was born for thi-is, Christ was born for this” as we good Christians all rejoiced back in December.

Mark tells us that Jesus and his followers entered Jerusalem on the Sunday before the Passover festival; they have come to participate in one of the three great pilgrimage festivals in Judaism.  In John’s gospel Jesus comes and goes from Jerusalem quite a bit over his three years of ministry, but Mark (and Matthew and Luke who base their gospels on Mark’s) has Jesus coming to Jerusalem only one time, this time, and have Jesus ministering for less than a year.  So, this event is a big deal for Mark, and this passage describes the day that the Messiah enters the city for the first time.  Now, since it was expected of Jews from around the world that they would make their way to Jerusalem for the festival Jesus had probably been to Jerusalem before.  Luke tells us that Jesus’ parents brought him several times when he was a boy, to have him dedicated to God as a newborn firstborn, and again when he was a twelve-year-old.  So, Jesus has been before, but today he is coming as Messiah, not as a pilgrim.

 Passover was a time of celebrating the special identity of the Jewish religion and the Israelite people; of the three big festivals Passover was the biggest and it was a time of heightened awareness of nationalism and the pride that there was in being Jewish.  As Australians we might imagine Anzac Day with an added tradition that everyone gathers in Canberra for the dawn service at the War Memorial, and then moves across to the lawns of Parliament House for a massive barbeque breakfast.  Okay, that’s big, and it’s sacred.  However, unlike Canberra today Jerusalem in the first century took a bit of getting to.  Without aircraft, buses or cars pilgrims in Jesus’ time would have walked for days or even weeks to reach the city.  They would have travelled in groups with friends, neighbours and families walking and working together to entertain and protect each other.  Along the way the pilgrims would have stayed in designated campsites or hostels where they would have met up with other groups of pilgrims to eat and sleep together but also pray, sing and tell stories as well.  By the time they approached Jerusalem there would have been a mounting excitement and a buzz of expectation.  Songs like Psalm 118 which was read this morning, and other “songs of ascent”, would have been sung along the road and then would have formed part of the worship during the festival itself.  Happy and to be envied is the one who comes in the name of the LORD they sing to one another, reminding each other that this psalm had been composed as a victory hymn in celebration of a great triumph.  It’s “all hail the great, returning, and all conquering king” and all that. This is a song of deliverance and thanksgiving: think VE Day or a parade of gold medallists.  The roads to Jerusalem in the days before Passover were an exciting place to be and Jesus on his donkey is arriving right in the middle of it all.

 And that is part of the problem:  Jesus is coming on a mission of peace and reconciliation, riding a colt and not a stallion, but the crowds are shouting for Jewish victory.  The first part of Psalm 118:24, which was read to us as this is the day The LORD has made can also be translated this is the day on which The LORD takes action:  the pilgrims have reached Jerusalem and are ready to kick some Roman heads.  In a similar vein Hosanna means “save us” and was a general cry of praise, but in the heightened tension of the festival it also came to mean “get on with saving us (and kick the Romans back into Italy)”.

 So, I wonder whether in throwing down their cloaks and taking up the palm fronds the crowds acted spontaneously; already hyped up by being so near to Jerusalem did they see Jesus and go mental?  Did the Jerusalemites, swept up in the arrival of so many excited tourists to their city allow themselves to be swept along in the mob?  There may have been mixed emotions in the crowd, everyone using the same words but with very different agendas.  Some were crying out in ecstatic praise at reaching their destination at Jerusalem and the temple courts themselves.  Others were no doubt happy to see that nice healing-working prophet from Galilee.  Others still were crying out to the long-awaited Messiah with a demand for action, hopeful that Jesus might just be that Messiah.  Regardless of the intricacies, everyone was saying “God, continue saving us and make us victorious!”  But just like the crowds around Jesus we must take care to enter the celebration yet remain focussed on the meaning of the festival.  The message of Palm Sunday and the lead in to Holy Week may well be don’t get swept along in all the hype or you’ll miss Jesus’ point!

 In Psalm 118:22 we read that the stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone.  This wording was also used by Jesus (Matthew 21:42) to describe himself, and by Paul (Ephesians 2:20) to describe Jesus.  At this point in the story it is not Jesus who has been rejected by the Jewish leaders so much as what he represents.  Jesus is the cornerstone and foundation of Christianity, but more than the man or his teaching it is Jesus’ act of submission and trust to the point of deep humiliation and suffering that our hope is based on.  Yes, celebrate the man who is king but look closer at what is right in front of you: see what everyone else has missed.  The saviour king is riding a foal amongst the rabble, rather than a charger at the head of a parade, or a cloud at the head of the host of angels.  God is not who you think God is and the messiah was never intended to come as a new David conquering the Jebusites, or another Judas Maccabaeus recovering Jerusalem from the Seleucids.   It was never ever God’s intention that Jesus would overthrow the Roman colonial governors.

 Mark helps us out because he is more interested in presenting the humility and the lowliness of Jesus than the triumphalism of the crowd.  This is where we too must look.  For Mark this is not a triumphal entry at all, see how he tells the story.  After arriving in the city amongst the pilgrims Jesus takes a quick look at the temple, then turns right around and leaves Jerusalem for the night.  He doesn’t do anything.  He doesn’t address the crowd, he doesn’t speak to anyone, and he doesn’t even stay in the city.  Is this a deliberate anticlimax?  Mark’s story of the Sunday before Easter is a story of meekness and majesty, humiliation and vindication.  All four words describe Jesus at various points across the day.

The instruction to us, as we look to this coming week towards Thursday, Friday and Sunday, is that grace, mercy, and hope are Jesus’ meaning.  Jesus is Lord and King; and that is why he alone can offer grace, mercy and hope.  This week our focus needs to be on Jesus as “the least of these”, the meek one who allowed himself to be arrested and murdered by people and ideas far weaker than himself so that his glory, and his revelation of God as the God of all, could be displayed in the strongest way possible.  Christians alone of all religious people have a God who is prepared to die for them at their own hands.  On this Palm Sunday and Annunciation day I suggest that we dishonour God when we get all triumphal and energetic when God’s own nature is to be humble and anonymous.  Or, as Paul said, let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.…so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in Heaven and on Earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father.

That’s what we want isn’t it, that Jesus would be worshipped and adored?  So, let’s have the mind of Christ and see him glorified.

Amen.

Liturgy of the Palms

This is the text of the message I preached on Palm Sunday, 9th April 2017 at Lakes Entrance Uniting Church.

Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29; Matthew 21:1-11

Palm Sunday is one of those days of which I have specific memories from childhood.  I couldn’t tell you what happened on the third Sunday in August in any given year, or even the second Sunday in April for that matter, but while actual years are uncertain I can recall Palm Sundays from years long past.  I mean there was that year, several in fact, when we(e) Sunday school kids paraded into church waving huge palm fronds and singing Carl Tuttle’s “Hosanna”.  There was the year when “Jesus” actually rode in to church on a mountain bike covered in tinsel, and the year previously when a real donkey had been sourced.  (When said, donkey left behind what donkeys sometimes do, right in front of the pulpit, the mountain bike was substituted in seemed a better option the following year.)  I remember the cool vicar we had in one church where we high-fived each other in passing the peace because it was “palm” Sunday.  (Don’t laugh, I nearly made you do it today.)  I remember the huge palms we had available to us the three years my family lived in Darwin, and how the front of the church looked like a Pacific Islander hut.  I remember processing in to the cathedral one year with a couple of hundred of us, waving the palms we’d collected in the forecourt as we walked the length of the nave, back down the sides to the great doors, and then up the nave again to find a seat.  I remember the palm crosses we had in Hobart, and how those were kept by us as bookmarks in our Bibles and then returned to church the following year on Shrove Tuesday when they were incinerated and used for the ashes of the next day’s Ash Wednesday.  I remember several years hearing the “Hosanna, Hey-sanna, -sanna, -sanna, Ho” from Jesus Christ Superstar as our call to worship.  And I remember last year when there were no palms at all but clay crosses made by a potter in our congregation: I’ve been wearing mine all Lent this year and have it on now.  (Thanks Mark from Yankalilla!)

But what I don’t remember, really, is any of the sermons from Palm Sunday.  Perhaps, like me, you know the story so well that you don’t remember ever being told it, or any specific occasion upon which it is told.  What the other lectionary readings are never really mattered since you know the minister would preach from Matthew 21:1-9, Mark 11:1-10, or Luke 19:28-40 depending upon which year of the cycle we were in.  (And in case you have forgotten we are in the Year of Matthew in 2017.)

My lectionary tells me that for this Sunday, this year, there is no Old Testament or New Testament reading set.  None.  They are blank spaces in my chart for today.  Just a Psalm, and a Gospel.  Looking further into the lectionary I see that the same Psalm is offered each year, actually a choice of two, and one is not a song of celebration at all.  Amidst all the branch waving, coat flinging, song and dance and donkey poo of Jesus’ heralding by the crowd there is a note of distress and depression.  Some are sad when everyone else is celebrating.  Well spotted, I say to the choosers of the lectionary: always someone will be sad whenever a party is passing through, and oftentimes, indeed always I would suggest, there are sad feelings within the party itself.

I’m not convinced that Palm Sunday was a completely joyful day for Jesus.

One interpretation of the events of Palm Sunday, offered by Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan among others, is that Jesus on his donkey is deliberately making a fool of Pilate.  The whole event is parody. Jesus’ procession into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday is a mirror of and a direct challenge to Pilate’s own entry into the city on the same day as an act of protest at the Roman imperial procession.  Jesus is possibly simmering with anger, perhaps frustrated by the noisy crowds who haven’t got as clue of what he is up to as he calculatingly affirms the alternative way of the Reign of God.  The contrast between the two processions is plain: one, a procession of peasants lead by Jesus on a donkey coming from the East and Bethany via the Mount of Olives, and the other a procession of soldiers lead by Pilate coming from the West and the provincial capital at Caesarea Maritima on the coast.  More than competing parades the two processions indicated competing theologies.  Beginning with Augustus and now in the person of Tiberius the Roman emperor was hailed as “the Son of God”, “lord”, “saviour”, and bringer of “peace on Earth”, terms unwarranted according to Jewish theology and terms later taken by the Christians to refer to the man entering the capital from the mountains.  With Jesus being hailed with “Hosanna” as blessed and Davidic there is a distinct and deliberate political feel to this event: Jesus’ parade is anti-military, anti-war, and decidedly anti-imperial.  It is not a party, not at all.

I don’t remember hearing that message in my childhood, not at all.

But that’s okay, Borg and Crossan might not be “right” in their interpretation, and even if they are not “wrong” there are other ways of looking at what is going on

Jesus acts deliberately on this day, the Bible assures us of that.  In Matthew’s account, which we heard today, Jesus appears to rides two animals, a donkey and a colt and we are told that the disciples put their cloaks on “them” and Jesus sat on “them”, which is to say both animals.  Matthew, and so does John, quotes Zechariah 9:9 as the reason why the donkeys must be present, but in Matthew Jesus explains it to the disciples before the ride and in John Jesus speaks to the crowds after he arrives.  In John Jesus responds to the worship by riding a donkey, in Matthew Jesus orchestrates the worship by arriving unannounced on two donkeys.  Either way, he’s up to something.

I think the clue is found in the Zechariah passage itself where the king of Zion triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on…the foal of a donkey has a few things going on.   He is obviously a victor, both in the tradition of the Jewish Scriptural tradition and the Roman Imperial tradition, but he is also humble.  He’s riding a foal, not a stallion.  Perhaps the parody of Pilate is not so nasty in its intent, perhaps Jesus is humble and is showing a better way.  Yes, he is king, yes, he is returning to his capital, but he doesn’t need to make a big show of it, he knows who is he and his people flock to him because he is their king, not because he is loud and covered in brass and flags.  Real kings, like real men, don’t need to show off; real kings are confident and calm.  Let Pilate have his monkeys, the unruffled Jesus does what he wants to do, and he is so attractive because of it.

This also is missing from my memory of child and youthhood pageant, the chillaxed Jesus cruising in to town.  But I like it.

Open the gate for the righteous to enter so that he might to give thanks to God, demands the Psalmist in Psalm 118:19-20. We read of one man’s public, celebratory thanksgiving for salvation in Psalm 118:21 found in God’s seeing the hidden potential in him and for giving him a second chance to shine in Psalm 118:22.  This leads into delight in recognising God’s handiwork at work in Psalm 118:23, which leads into the day of rejoicing in Psalm 118:24.

The first words spoken by Elizabeth Tudor after she was told that she’d inherited the queenship of England are said to have been Psalm 118:23. For a Protestant, bastard, girl under house-arrest and the ever-present threat of execution for treason (or a simple, quiet murder) to inherit a kingdom from her Roman Catholic, and rather bitter half-sister, the new Queen Elizabeth knew that divine forces were at play.  The same is true of us: let us rejoice and be glad in this day is a fitting response.  Look at how the psalmist goes on, crying out “Hosanna” which means “God save me and look here my salvation comes” all at once.  The hosanna in Psalm 118:25 is the beseeching cry of a woman who knows she has already been chosen for salvation and is waiting with bated breath for God to complete the marvellous work in her.

Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the LORD says Psalm 118:26, “baruch habar b’shem Adonai” as Jews still yell to each other in worship, and “baruch b’shem” when they’re passing the peace.  The crowds called this to Jesus as he rode past them, indicating that their hosannas were directed towards him.  The one who comes in the name of the LORD is the same one who brings salvation and success, and the one who calls forth the light. These words are loaded with meaning for Jewish worshippers.  In the story of Jesus these are not the cries of an overexcited mob who have lost their minds, the people know what they are saying and that is why the Sanhedrin are so disturbed by it.  Tell this uneducated rabble to stop using worship language, they tell Jesus later.  Jesus responds that they may be uneducated but they know worship when they see it, and it is so obvious that even if they (like you) missed it the geology of Zion itself would cry out.  As Hillsong pastor Darlene Zschech has said “no way!  If Jesus is here I refuse to be out-shouted by a rock!”

The Psalm, when placed beside the gospel, gives us two versions of the events of this day in the life of Jesus:

Version one is that Jesus himself is demanding that the gates be opened to him, so that he may enter and worship the God who has been so amazingly faithful to him.  Let’s not forget how amazing the Father was to the Son; Jesus had a lot to say thank you for.  Even as he set a model for us in receiving baptism, Jesus also shows us that no-one is above the duty to worship God in thanksgiving and wonder.  So, gates, open wide and let Jesus himself cry Hosanna! to the God who will save and is right now saving him.  This might be a less well known version, but when you consider that in Matthew Jesus gets off the donkeys and walks straight into the temple I believe he had worship on his mind.  (That he then throws the noisy farmers’ market stallholders out is even more evidence, he’s here to pray and not to eat jam donuts at 30c each or three for $1, or buy perfumed candles and bric-a-brac.)

Version two is the better known one, that the crowds recognise in Jesus the one who brings the salvation of God.  We bless you, the one who comes to us in person with the authority of God, (coming in the Name, Ha’Shem), to do the work of God amongst us.  Open wide those gates so that when the saviour comes he will not be held up for one second.

So, whether you believe Jesus rode one animal or two, that he came as parody of Pilate or as humble yet confidently beloved worshipper of God, that he was enjoying the moment of the joy of the crowd or silently meditating on the full ontological meaning of the prophetic sign he was enacting, the public entry of Jesus to Jerusalem is significant.  This year amidst our palm branches and our memories of the pageants of decades past, of donkeys, mountain bikes, sword-grass and pottery crosses, High-Church, Low-Church, and perhaps even no-church Palm Sundays of remembrance, that our key duty is to worship God in thanksgiving and awe at what the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem really meant for him and for the world.  One man came to give all that he had in worship of God, and all that he had was taken from him before a week had passed.

Amen.