The Stones Would Shout Out
A Palm Sunday sermon preached with the people of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Oakland, California.
When Jesus of Nazareth rides into the urban center of Jerusalem, mocking the grandiose parades of a ballooning empire, a crowd lines his path.
I imagine it felt like a peaceful protest; a well-organized demonstration:
The crowd playing along with the parody and showing genuine deference to this healer-teacher-preacher they have come to see; throwing their cloaks on the ground to make the path dry and soft for the hoofs of a lowly donkey.
And then, the “whole multitude” of the crowd, praising God joyfully with a loud voice,” saying:
“Blessed is the king
who comes in the name of the Lord!
Peace in heaven,
and glory in the highest heaven!”
It’s as clever as any protest chant I’ve ever heard. They’ve taken a well-known song and changed one lyric to give it new meaning for a new context, and to grab listeners’ attention.
The “original” lyrics from Psalm 118 read, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.” Catch the difference? Their chant here today in Jerusalem goes, “blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord.”
Clever. And revolutionary. And, dangerous.
I have sometimes thought that these people didn’t quite understand. I have thought that they were asking Jesus of Nazareth to wear the earthly crown he so clearly rejected. I have thought that out of their desperate needs and hopes for themselves and their nation, and their community, they were asking for Jesus to fix everything for them.
But today. This year. This Palm Sunday. I think they knew exactly what was going on.
I think out of their desperate needs and hopes for themselves and their nation, and their community, that they were saying, there is a power so much greater than any king, or emperor or provincial governor who parades through our cities. It is the only real power; the power of God. And we know the Spirit of that power flows in and through the people when we come together, form relationships, see each other, and as Jesus of Nazareth does, center the most marginalized, oppressed and threatened among us. When that happens, the slow, real work of fixing can begin.
The people gathering in Jerusalem that day were making a statement about power. And it was not predicated on the expectation of a magical quick-fix. It was the voicing of the truest hope.
The hope of God’s close-at-hand, coming, revolutionary reign of holy reversals, when the mighty will fall from their thrones and all things will be made new. The reign we catch glimpses of when we come together in that hope. The reign that looks like a king — like God — not in a chariot or private plane, but on a donkey.
And the religious leaders present that day, who address Jesus with respect, calling him teacher — implore him to tell these people to stop; to think of his own safety – these are dangerous words he’s stirring up; reference to a king who is not an authority of the state. Reference to a power far greater than a mighty empire.
And Jesus responds, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”
The stones would shout out.
The power these people are praising and singing about is the very force of the universe. The message is so urgent that we can hear all of creation — plants, and animals, and sea, and land, and stones — preaching it, when we pay attention.
And so, Jesus carries on; accompanied by a choir of protest and praise. Into Jerusalem, and onto the path toward … the cross.
So, we are not here this morning to hear a fairytale. That is not what we have in the story of Jesus of Nazareth. We have something much harder. And, so. much. better. We have a life in the truest hope.
As we walk through this Holy Week — from Palm Sunday, on to Maundy Thursday, and Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil and Easter Sunday, I believe we receive “instructions” of a sort for living this life in hope, even when it may seem like the world is falling apart.
We will see that there is freedom in allowing ourselves to be vulnerable, to be cared for, to be known, to be generous and courageously impractical.
We will see that there is strength and comfort in community, togetherness and care for one another.
We will see that those understood to be the weakest are so often the bravest.
We will see that earthly crowns can burden the mind and heart of beloved children of God.
We will see that grief comes for each of us in its own time in its own way.
We will see that most disciples will mess up while walking this Holy Week journey: will be too distracted to be mindful and present with those experiencing anxiety and sleeplessness in the face of possible arrest; or too scared to admit in public that they are a part of Jesus’ liberative movement; or too worried and frightened to show up at the most terrifying, violent time; or too tired to maintain shouts of protest and praise, giving over to shouts of “crucify him”; or too cynical to recognize the miracle of the resurrection when it appears right in front of them.
We will see that no one is either practiced or perfect in these things, during times when the world might seem to be falling apart.
And, we will see that this is all forgiven. All of it. And, that the invitation to God’s community and God’s table is ever-valid, and does not require perfection or purity. We will see that God is not in the business of guilt, or of shame.
We will, I hope, feel a sense of perspective. Of our little spot in the long unfolding story of God and God’s people.
I pray we — I pray I — will come away on Easter morning — with its flowers and music and sweets and celebrations — with a renewed sense of the true power of God; a power no earthly prince can or has ever held; a power that works in and through God’s people, collectively, when we are gentle with ourselves, and start to see one another, form relationships with one another – and not just in our comfort zones, but across every perceived divide; be in community with one another, line the streets with one another, throw down our cloaks with one another.
And, I pray we come away with the strength to remember that even when voices of people proclaiming God’s power are silenced, others will take up the chant. And if they are silenced? Well, the stones will keep shouting.
And the story will go on, until all is made new.
Not a quick fix. But the truest hope.
Our hope. The same hope that flowed through the crowd in Jerusalem so long ago. The hope that comes in knowing the power of God.
“Blessed is the king
who comes in the name of the Lord!
Peace in heaven,
and glory in the highest heaven!”