Along the Parade Route (Luke 19:28-40)

            I love a good parade.  The marching bands, the floats, the merriment of the children as they watch the parade go by (or their giddy excitement as a handful of candy comes sailing towards them).  Back home, one of the small towns had an annual parade around the time of the county rodeo.  The parade consisted of a line of floats being pulled by tractors and pickups, a marching band, a few kids on bikes and four-wheelers, and a handful of people on horseback.  The parade was small enough that at the end of the four-block parade route, the parade circled the block and went back down the street, just in case somebody missed it. 
            Last November, Kerry and I spent Thanksgiving in New York City. We wanted to see the Macy’s Day parade, however, we soon realized that everybody else had the same idea.  The streets were packed with people, so we stayed in and watched the parade on the television.  Afterwards, we found ourselves walking along the parade route about two hours after the parade.  The city cleaning crews were busy sweeping up an entire forest’s worth of confetti on the street, and we waded past piles of litter knee high. 

            The night before, we went to the place where the famous balloons were inflated and then tethered down.  We thought it might be fun to see the balloons.  Unfortunately, everybody else had the same idea.  Before we left, I was able to see one of the balloons on its side, so I like telling people I got to see a Macy’s Day balloon up close.   Unfortunately, it was just a fleeting glimpse of the hem of Sponge Bob’s square pants….

            To understand the entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem, imagine the scene with me:  It’s the great metropolis, and a parade is coming down the street.  The people start craning their necks to see who is coming.  There’s a lot of commotion: people shouting and singing.  Instead of the grand procession they expected, it was a humble little affair, a group of peasants escorting some thin fellow riding a young colt. 

It was not what Jerusalem expected.  It was Passover, so the religious fervor was in the air.  More pilgrims flooded into the city daily, singing and carrying on. A passerby might have expected the noise as a sign some important Roman official was making his way through the city.  A huge entourage accompanied Pilate or a military general, reminding Jerusalem who really ran things.  The crowd of ragged looking peasants and the rather solemn looking rider did not fit in. Jesus rides into town on a very young colt, likely he struggles with dragging his feet on the ground and trying to keep the colt under control.  Pilate and the other Roman officials would be riding only the finest steeds.  

The Triumphal Entry was about as ludicrous as a New Yorker expecting to see the grand balloons, marching bands, and celebrities, and instead down the road came the parade from small town Kansas, tractors puttering down Broadway.

            The story of the “triumphal entry” only got this grand name after the fact.  In the moment, Jesus appears to be in the midst of some political and religious mischief.  The disciples sing a song of praise, paraphrasing the 118^th Psalm, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!”.  Note the disciples add the rather subversive title of “king” to their psalm singing.  His followers while on the way to the Temple proclaim Jesus royalty.  Upon arrival, Jesus will claim religious authority by his “cleansing” of the Temple, chasing away those who he believes exploit the Temple’s true purpose.  As scholar N.T. Wright observes, Jesus is coming to Jerusalem with the intention to claim his royal authority, despite what the imperial and sacred authorities would say (Jesus and the Victory of God, Fortress Press, 1996, p. 490-3).

After creating the commotion that church tradition calls the “cleansing” of the Temple, Jesus stays in the Temple complex for quite some time (the next two chapters!), teaching all who gathered to hear him.  By occupying the Temple, Jesus is claiming the seat of power that the people would claim as the true power over Israel, the Temple, and Jerusalem. “It was the king [long awaited in the messianic hope of the people] who had ultimate authority over the Temple” (Wright, p. 492).

The crowd of disciples seemed so happy, so optimistic, just a few days before, singing of Jesus:

Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord.

Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven! 

Anyone familiar with the Christmas carols picks up on this latter phrase.  The disciples echo an earlier section of Luke as the story of Jesus’ birth is told.  The angelic host sings in the heavens above as Jesus is born.  The disciples sing as Jesus enters into his last week of life.  For Luke’s gospel, the glory of God and the peace of heaven and earth resound at both ends of the story of Jesus’ life.  Nonetheless, this story will not stay in the heights of praise.  In a few short days, the story will come crashing down.

These scenes of “triumphal entry” and “Temple teachings” fade quickly as Luke furthers the story.  The religious rulers are furious and conspire to deal away with Jesus.  One of the inner-circle disciples decides to conspire with the powers that be.  The week that began with such high praise shall end with the drama of a betrayal, a show trial, and then a summary execution.  The disciples will lose their euphoria and disappear into the night, frightened for their very lives.  Jesus will be written off as yet another zealous messianic type, consigned to death by Pilate, a Roman official who just waves the matter away.  Soon, Jesus will be put to death, abandoned by even his closest of disciples, and his corpse is left in a hastily selected tomb.

This story filled with its drama and tragic turn is our focus for this week.  Holy Week is our journey with Jesus.  By undertaking this journey, we encounter the deadliness and finitude of Good Friday.  In the days leading up to the Cross we mourn the world in its ease with resorting to violence and escalating conflict.  Holy Week reminds us that the world has yet to allow the peace and hope taught by Jesus to take abiding root. 

While we enjoy the parade of children with palm branches and the food awaiting us at each of our three services, the festivities will take a necessarily solemn character as well.  During these next few days, Christianity goes on a journey that guides us through disturbing questions about the world’s brokenness.  Jesus heals the marginalized and excluded, yet he is ‘rewarded’ with a humiliating death. 

We see in Pilate and the Temple priests the brutal consequences of humans exercising power and authority with little sense of restraint.  We move along the narrative arc of Jesus’ life and death, facing that dreadful pause of Good Friday’s aftermath and the reality that we do not skip over death when telling the gospel story of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.

            Along the way, if we learn how to tell the gospel story rightly, we sort out the curious “final word” of Jesus as he rides down the parade route.  As the parade is going by, the Pharisees, longtime critics of Jesus, step forward and criticize the raucous singing of the disciples.  Jesus will have none of this.  “Even if my disciples were to be silent, these stones would shout!”

            Where do Jesus’ words about the stones shall shout fit in with the rest of the week ahead of him?  If you find this language puzzling, you need to read the gospel of Luke again.  In Luke’s gospel, people cannot help but burst out into song.  (The Nativity as told by Luke is a veritable musical.)  The parables of Jesus that Luke alone records (i.e. the Prodigal Son is the most celebrated) cannot help but speak of the Kingdom of God being like the party that the father gives when the ne’er-do-well youngest son slinks back home after blowing his inheritance. 

For Luke, the heavens and the earth shimmer with stories of God’s abundant love, and Jesus eats heartily alongside the people that the religion and politics of the day had written off as expendable or without redemption. Nothing will stop the praise of God and the Kingdom that Jesus sees well on its way.  Even the inanimate stones will join in God’s praise if we would somehow fall silent or forget.

There is surely a cross looming large as the gospel draws to a close.  There will be great loss ahead, for this story is part of the world’s story where brokenness and tragedy are to be found.  Yet in this story, cross-shaped as it is, we shall find a joy that breaks forth, beckoning all to join and sing of the King who comes in all humility, with all justice and peace for which this world has been yearning. 

Mark Ends, Easter Begins (Mark 16:1-8)

Mark Ends, Easter Begins

The elementary school building hummed with anticipation all day. Just after lunch, a storyteller would visit for an all-school assembly. As we walked into the auditorium, we found him already there, sitting in a big easy chair, reading a book. He kept reading until the entire school was sitting at his feet. After a moment or two of silence, the storyteller looked up with a bit of a start. He leapt to his feet, tossing his book on the chair. “Oh! I didn’t hear you come in! Would you like to tell a story with me?”

Over the next half-hour, the storyteller spun the story of a knight going off to save the damsel in distress. However, he kept pausing in the midst of his story and selected a child from the audience. “Can you tell me what happened next?” The child would offer a suggestion, and the storyteller wove the child’s idea into the story. By the end of the half-hour, the knight had defeated the evil dragon, and the damsel gave him a kiss. Thanks to the intercession of one child, the story even included the knight’s horse getting a carrot for being such a good horse.

I remember that afternoon story-time with great affection. The storyteller treated each child with respect, allowing us to feel like we had part in the great story of a knight, a damsel, and a carrot-loving horse. It was not “his” story to tell. Instead, it was all of us together, telling the story. In return, the storyteller pushed us to see the many different directions a story could go. He engaged our imagination. We learned that day stories take us so many wonderful places!

Today, we hear a story that ends with a screeching halt. The gospel of Mark ends with these words:

So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

Mark the storyteller gives us a gospel that seems a bit perplexing, even to grownups. Mark’s story of Jesus ends with fear.

The gospel ends with…fear? What happened? Was the original ending lost? Somebody must have thought so. Some scholars ponder perhaps the oldest scrolls of Mark were torn, leaving such an unpolished ending for future generations to puzzle over. Just a few years after Mark’s gospel began circulating around the first century Church, some versions of Mark began to appear with an extra verse tacked on (“the shorter ending”, or Mark 16:8”b”). By the time of the second century, other manuscripts had a “longer ending” added (Mark 16:9-16), adding some rather strange verses noting that believers could handle snakes and drink poison without consequence. (A friendly reminder: do not try this at home!) Surely, the gospel does not end this way!

A fear-filled ending is an oddity, considering how we have shown up in fresh pressed Easter dresses, Easter eggs hidden away for the children afterwards. Regarding Mark’s Gospel, Fred Craddock claims this ending is so strange to hear at Easter. What is the Church, after being encouraged to shout “Alleluia!” all morning long, to do with the gospel story that ends with “fear”?

Scholar Mitzi Minor notes these three women come to the tomb and get “three shocks”. First, they find the stone rolled away from the tomb. Second, they discover a stranger dressed in white. Finally, they hear his word that Jesus is no longer here: not dead but risen and on the move to Galilee. In shock, the women flee, stunned into silence, drenched in fear, overwhelmed by the enormity of what they have encountered. Other gospels go onwards, telling of disciples eventually understanding what happened, doubters turning to believers, and Jesus himself appearing to assure them of his resurrection. Mark’s gospel ends with the image of three women running as hard as they can, off into the distance. (The Power of Mark’s Story)

Just to keep it complicated, the Greek text of Mark’s presumed “original ending” is more maddening. The best translation of Mark 16:8a tends to render the text:

“So they went out and fled the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone. They were afraid for….”

What do we do with this? “They were afraid, for….” Puzzling, isn’t it? The last word of the most ancient copies of Mark’s gospel is “for.…”, the Greek word “gar”. Instead of a conclusion in the traditional sense, we get the impression that something has gone missing. The story ends with dot-dot-dot…, trailing off, and leaving things unfinished. What happened next? Did it end with fear? Did it end with belief? Mark’s gospel, the earliest version known, leaves us hanging! They ran away, terrified and amazed, saying nothing to nobody. They were afraid for….

Now go back to the storyteller from my childhood. A good story engages the mind, taking us to some wonderful places. Jesus himself was adept at spinning a parable that left his listeners, friendly and unfriendly alike, dizzy with the implications of what the kingdom of God is like. Jesus spent his life, indeed “gave” his life, to the teaching and living out of his message. Two millennia later, we gather week after week to learn how to do likewise. There is a power in this story called “gospel”, but what do we do when the gospel vexes us with less than straightforward storytelling?

Let’s do something more common for today’s child to do when caught up in the midst of hearing a story. Let’s hit the “rewind” button and watch the story again. The women come to the tomb, discover the stone rolled away, and encounter this strange male figure dressed in white (note: other gospels claim angelic presence. Mark chooses to be a bit more demure). The man in white tells the women,

Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.

Mark ends on vs. eight, however, it is really vs. seven that presents the narrative complication. Will the women run away and dismiss this word as a hoax? Is death the last word and resurrection a myth? What happens if we leave the empty tomb and, even though dizzied by what we have heard, we summon the courage and the curiosity to look towards Galilee? British scholar Morna Hooker writes,

The ending Mark demands that his readers supply—is the response of faith: it is only those who are prepared to believe and who set off on the journey of faith who will see the risen Lord. (Endings)

The gospel ends on an inconclusive yet demanding note. What comes next? Does fear or faith follow next? Rowan Williams suggests that the “lost ending” of Mark is the reader herself. Williams writes, “We have to discover for ourselves what difference is made by this life, this death, and this disorienting mystery after the crucifixion”. (Christ on Trial) Catholic storyteller Megan McKenna puts it a bit differently. At the end of Mark’s gospel, “it wasn’t enough to hear the words; [the disciples] had to live them”. (On Your Mark!)

The ending of this story, a narrative of Jesus of Nazareth, the son of God, the good news He proclaimed, lived, and died for, the end of this story depends on the storyteller stepping aside and saying, “What happened next?”

Later this summer, Kerry and I will attend a continuing education program for clergy and their spouses. The program’s leadership asked for photographs of the church: its people, ministries in action, and the edifice itself. I went around First Baptist, taking pictures of people, activities, and finally, I headed for the sanctuary to take pictures of the altar, the organ, the pews, and the stained glass.

As I scurried around the sanctuary, I found myself standing at the back of the sanctuary, looking up at the four big stained glass panels that now stream with light on this lovely Easter day: these marvelous images of the annunciation to Mary, the child Jesus before the Magi, the Baptism of the Lord, and the Crucifixion.

Despite being minister for three years now and quite familiar with this sanctuary (or so I thought), I had never noticed that there was a scene missing. Where is Easter? There is no “empty tomb” image to be found in the stained glass: no Jesus greeting Mary Magdalene in the garden, no doubting Thomas placing hand on the wounds of the resurrected Savior, no Christ commissioning the disciples to go forth to the ends of the earth.

Where is the image of the resurrection in this place? Like an exasperated reader of Mark, I want to know: Where is the end of the Gospel?

Later, as I am uploading pictures to my office computer, I kept seeing all of the pictures of congregational life flash across the computer screen:

Alyssa and Joe teaching the kids at Vacation Bible School,

Byron, Lisa, and Fran praying at Ash Wednesday service,

The congregation singing in the midst of worship,

Cindy and Bob working at a Habitat worksite down in Louisiana,

The elderly, the young, and the ages in between sharing potluck together;

The children running through Willow Park at the church picnic.