Decision

Suppose you were in a confirmation class or an Adult Bible study class and the question was asked: “What is the beginning of the Christian church?” -- what would be your answer? The “book” answer – the one you’re supposed to give is: the day of Pentecost. We often refer to that as the “birthday of the church”. It was a day when the disciples felt the full power and authority of the Holy Spirit and went out from that moment to preach the gospel. But, you know, there are other answers that could be given that might be just as appropriate: in some ways the birth of Christ or his resurrection or even the call of Abraham could be seen as legitimate beginnings. And likewise the event we celebrate today – the entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem – could in a very real sense be considered the beginning of things, for it involves a conscious decision on the part of Jesus to put into play that series of events that would end in his death. He didn’t have to make that entrance, riding on a donkey with palm branches waving. He could have skirted Jerusalem, gone on with his healing and teaching work in the region around Galilee, and never confronted the scribes, chief priests, and elders with this radically new thing (as we talked about last week) which would so shake their self-assurances that they would demand his death.

Instead of this more comfortable road Jesus made his decision to fulfill Zechariah’s and other Hebrew Scripture prophecies by riding into the city. We call it a triumphal entry, but I doubt that Jesus was feeling much of a sense of triumphalism at that moment. The week’s events, which he knew were coming, unfolded with amazing predictability, and so this radically new thing – God coming into our world and sharing Godself with us – became the central reality which would influence all subsequent human history.

Think back – if it is a part of your conscious memory – to when you decided to become a Christian or when you decided to become a member of a church, say, at the conclusion of a confirmation class. In one sense our individual decisions to belong to the faith of Christ parallel that of Jesus’ long ago. These are decisions that set into motion actions and attitudes on our part that may well lead to a cross (or even several crosses): the cross of unpopular opinion, the cross of sticking up for our beliefs, the cross of forgiving when every human impulse tells you to lash out in vengeance and revenge, the cross of sacrificing comfort and your own privileged position in order to help others become the full persons God intended them to be. These are decisions, then, not to be made lightly; I trust that none of ours have been so made.

But there’s another sense in which our decisions do not parallel Jesus’ decision to enter Jerusalem. Jesus’ decision set up an irrevocable chain of events; our decisions often have a temporary quality about them – a feeling that might be expressed in words something like this: “OK, I’ll decide to do this – as long as it doesn’t inconvenience me too greatly.” Our decisions are often weighted by many considerations and calculations, and they are qualified by many “if” clauses. That’s normal. We are part of the human situation, and a full and free decision to follow what we perceive to be God’s will is freighted with the weight of others’ demands on our lives. Jesus demonstrated his humanity when he struggled with the consequences of his decision that night in the garden of Gethsemane, as our service of Tenebrae on Maundy Thursday so eloquently shows. Yet, even there in that garden he knew that if he were to reverse course now he would not be fulfilling his parent God’s will.

What’s more, because he, himself, was human, Jesus recognized this temporary nature of human decision-making. As he gathered with his disciples for their Last Supper together, he was aware that one of them had made another decision – the decision to betray him. But even more than this, he knew that all of them – all of us – would betray him in one way or another – through frightened fleeing, through insufficient trust, through denial. This is why Jesus chose the moment of their being together there in that Upper Room to announce that “one of you will betray me,” for in each one’s anxious “Surely not I?” there is the waiting realization that, in truth, it would be each one of them. Surely, it would have been, oh, so much more simple and direct for Jesus to have told Judas privately that he knew of Judas’ plans. Instead, he chose this occasion, and each disciple somewhere deep down inside must have known that he was speaking to him.

The point is made even more clearly in the event that follows. Leading them out to the Mount of Olives, Jesus now tells them directly, “You will all become deserters.” Peter, the leader and the rock upon which Christ’s church was to be built, then makes his apparent decision – a decision which, in a moment, turns out to have been too hasty: “Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.” And all of the disciples affirmed this decision.

But Peter can’t sustain his boastful bravado. And Jesus knows it. When Jesus predicts Peter's denial in Mark, he says, "I tell you, this day, this very night, before the cock crows twice, you will deny me three times." The words “this day” and “twice” are found only in Mark. Mark wants to emphasize both the suddenness of Peter's denial, and Peter’s denseness. You would think that the first crowing would have served as a warning and a reminder to Peter -- but it doesn't. Didn't Peter hear it the first time? Shouldn't that have jogged his memory about what Jesus had said? Evidently, at least according to Mark, it didn’t.

Like Peter we sometimes just don’t get the warning about where and how our decisions are going off the track. Our decisions, especially those made in the context of our faith, are constantly tested – and we are not always victorious over the testing. A decision like Peter’s – to follow Christ even to death – must continuously be renewed and re-affirmed each day. It’s a bit like 12-step programs, isn’t it – take it one day at a time and confirm your basic faith decision each day. Look for your weaknesses. Search out your denials. Listen for the warning cock’s crow – even before the second time. That is the nature of a faith that would follow Christ in his death. Recall what we said last week about Paul’s desire, his hope, as he wrote to the church at Philippi: “What Paul says he is seeking to do with his journey is to become more like Christ ‘in his death’….. Paul’s message here is helping us to become more like Christ through sharing in his suffering and knowing the power of the resurrection…..” It is a basic tenet of Christianity that we must experience Good Friday in order to know the power and the promise of Easter.

The good news for Peter is that he was able to reverse course. That’s the thing about decisions – even when we reject what we know we should be doing, there will come an opportunity to right the ship. When Peter realized what he had done and felt the full impact of his denial he made a renewed decision – a decision which would eventually lead him to a similar ignominious death as his master (the story that has come down to us is that Peter asked to be put on his cross upside-down as a way of humbling himself before his Savior; whether this is true or not it does signify the strength of the journey that Peter had made in his initial affirmation to follow Jesus to his death, then to deny him, and then to re-commit his life with all that he knew would follow). In fact, Mark makes it a point to show how Peter is about to right himself. While Mark stresses Peter’s denseness by having the cock crow twice, he also, in the resurrection narrative, has the angel at the tomb single out Peter by saying to the three women, “But go tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee…..” (There’s a whole Easter sermon that could be written about that singling out of Peter.) The point is that while the basic decision made by Peter and all the disciples to follow Christ could not be maintained at the cross, by the day of Pentecost and beyond renewed decisions gave them the strength to witness to their faith – and the Christian church was born!

We’ve kind of moved well into the events of Holy Week, and even beyond to the day of Pentecost, as we’ve tracked Jesus’ initial decision to enter into Jerusalem, and we’ve seen how all of the subsequent events rolled out of that primary decision. But now let’s bring it back to this day – this Palm Sunday -- and look at what that entry into Jerusalem can mean for us.

The prophet Zechariah was writing in a later period when Israel had been under subjugation to a number of rulers for many, many years. And now they were confronted by a new conqueror from Greece: Alexander the Great, whose ambition was no less than to conquer the whole known world. Seeking to bolster the people’s flagging spirits, Zechariah wants them to rejoice, to shout aloud, because a different kind of king is coming to them. This is the messiah that Israel awaits. And the contrasts between him and Alexander are tremendous.

Alexander rides to battle on a symbol of war – a huge horse, who is so grand that his name has even come down to us from this ancient history: Bucephalus. And what was the name of Jesus’ steed? Steed? He rode a donkey! No, Zechariah says, not so much a donkey as “a colt, the foal of a donkey.” Just a wee donkey. Who cares what its name was? It wasn’t even his donkey! Moreover, this king comes to shatter all of our preconceptions about war and conquest: “He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war horse from Jerusalem; and the battle bow shall be cut off, and he shall command peace to the nations.” Peace. That is the defining characteristic of this humble king. And look at what happens. You remember how, famously, Alexander wept when he thought that he had no more nations to conquer. This king’s “dominion shall be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth.” In other words, his kingdom is the whole of the world, and it is founded by the bringing of peace. When this prophetic passage was identified with Jesus all of the characteristics of a humble king whose kingdom was built on peace were what established his greatness. Jesus doesn’t fight to conquer nations. That is greatness in the eyes of the world. He doesn’t win people over with feats of strength or with flash and charm. Those are the things that the flighty human heart desires. Jesus did something much greater, much more powerful: he proclaimed peace to the nations.

And as a result he got the typical two-fold reaction: hosannas and brickbats (or, in his case, strewn palm branches and then cries for his crucifixion). So it has ever been. Even we who claim to be his followers and love being part of Palm Sunday parades wonder if somehow he has gone too far with his message of peace to the nations and shouldn’t be taken down a peg or two. The happy cries of the crowd would turn a more egotistical man’s head. But Jesus is far too wise to bow to the temptation of triumphalism. He knows how his decision made here will be played out in the week to come. No, this is not truly a triumphal entry into Jerusalem, but rather one that will reverberate with the cries of the suffering of the nations down through the centuries.

Nevertheless, on this day at least there is an opportunity for those of us who have made our own decisions to follow the Christ and shout out our own hosannas and make them felt around the world.

In 1988 a famous college football game was played that came to be called the “earthquake game”. It was between Southeastern Conference rivals the Auburn Tigers and Louisiana State University at LSU’s Tiger Stadium before 79,431 people. Along with national rankings, at stake was the eventual SEC title. The stadium was filled to capacity. Auburn led the game 6-0 with less than two minutes remaining in the fourth quarter. LSU's quarterback drove the team down the field before finally throwing a last chance fourth down touchdown pass. The crowd exploded. The eruption of the crowd after that play was so seismic that it registered as an earthquake on the seismograph at LSU’s Geoscience Complex about 1,000 feet from the stadium. The game has since become a part of LSU lore as the “earthquake game”.

When 79,000 LSU fans shout in triumph, the earth moves. What happens when Christians unite their voices to shout about their king who comes to save them and indeed the whole world? More than the earth will move. Hearts will be moved. We have made our decisions, just as Jesus made his. Let us act on them. Let us raise our voices today and shout for our Lord: Hosanna in the highest! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!

Amen

Dave Pomeroy
First Congregational Church, United Church of Christ
Las Vegas, NV
March 28, 2010