Shout Hallelujah

Sermon manuscript for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

Sabbath, March 23, 2013

Based on Matthew 21.
Updated Sabbath morning with at least one important new idea.

A mile or two outside Jerusalem, Jesus pointed to a village a little way off in the distance and said to a couple of his disciples, “Go to that village over there. In the middle of town, you'll see a donkey tied up, with its colt beside it. Untie the donkey and bring the animals to me. If anyone asks what you are doing, just say, 'The Lord needs them,' and he will immediately let you take them.”

Please, note the details here. Jesus sends two of his disciples to “appropriate” someone else's donkey. He does not tell the disciples to go ask permission. He tells them, “Just go untie the donkeys and bring them here. Oh, and by the way, if anyone should happen to challenge you, just tell them 'the Master needs them.' and they'll let you go.”

Let's change this story around a little bit. One of your kids reports that his brother “borrowed” a bike from a porch a mile from your house. He rode the “borrowed” bike to an event at Gas Works Park, then late that evening, returned the bike to the porch from which he had borrowed it.

Would you be happy with your son?

And what if, when you questioned your son about this, he explained, “I knew they were out of town, so they wouldn't miss the bike since I was only going to borrow it for one day.” What would you say to that?

And what if, when you pressed your son about the importance of asking before using something that belonged to someone else, he said, “Well, when Jesus needed a donkey, he didn't ask.”

One of the markers of the authenticity of the gospels is their stubborn inclusion of narrative details that don't quite fit inside a neat orthodox box.

This anecdote also highlights the fact that the Bible is not designed to be an “Idiot's Guide” to anything. People who try to use the Bible as a literal, straightforward rule book usually come to grief. The Bible intends to connect us with God, to make us wise, to help us see.

It was people who were inspired by the Bible who led the fight against legal slavery in the 1700s and campaigned for the humane treatment of those who suffer from mental illness and fought for justice for Black people in the South in the 1950s. These activists understood this story to be a statement about the lordship of Jesus over all of life.

Jesus is not just Lord at church. He is Lord of the world. His perspective on the value and place of human beings should influence what we pay our dish washers, gardeners and carpenters. Christians believe Jesus has authority over our donkeys as well as our hymnals.

Jesus needed a donkey. He sent his disciples to fetch one.

When the disciples returned, a crowd had gathered. (Actually, there was probably a crowd surrounding Jesus when he sent the two disciples off in the first place. There was always a crowd around Jesus.)

The disciples threw several garments over the colt—that is the male offspring of the mama donkey. And Jesus climbed on. This was a pretty audacious move. I don't know if the disciples were worried—what if this colt bucks him off!!!! I suspect that at least some of them were. They knew about animals. But this colt gave a further demonstration of the universal lordship of Jesus. Instead of bucking, it stood tranquilly under Jesus' weight.

Seeing the donkey happily submit to Jesus, the disciples start shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” “Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

The crowd took up the chant. They spread their garments in the road to make a royal carpet. They broke branches from trees and fronds from palms and waved them in the air, shouting, ““Hosanna to the Son of David!” “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” “Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

Jesus began riding toward Jerusalem and the procession snowballed. Dozens, scores, hundreds, thousands of people got caught up in the excitement. It was a wild, crazy, ecstatic parade. The people at the center knew exactly what they were doing. They had been followers of Jesus for years. They had seen his power in miracles of healing and exorcism. They had been mesmerized by his teaching. They were confident he really was the Messiah—the magic, royal personage who had lived at the center of Jewish hopes for a millennium.

Jesus' devotees had been impatient with his reticence. They had long been wanting him to make a move, to assert himself.

When they saw him mount that colt, their expectations ignited. This was the Arab spring, the Boston tea party, the destruction of the Berlin wall, the election of Jean Bertrand Aristide. The excitement was contagious. It was very quickly out of control.

The Gospel of Luke reports that at some point as Jesus neared Jerusalem, perhaps even as he was entering the city, the Pharisees chided Jesus. They urged him to rebuke the crowd for their extravagant language, throwing around titles that belonged rightly only to the Messiah.

Jesus laughed and told the religious scholars, “If the people are quiet, the stones will shout.”

There was no quieting this ecstasy. Jesus did not make the slightest effort to cool it. He rode the enthusiasm like a surfer on a monster wave. Ultimately the wave deposited him at the entrance of the temple, then washed him right inside.

There, church business as usual was going on. Money changers were turning the coins of Roman and Egyptian and Spanish monarchs into the coinage of the temple. Vendors were selling doves and sheep and cattle for sacrifices. All making a tidy profit in the process.

Jesus waded into the scene and began heaving tables over and throwing open gates of animal pens. Money changers grabbed for their bags and ran. Bulls bellowed and plowed through the chaos like bulldozers. Sheep baaed and bleated. Cows mooed. It was a wild and crazy bedlam. The crowd that had entered the temple courtyard behind Jesus cheered and hooted. Maybe they joined Jesus in stirring the chaos. Perhaps they lent a hand untying bulls, opening pens and heaving money tables onto their sides. We don't know for sure.

Above all the commotion Jesus bellowed over and over: “It is written, 'My house shall be called a house of prayer. But you have made it a den of thieves!”

The temple court emptied. Then it filled again. The bulls and cows and sheep and goats and pigeons were gone along with the vendors, money changers, priests and dignitaries. Behind them came a slow tide of disabled people—blind people, lame people. Jesus moved back into his customary role of healer, teacher, soother, ameliorator, reconciler.

Children came running in. Bands of them danced, still singing, “Hosanna to the Son of David.” For them the party was not over.

Eventually, the religious leaders and teachers of the law crept back into the courtyard. They sidled up to Jesus and protested. “Don't you hear what those kids are saying? Stop them!”

Jesus laughed and said, “And haven't you read what the prophet wrote, 'From the mouths of babes and infants you have brought perfect praise?'” Psalm 8:2.

Those of us who are acquainted with the Jesus story know that the ecstasy of this afternoon was fleeting. We know that Gethsemane was coming and the agony of the crucifixion. Sometimes Christianity is overly obsessed with these dark parts of the story. But that is untrue to the story itself. Jesus himself explicitly blessed the ecstasy of Palm Sunday. Christianity—at least the story of Jesus as directed and controlled by Jesus—included ecstasy. It still does. A religion of principle and discipline, sober reflection and self-criticism has much to recommend it. But if it does not also include shouting hallelujah, if it doesn't include dancing for joy and moments of sheer ecstasy, whatever its merits, it's probably not actually Christian or perhaps I should say, it is at best a truncated Christianity. The gospel story, as validated by Jesus in all four gospels, includes euphoria, ecstasy, excitement, glee.

Of course, we know the world is heavy with darkness. We do not deny it. Jesus identified with that darkness. He drank from it until it killed him. This coming Friday evening we are going to immerse ourselves in that heavy reality in our Tenebrae service. The darkness is real. It, too, is part of our life.

But today, we celebrating the light. We are celebrating with Jesus. We are riding wild donkeys. We are dancing with children and shouting hallelujah.

In a few minutes we will gather at the Lord's Table. And today, as we gather, we will take delight in the gathering with us of babes and infants. Today, it is a festal dinner. It is not the last supper, it is our anticipation of the sweet victory feast commemorating the inauguration of the kingdom of heaven.

We reject the temptation to join with the Pharisees and teachers of the law, and look with disdain and imagined intellectual and religious superiority on those who are caught up in the magic and glory of the march of Jesus. Instead, today, we sit with children and together with them celebrate our union with one another and with the Master who will ultimately win.