If Anyone Asks 3-24-13

God, we are called to the roadside today.  We hear the hosannas and feel them deep in our soul.  Help us to understand what these people on the side of the road have to do with us.  Thank you for walking beside us during our own week of destiny and for showing us your love in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus.  Speak through my words and may we have ears to listen.  Amen

            It’s been quite a week, let me tell you and all I want to do now is go away and clear my head.  It’s Saturday afternoon and I want to tell you about the longest week in my life.  I’m one of the un-named disciples in the story.  You might wonder if it bothers me that I’m an unidentified player in the events of this past week.  I guess it should.  It’s just that these past 7 days have been so much about him.  And now my heart breaks from sadness.  We thought he was the one, we really did and, now—well I don’t know—nothing feels right anymore—nothing is as it seems.  But let me put my own heartache aside.  You came here to hear my story.  Let me try to tell it to you.

            It started a week ago.  Jesus and a lot of disciples—not just the main twelve—were going to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover.  Jesus was like that, you know—he celebrated all the Jewish holidays.  He never tried to get us to give up what we believed—there was that time when he said that he had come to fulfill the Law and not destroy it.  Never was really sure what that meant, but it made me feel ok about loving what I grew up with even when the things he was saying caused me to question and  rethink everything—and I mean everything.  Anyway, we were going to Jerusalem.  When we came to the Mount of Olives, Jesus stopped.  He said to me and my friend, Samuel:  “Go into the next town.  Right close to where you enter the village, you will find a donkey that has never been ridden before.  Bring the donkey to me.”  I was really starting to squirm at this.  I mean, I’d done a lot in my life, but I’d never stolen and I didn’t intend to now.  He saw that I was uncomfortable and he said, “If anyone asks you why you are taking the donkey, just say, ‘Jesus needs it’”.  If anyone asks—in broad daylight we’re supposed to go in and take the most valuable thing a family owns and he thinks there is a possibility that no one will ask?  This is foolishness, we’re going to end up in jail for sure.

            Now Samuel—my friend who also received these instructions seemed a little calmer than I was.  He said to me, “Let’s go do this and see what happens.  He hasn’t led us astray yet.  Why would he now?”  I was reluctant to do this but when Samuel put it that way I went along with it.  So, off to the village we went—Samuel in the lead and me, well, I was sort of bringing up the rear.  We enter the villages and, sure enough, there was the donkey.  You could tell he’d never been ridden; and he didn’t seem to want to come along.  Great, a noisy donkey; this cannot be good.  Here we go, out comes the family and the man asks, “where do you think you are going with my donkey?”  Samuel says very calmly, “Jesus needs it.”  This seemed to satisfy the family and we left with the donkey with no more trouble.

            There seemed to be something strange in the air—like an unspoken expectation of which no one was sure.  People seemed on edge—the disciples too.  Well, Samuel and I had certainly played our part.  When we got back to where Jesus was, the other disciples laid their coats on the donkey so Jesus could ride on it—stubborn little donkey it was—that was until Jesus began to ride it—calmed right down—seemed to know the importance of the ride.  Suddenly, there were people everywhere—some laying down their coats like a carpet for Jesus to ride on and some waving palms and shouting, “Hosanna!  Hosanna to the King of Kings!”  Over and over they shouted.  It was hard to tell if they understood—I know I didn’t and Samuel had disappeared into the crowd, so, while he was smarter than me about those things, I couldn’t ask him.  The Pharisees were sure ticked off about all the ruckus.  “Quiet these people—this is the last thing we need on a holiday weekend”.  Jesus said the strangest thing to them—something about the rocks in the road shouting if the people hadn’t.  Don’t you think that’s kinda weird?  But I began to understand what was happening was much more than just a casual parade—I just couldn’t be sure what it really was.

            When Jesus reached the center of Jerusalem the crowds just dispersed—almost into thin air—no more “hosannas!”  No more anything.  Jesus, himself, just got down and went to the Temple.  For the next 4 days Jesus just goes about his business, teaching, preaching and healing as if there was nothing strange about the events on that Sunday.  It’s hard to understand it all now.  Well, on Thursday, it was the time for the Passover meal.  The meal was prepared and many of Jesus’ disciples were invited even though only the 12 first disciples were sitting at the table.  It didn’t matter to me where I sat, I knew Jesus would make sure that everyone got to be a part of what was happening.  While waiting for Jesus to begin, some of the disciples got into a discussion about who was the best loved disciple.  Is that not the stupidest thing you can imagine—I mean, there we were, it was Passover, and something was clearly going to happen.  Jesus had never done this before, so anyone should know that something special was about to happen. 

            Jesus then lifted up a loaf of bread.  He spoke a blessing and he passed it to everyone in the room saying, “Take, eat, this is my body, do this in remembrance of me.”  Remembrance—what’s to remember, Jesus is sitting right here.  Barely giving Jesus’ strange act a thought, we all began eating the Passover meal.  As soon as most of us were finished, Jesus raised a goblet and said, “This is my blood poured out for you.  Whenever you shall drink it, remember me”.   Ok, this was starting to feel really weird and frightening to me.  We sang a hymn then and went out to a garden called “Gethsemane”.  Many of the disciples were beginning to slip away.  I stayed very quiet and pretty much stayed behind some bushes—I wanted to see what was going on but from a distance.  I heard Jesus ask the disciples that were still with him to stay awake while he went away to pray.  Jesus would do this every now and then, but this time it felt really, really different.  I followed enough that I could see him.  He was kneeling and almost bent over a rock, holding his chest and pleading with God.  I thought I heard him say, “Thy will be done”.  Jesus had a very special relationship with God.  We could all tell that just from watching him—but this was very different.  I could feel Jesus’ heart breaking inside my own heart.  I wanted to do something to take away his pain, but there was nothing at all I could do.

            Jesus went back to where the disciples were and, of course, found them asleep.  He was hurt you could tell the way he looked at them.  They were embarrassed and sorry.  But they feel asleep again.  Suddenly, there was a ruckus and there were soldiers.  Jesus faced them calmly.  He seemed to know what was coming next.  The disciples acted like fools—Jesus told them to be quiet.  And so, just like that, he was led away and we had no idea what was happening next. 

            Some of us followed at a good distance; some merely went away in confusion and fear.  What came next was the longest day of my life.  Jesus was dragged before Pilate and then Herod.  Each time he was beaten and ridiculed.  We wanted to get him away, we really did, but he was heavily guarded and we were a bunch of amateurs compared to the Roman soldiers.  It was horrible, the people all shouting against Jesus.  I’m pretty sure that some of the people who stood with us on the roadside just a few days ago were now yelling “Crucify Him” with the same tone of celebration and abandon.  I had no idea what was happening except that I knew that it was bad—bad for all of us.  The make-believe trial was over and they found a cross for Jesus to carry up the hill.  Why, I began to ask myself, why was this happening to my friend.  He never did anything wrong; he only loved and gave and gave of himself.  How could he possibly deserve what was happening to him?  The women are trying to get to him, to bring him some comfort.  Suddenly he falls.  They grab a man out of the crowd to help him.  How I wish that could have been me, but I am afraid.  When he arrives at the place of crucifixion, he is crucified in a most horrible way with nails hammered through his hands and feet.  What agony he must have felt.  His mother arrives at the cross.  I cannot even imagine the pain she was feeling.  There was a terrible storm and then, just like that, it is over.  Jesus has died.  The one who saved me from a life of sorrow and pain has died.  I struggle to remember all that he taught.  Right now it is just a blur.

            They take him down from the cross and place him in a tomb that a kind man named Joseph of Aramethea has donated.  The tomb is sealed.  Roman guards are posted and the rock is sealed against the opening of the tomb.  With some of the other disciples we gather in a safe place.  Is it over—is this all there is?  We gather and mourn and wait!  Amen and amen.