Are We There Yet?
Palm Sunday, April 17, 2011
I want to tell you a story this morning, but first let me put an image in your mind, courtesy of something that Henri Nouwen wrote some 30 years ago:
There is a little man in Peru, a man without any power, who lives in a barrio with poor people and who wrote a book. In this book he simply reclaimed the basic Christian truth that God became human to bring good news to the poor, new light to the blind, and liberty to the captives. Ten years later this book and the movement it started are considered dangerous by [the United States of America] the greatest power on earth. When I look at this little man, Gustavo [Gutierrez], and think about the tall Ronald Reagan, I see David standing before Goliath, again with no more weapon than a little stone, a stone called A Theology of Liberation.
“Are we there yet?” the little one cried from the backseat looking out across the dusty hills toward the city whose skyline was just visible against the setting sun. We’d been on the road since dawn, eating breakfast and then lunch at roadside stops along the way. The children were road-weary and beginning to get whiney.
“Are we there yet?”
Traffic was heavy, way worse than usual, but, then again, it was festival season in the city and people were coming from all over to celebrate, to gather with family and friends. Passover always brings folks together. It’s just a joyous time!
But just at the moment there was no joy in our little band. The kids were ready to be done, and so were the grownups.
We’d come to a complete standstill on the road. There was some kind of commotion up ahead. We could see a lot of dust swirling around, and the noise of a distant crowd drifted on the breeze.
“What’s going on?” one of kids asked.
“Can you see anything, Dad?” asked another.
I stepped down and walked past the edge of the roadway to see if I could get a good look at whatever was causing the traffic jam. Probably a wreck, or maybe an animal in the road.
“Is it the king’s parade?” my wife asked.
“Hm. … I don’t think so,” I said, remembering that, yes, in fact, the king’s soldiers did parade into the city during the festival and it was a sight to behold – soldiers marching, drums beating, weapons gleaming. But we were coming into the city from the east, and the military parade always came into the city from the west. I think their barracks are out that way.
“Aww, bummer,” said my teenaged son. “I’d like to see the king. That’d be cool!”
“Well,” I said, “maybe we will, but I’m pretty sure that whatever is holding up the works, it’s not the king.”
Just then a little boy, no more than 10, barefooted and dusty, came running along the side of the road from the direction of whatever was up there blocking the way.
“It’s the king! It’s the king! It’s the king!” he yelled.
“Come and see! Come and see! Come and see!”
“Let’s go see, Dad,” came a pleading chorus. “Can we? Can we, please?”
Looking at the crowd ahead, and the line of traffic stretched out behind me, I thought, “well, we’re not moving this vehicle anytime soon, and the kids are sick and tired of being cooped up … why not?”
“Sure, why not?” I said to a wave of happy shouts.
“Now let’s stay together, kids. It looks like a mob up there.”
They joined me at the road’s edge and we half-walked, half-trotted along around the stopped traffic ahead of us. The closer we got the bigger the crowd grew and the noisier it got.
We could hear shouting now:
“Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna!”
“Save us! Save us!”
“Pretty weird thing to be shouting at the king,” I thought. After all, the king was not particularly popular. He wasn’t really a king at all. He was just a lackey of the emperor, and I was pretty darn sure that the emperor was not in the center of this crowd. Everybody sounded way too happy for that.
We kept squeezing our way forward. It helps to have kids dragging you along because sometimes people will make way for a child. Today they did, and pretty soon we found ourselves surging toward whoever it was that was the center of all this attention.
Suddenly the people right in front of us parted, and there he was – the man at the middle of all the fuss. The one who had stopped traffic for miles around.
“He doesn’t look much like a king to me,” my daughter said, and she was right. He was a pretty average looking guy, as far as that goes. He surely didn’t have on a crown, or jewels, or any of that. He didn’t have guards around him either, and he was not riding on an imperial horse done up in parade armor.
The guy was on a donkey! And if I had to guess, I’d say it was a Jenny, too, because the little colt at its side wasn’t big enough to be weaned yet. What a sight!
Guy rides in on a nursing, female donkey! And the crowd calls him king? What kind of king is that? Who was this guy? What is going on!
“Momma,” said our daughter, “isn’t that guy Jesus? Remember. The rabbi we heard talk back home.”
“I think you’re right. Didn’t he say something like, ‘blessed are the meek’?”
“Well, he sure got that right! There’s not much more meek than what he looks like on that donkey!”
And just then, the donkey slowed, and Jesus turned his head our way … and he laughed out loud.
I didn’t hear the joke, but it must have been a good one.
The strange parade moved on toward the city, but I stood still watching, holding my wife’s hand, and keeping our kids together.
“Can’t we follow him?” asked one of my sons. “Listen to the songs; I want to go with him.”
Oh those songs. I can still here that music:
I’m on my way to freedom land … I’m on my way to freedom land … I’m on my way to freedom land … I’m on my way, praise God, I’m on my way.
If you can’t go, don’t hinder me … if you can’t go, don’t hinder me … if you can’t go, don’t hinder me … I’m on my way, praise God, I’m on my way.
And my son asking, again, “can’t we follow him?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, thinking to myself, “I’m not sure how long he’s going to be laughing and singing.”
To my family I simply said, “the traffic is thinning out now. We should go get our stuff and head on into town. We’ve got things to do and people to see.”
That was all so many years ago. You know what happened that week. The army had marched in to the other side of town. The king got wind of the little parade with the donkey, and I don’t think he liked the joke at all. The rich folks weren’t happy with Jesus either; not after that stunt he pulled in the temple square. And the religious leaders didn’t like it one bit; not when folks started calling Jesus, “messiah.”
I think back sometimes to the question my son asked me that dusty afternoon: can’t we follow him?
I want to tell you a story this morning, but first let me put an image in your mind, courtesy of something that Henri Nouwen wrote some 30 years ago:
There is a little man in Peru, a man without any power, who lives in a barrio with poor people and who wrote a book. In this book he simply reclaimed the basic Christian truth that God became human to bring good news to the poor, new light to the blind, and liberty to the captives. Ten years later this book and the movement it started are considered dangerous by [the United States of America] the greatest power on earth. When I look at this little man, Gustavo [Gutierrez], and think about the tall Ronald Reagan, I see David standing before Goliath, again with no more weapon than a little stone, a stone called A Theology of Liberation.
“Are we there yet?” the little one cried from the backseat looking out across the dusty hills toward the city whose skyline was just visible against the setting sun. We’d been on the road since dawn, eating breakfast and then lunch at roadside stops along the way. The children were road-weary and beginning to get whiney.
“Are we there yet?”
Traffic was heavy, way worse than usual, but, then again, it was festival season in the city and people were coming from all over to celebrate, to gather with family and friends. Passover always brings folks together. It’s just a joyous time!
But just at the moment there was no joy in our little band. The kids were ready to be done, and so were the grownups.
We’d come to a complete standstill on the road. There was some kind of commotion up ahead. We could see a lot of dust swirling around, and the noise of a distant crowd drifted on the breeze.
“What’s going on?” one of kids asked.
“Can you see anything, Dad?” asked another.
I stepped down and walked past the edge of the roadway to see if I could get a good look at whatever was causing the traffic jam. Probably a wreck, or maybe an animal in the road.
“Is it the king’s parade?” my wife asked.
“Hm. … I don’t think so,” I said, remembering that, yes, in fact, the king’s soldiers did parade into the city during the festival and it was a sight to behold – soldiers marching, drums beating, weapons gleaming. But we were coming into the city from the east, and the military parade always came into the city from the west. I think their barracks are out that way.
“Aww, bummer,” said my teenaged son. “I’d like to see the king. That’d be cool!”
“Well,” I said, “maybe we will, but I’m pretty sure that whatever is holding up the works, it’s not the king.”
Just then a little boy, no more than 10, barefooted and dusty, came running along the side of the road from the direction of whatever was up there blocking the way.
“It’s the king! It’s the king! It’s the king!” he yelled.
“Come and see! Come and see! Come and see!”
“Let’s go see, Dad,” came a pleading chorus. “Can we? Can we, please?”
Looking at the crowd ahead, and the line of traffic stretched out behind me, I thought, “well, we’re not moving this vehicle anytime soon, and the kids are sick and tired of being cooped up … why not?”
“Sure, why not?” I said to a wave of happy shouts.
“Now let’s stay together, kids. It looks like a mob up there.”
They joined me at the road’s edge and we half-walked, half-trotted along around the stopped traffic ahead of us. The closer we got the bigger the crowd grew and the noisier it got.
We could hear shouting now:
“Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna!”
“Save us! Save us!”
“Pretty weird thing to be shouting at the king,” I thought. After all, the king was not particularly popular. He wasn’t really a king at all. He was just a lackey of the emperor, and I was pretty darn sure that the emperor was not in the center of this crowd. Everybody sounded way too happy for that.
We kept squeezing our way forward. It helps to have kids dragging you along because sometimes people will make way for a child. Today they did, and pretty soon we found ourselves surging toward whoever it was that was the center of all this attention.
Suddenly the people right in front of us parted, and there he was – the man at the middle of all the fuss. The one who had stopped traffic for miles around.
“He doesn’t look much like a king to me,” my daughter said, and she was right. He was a pretty average looking guy, as far as that goes. He surely didn’t have on a crown, or jewels, or any of that. He didn’t have guards around him either, and he was not riding on an imperial horse done up in parade armor.
The guy was on a donkey! And if I had to guess, I’d say it was a Jenny, too, because the little colt at its side wasn’t big enough to be weaned yet. What a sight!
Guy rides in on a nursing, female donkey! And the crowd calls him king? What kind of king is that? Who was this guy? What is going on!
“Momma,” said our daughter, “isn’t that guy Jesus? Remember. The rabbi we heard talk back home.”
“I think you’re right. Didn’t he say something like, ‘blessed are the meek’?”
“Well, he sure got that right! There’s not much more meek than what he looks like on that donkey!”
And just then, the donkey slowed, and Jesus turned his head our way … and he laughed out loud.
I didn’t hear the joke, but it must have been a good one.
The strange parade moved on toward the city, but I stood still watching, holding my wife’s hand, and keeping our kids together.
“Can’t we follow him?” asked one of my sons. “Listen to the songs; I want to go with him.”
Oh those songs. I can still here that music:
I’m on my way to freedom land … I’m on my way to freedom land … I’m on my way to freedom land … I’m on my way, praise God, I’m on my way.
If you can’t go, don’t hinder me … if you can’t go, don’t hinder me … if you can’t go, don’t hinder me … I’m on my way, praise God, I’m on my way.
And my son asking, again, “can’t we follow him?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, thinking to myself, “I’m not sure how long he’s going to be laughing and singing.”
To my family I simply said, “the traffic is thinning out now. We should go get our stuff and head on into town. We’ve got things to do and people to see.”
That was all so many years ago. You know what happened that week. The army had marched in to the other side of town. The king got wind of the little parade with the donkey, and I don’t think he liked the joke at all. The rich folks weren’t happy with Jesus either; not after that stunt he pulled in the temple square. And the religious leaders didn’t like it one bit; not when folks started calling Jesus, “messiah.”
I think back sometimes to the question my son asked me that dusty afternoon: can’t we follow him?
posted by David Ensign at
1:24 PM
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