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ENCOUNTERS 2008

The Sunday Gospels with meditations on the theme of the week's Gospel

-- an encounter that defines and illuminates a step in our journey of faith

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When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, “Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”

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The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!” When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”

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It is ourselves that we must spread under Christ’s feet, not coats or lifeless branches or shoots of trees, matter which wastes away and delights the eye only for a few brief hours. But we have clothed ourselves with Christ’s grace, with the whole Christ – “for as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ” – so let us spread ourselves like coats under his feet.      Andrew of Crete

Atonement means quite literally “to make one,” but this reconciliation is costly because its path is through the suffering of the cross. There is dying that goes with unity. There is pain that goes with giving up swords and spears, and living with pruning hooks and plows. There is pain and death and vulnerability that come with living in the world defenseless, but in that way comes unity. The church has always been clear that as the body of Christ its life must be cruciform. Thus, if we are to make shalom, following Christ, it cannot be at the level of lowest risk. It will require becoming vulnerable to the pain of the world. It will require a willingness to die.

Bruce C. Birch and Larry Rasmussen

It is not some religious act which makes a Christian what he or she is, but participation in the suffering of God in the life of the world. This is metanoia. This being caught up into the messianic suffering of God in Jesus Christ takes a variety of forms in the New Testament. It appears in the call to discipleship, in Jesus’ table fellowship with sinners, in conversions in the narrower sense of the word, in the act of the woman who was a sinner, an act which she performed without any specific confession of sin, in the healing of the sick, in Jesus’ acceptance of children. The centurion of Capernaum (who does not make any confession of sin) is held up by Jesus as a model of faith. There is nothing of religious asceticism here. The religious act is always something partial; faith is always something whole, an act involving the whole life. Jesus does not call us to a new religion but to a new life.                                                     Dietrich Bonhoefer

So Jesus came into Jerusalem. He came at once as an Intruder and a King. There were men along the streets who owed to Him the straightness of their limbs, the sight of their eyes, the clear, sane reason of their brains. They made the old streets ring with shouts of welcome. There were other men whom He had disappointed and defeated. He had trampled on their traditions, contradicted their doctrines, spoiled their trade. With muttered curses they saw Him go by in His triumph. What a confusion! The city was divided against itself. But through it all Jesus held on His way, claiming the town for His town because it was His Father’s. Whether it owned His claim or spurned it, whether it welcomed Him or cursed Him, through the mixed tumult of its welcome and its curses He went on His way, claiming it all for His own.

        And so He claims our hearts. An Intruder and a King at once He seems to those hearts as He stands there on their threshold. There is something in every one of them that says to Him, “Come in, come in!” There is something, too, in everyone of them that rises up at His coming and says, “Begone, begone! We will not have this Man to rule over us.” But through their tumult, their struggle, Christ, whether He be King or Intruder, whether He be welcomed or rejected, goes on His way, pressing on into each heart’s most secret places, claiming always that He and He alone is the heart’s King. And the struggle in any heart cannot keep on evenly balanced forever. Every heart has to decide. Jerusalem had to decide. Before the week was over she had decided. On Friday she crucified Christ. Still even round the cross there was love and faith and lamentation. But they were crushed, only heard in sobs. The hatred had triumphed, and Jerusalem had crucified her King. And so must every Jerusalem decide.

         So must your heart say finally to Jesus, “Come “ or Go.” He never will go until you obstinately bid Him. He cannot come into the inmost temple until you welcome Him.                  Phillips Brooks