Even the Stones
Palm Sunday
Luke 19:28-40
by Rev. Michelle M. Hargrave
There’s nothing like sitting on a rock.
When you sit or stand on a rock you feel like you are rooted to the center of the earth.
You are on something permanent. You are connected to something much older than you, something that will outlast you, something with longevity in this fleeting world.
They are stable, unchanging; we can count on them.
Thousands of years may pass but stones will tell us about our history.
We read in the Bible from writers that have seen their temple torn down,
and we can go and visit the wall that still remains, the wall of the place that Jesus visited.
The stones hold history, and we can know what kind of world Jesus lived in 2000 years ago,
a world with an opulent temple, powerful religious leaders, and mighty warriors of Rome.
The stones still speak of Jesus’ world. Time seems to stop for the stones.
“Order your disciples to stop,” the Pharisees told Jesus. Be quiet.
Stop this procession, these words. “Even the stones will cry out”, was his response.
See, this is what happened.
On the western side of the city a large procession came into Jerusalem. Pontius Pilate,
coming to Jerusalem for the holy days of Passover, arrived with a cavalry and soldiers
to maintain peace during the festival, when over 200,000 people would fill the city of 40,000. Pilate lived by the sea, but he had to be in Jerusalem for this tense event.
He had to maintain order. Jerusalem was the center of Roman control in the area –
all the debts of the peasants were kept in the temple there,
and people had to pay the Jewish leaders and the Romans taxes at the temple.
It was like Super Bowl, the IRS, and a religious festival all at once.
On the eastern side of the city, coming from Galilee, rode Jesus.
He rode on an unbroken donkey, with or without palms, depending on the version.
It was not the triumphal entry of a king – it was exactly the opposite.
It recalled for the Jews images from Jeremiah and former revolts,
and it spoke against the power of Rome, of the Temple. Jesus was pointing to something else,
something different than was happening on the distant side of the city with power and might.
Understanding what Jesus was pointing to this Palm Sunday, making sense of why Jesus went to Jerusalem this week, discerning why Jesus went to face death at the hands of the Romans, is a question at the heart of our faith. It is the question we wrestle with the most this week. Why? What was Jesus thinking? Why didn’t he stay away? Did he have to go? Was his message right? Was it really that important? Wasn’t his preaching and healing enough? Did he have to die?
Did God want this to happen? Did Jesus know this would happen? Why?
In some ways we aren’t so different from the Pharisees, from Peter and Judas and everyone else. Stop this, Jesus, we don’t want this drama to be played out.
Don’t you know what is going to happen? Make it stop.
But Jesus is insistent. Jesus is persistently faithful.
Jesus has his face set toward Jerusalem, like flint, like stone. This is what he is going to do.
Jesus insists on telling us about the kingdom of God.
Not the kingdom of Pilate or Caesar or the world or Rome. God’s way.
While the government and military of Rome march in one side of the city,
God enters on a small awkward donkey on the other.
It all seems so pointless, so insignificant. But even the stones will cry out, Jesus says.
Can’t stop this. Even the stones will tell of the way of God.
During this week the world made the greatest effort to stop this: the world killed Jesus.
It tried to stop the procession, silence the man, kill the teaching.
But stones, permanent and quiet as they are, have something to say.
You can smell the stones this spring, walking outside – the great stones of granite and agate, the iron, the ancient rocks of this area that have cracked with ice and wind, crashed against each other, shattered into sand and then into the dirt of the ground.
Stones seem permanent but they too decay, and while they seem dead while they are strong it is when they are shattered and ground up that they truly bring life, as dirt that feeds the plants of the earth.
And then there is the stone of the tomb, rolled away, releasing the surprise of life after a long three days…
It seems the rocks are permanent and dead.
It seems the world is stronger than love.
It seems life is fragile and futile.
But in God’s time, in God’s way, even death is life,
even the stones come to life,
even that which seems silent will cry out.
Luke 19:28-40
by Rev. Michelle M. Hargrave
There’s nothing like sitting on a rock.
When you sit or stand on a rock you feel like you are rooted to the center of the earth.
You are on something permanent. You are connected to something much older than you, something that will outlast you, something with longevity in this fleeting world.
They are stable, unchanging; we can count on them.
Thousands of years may pass but stones will tell us about our history.
We read in the Bible from writers that have seen their temple torn down,
and we can go and visit the wall that still remains, the wall of the place that Jesus visited.
The stones hold history, and we can know what kind of world Jesus lived in 2000 years ago,
a world with an opulent temple, powerful religious leaders, and mighty warriors of Rome.
The stones still speak of Jesus’ world. Time seems to stop for the stones.
“Order your disciples to stop,” the Pharisees told Jesus. Be quiet.
Stop this procession, these words. “Even the stones will cry out”, was his response.
See, this is what happened.
On the western side of the city a large procession came into Jerusalem. Pontius Pilate,
coming to Jerusalem for the holy days of Passover, arrived with a cavalry and soldiers
to maintain peace during the festival, when over 200,000 people would fill the city of 40,000. Pilate lived by the sea, but he had to be in Jerusalem for this tense event.
He had to maintain order. Jerusalem was the center of Roman control in the area –
all the debts of the peasants were kept in the temple there,
and people had to pay the Jewish leaders and the Romans taxes at the temple.
It was like Super Bowl, the IRS, and a religious festival all at once.
On the eastern side of the city, coming from Galilee, rode Jesus.
He rode on an unbroken donkey, with or without palms, depending on the version.
It was not the triumphal entry of a king – it was exactly the opposite.
It recalled for the Jews images from Jeremiah and former revolts,
and it spoke against the power of Rome, of the Temple. Jesus was pointing to something else,
something different than was happening on the distant side of the city with power and might.
Understanding what Jesus was pointing to this Palm Sunday, making sense of why Jesus went to Jerusalem this week, discerning why Jesus went to face death at the hands of the Romans, is a question at the heart of our faith. It is the question we wrestle with the most this week. Why? What was Jesus thinking? Why didn’t he stay away? Did he have to go? Was his message right? Was it really that important? Wasn’t his preaching and healing enough? Did he have to die?
Did God want this to happen? Did Jesus know this would happen? Why?
In some ways we aren’t so different from the Pharisees, from Peter and Judas and everyone else. Stop this, Jesus, we don’t want this drama to be played out.
Don’t you know what is going to happen? Make it stop.
But Jesus is insistent. Jesus is persistently faithful.
Jesus has his face set toward Jerusalem, like flint, like stone. This is what he is going to do.
Jesus insists on telling us about the kingdom of God.
Not the kingdom of Pilate or Caesar or the world or Rome. God’s way.
While the government and military of Rome march in one side of the city,
God enters on a small awkward donkey on the other.
It all seems so pointless, so insignificant. But even the stones will cry out, Jesus says.
Can’t stop this. Even the stones will tell of the way of God.
During this week the world made the greatest effort to stop this: the world killed Jesus.
It tried to stop the procession, silence the man, kill the teaching.
But stones, permanent and quiet as they are, have something to say.
You can smell the stones this spring, walking outside – the great stones of granite and agate, the iron, the ancient rocks of this area that have cracked with ice and wind, crashed against each other, shattered into sand and then into the dirt of the ground.
Stones seem permanent but they too decay, and while they seem dead while they are strong it is when they are shattered and ground up that they truly bring life, as dirt that feeds the plants of the earth.
And then there is the stone of the tomb, rolled away, releasing the surprise of life after a long three days…
It seems the rocks are permanent and dead.
It seems the world is stronger than love.
It seems life is fragile and futile.
But in God’s time, in God’s way, even death is life,
even the stones come to life,
even that which seems silent will cry out.
posted by Michelle at 12:19 PM
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