Jesus: This Is Your Life

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      I have always imagined that on the first day of the week, (a Monday, so to speak), when Jesus entered Jerusalem for the triumphant visit, this event was witnessed by thousands of people and relations who had been touched by Jesus. I have always imagined the time as a reunion of sorts. I have pictured Jesus meeting up with the ascribed donkey somewhere by the Pool of Siloam down in the far southeastern corner of the old city and, from there, beginning the uphill jaunt toward the Temple.
      I cannot say how the word would have ever gotten out or how people could have made the journey to Jerusalem, but, I can find each of them there that day: I can visualize the woman from the Samaritan well sitting by the spring-fed waters of Siloam at the beginning of the climb. I can visualize the Gerasene demoniac wearing usual clothes, not shouldering the frenzy of his former life but actually blending into the crowd unnoticed. I can see the son of the widow of Nain leaning against a wall, or Lazarus with his skin still healing from the three day encounter with death in a tomb, or various lepers scattered throughout the crowd all having nice and usual relations with “normal” people.
      Can’t you, too, see Nicodemus, joyfully and in the light of day, interacting with individuals like he is newly born with every sunrise, even while there is a rich young ruler hiding in a shadow all the while wanting to find life in the new day? I see him bent and huddling there, still saddled with such wealth that has become his god, with his eyes lowered from the demonic nature of his personal burden and a fearful belief that poverty is a dreadful sin. Over there is a woman in full relationship with her neighbors after years of the lonely existence of constant bleeding and exclusion. Now she seems to be just like everyone else, mingling and conversing as one of the crowd.
      Just around the corner is a smiling teenager, who, even though once objectionable and paralyzed, is now running up Zion to keep up with the pace of the sturdy donkey. Keeping his eyes on Jesus, he now runs along with his four friends who had once toted him to the house and lowered him through the roof to the very lap of healing grace in Jesus Christ. Throughout the remainder of the cheering crowd are the 5,000 individuals who were fed, and the throngs from Jericho who had known Zacchaeus, and the “white for harvest” residents who had first heard of Jesus from that “woman” who now sat down by the Pool of Siloam.
      All of these people had been the beneficiaries of the gift of “normal” life in this world after having lived without choice or power in obscurity, pain, loss, near-death, delusion, frenzy, and sin. They had been delivered from their demons. They had returned to be the full residents of all creation, as broken as it still might be. But now they had come to receive what had been longed for. That which previously had not known the right time now was about to become fully incarnate. The very creation that had been returned to them would soon writhe with convulsions, darkness, blood, earthquake, torn best efforts, and sorrow at the birth of grace.
      For any of us, our own little climb, our own riding on a donkey would have been an ascension of the steps to receive a plaque of honor, to have our name etched on a trophy, to have our portrait positioned on a wall of honor, or to receive an inscribed watch to commemorate good deeds to needy people. Jesus was being received as the Man of the Year. For any of us, this would have been enough of a reward for a job well done. But on that day, the accolades were hollow and lauded in vanity. Jesus had not come to make us normal. His touch was not to let us blend in and be accepted. Jesus had come to save the world, and now, more was required. The cheers and “hallelujahs” were empty words, the best utterances of praise that we earthly, bent-reed and feet-of-clay creatures could offer: a witness to our limits in worship.
      All of the life and ministry to this point had not been enough. Now, the passion, emotion, dread, pain, and death are required; otherwise, this sacrificial life would only have been known as a good life of a good and caring person. Grace is almost ready to be wholly known, fully embodied even by those who had been touched. We were soon going to do the “undeserved” part as God climbed upon the Cross to do the “grace-filled and loving” part.
      Lord, hear our prayers!

Rev. Dan Martin is pastor of First UMC, Hendersonville. He can be reached at moose1953@hotmail.com