Text: Luke 19:37-42

It was a spring day, several years ago. The sun was shining; wild flowers were blooming; mockingbirds were singing their entire repertoire from live oak trees. I had been visiting a friend in the hospital, and my friend was doing well and in good humor. Happy with life, I got on the elevator to go to my car and then home.

I noticed a woman in the elevator with a cart. The cart attracted my attention. On it were toys, a teddy bear, a couple of dolls, and some animal vases with flowers in them. In a happy voice I said, "Looks like someone is going home." Her answer was a long silence followed by a simple statement, "No." It was then I looked at her rather than the cart. There were tears slowly moving down her cheeks.

Caught up in my happiness that day, I had focused on the happy toys and happy flowers on the cart, and I had not really looked at the woman; I just assumed her view of life was the same as mine. It was not until I heard her quiet "No" that I was startled into seeing what I could have seen at once if I had only looked. I had failed to see her face or notice her tears, and the result was I was insensitive to what was really happening. I had focused on the toys and made assumptions about the woman.

This is the way it is in much of life. We are so caught up in our own agendas, so absorbed in our own happiness or sorrow that we fail to see what is there. We can be so caught up in our pain about what happened to us yesterday that we are unable to see clearly what is happening today. We can be so focused on happy hopes for tomorrow that we are unable to see the realities of here and now. We can be in such bondage to fears about the future that we are unable to recognize the potential and the possibilities that are ours. It is easy to be so focused on our joys or our sorrows, our hopes or our fears, that we fail to see what is going on.

This is our problem, and this was the problem of the people described in the New Testament stories about Palm Sunday.

Some of Jesus’ followers were so focused on an idealized past and on their dream and desire for a Messiah to return Israel to the power and glory days of King David that they were unable to see who Jesus really was. They were so focused on Jesus leading them to an idealized version of "the good old days" that they were insensitive to what was really going on that first Palm Sunday.

Others in the Palm Sunday crowd were so focused on their hatred of the Romans and their desire to get rid of them that the Messiah they wanted was a mighty one who would drive the foreigners out the same way their idealized version of David had gotten rid of the Philistines. "Hosanna" they shouted as Jesus rode toward Jerusalem like a king. It did not matter to them that he came like a king coming on a mission of peace, riding on a donkey rather than on a war horse. They saw what they desperately wanted to see—the inauguration parade of their mighty Messiah.

Still others who were shouting for joy as Jesus moved toward Jerusalem saw the ultimate rescuer who had fed the hungry and healed the sick. They saw Jesus coming into power, and when he was in charge there would be no more hunger, no more sickness, no more pain or problems. However it was sung back then, these were the ones who sang a first-century version of "Happy Days Are Here Again." They wanted to believe the coming of this Jesus meant the end to all their problems, and so they focused on Jesus as the ultimate cure-all and sang for joy.

Of course, there were those who knew better. They knew there was no way that Jesus was going to run the Romans out of the country. They knew Jesus could not return them to the idealized past—even if the idealized past had existed. They knew Jesus was not going to do away with all the problems and pains of living. They were realists.

And as realists they were disturbed, even frightened, by the effect Jesus was having on some people. They were afraid Jesus and his followers would bring down the wrath of Rome, and the wrath of Rome was well known for its terrible, terrifying efficiency. These were among those who told Jesus to tell his followers to be quiet. Life in Palestine might not be ideal, but they realistically knew it could be much, much worse. "Be careful," they were saying. "Don't allow the misguided enthusiasm of your followers to cause Rome to make matters worse."

There was another group that was also wanting Jesus to silence the happy mob. These were the super piously religious people who were upset with what Jesus was teaching. To them Jesus was a threat to their religion, a threat to their way of understanding God, relating to God, and worshipping God. They were convinced Jesus was confusing and misleading the people, and doing great harm in the name of God. Jesus had violated numerous religious laws—everything from allowing his disciples to gather food on the Sabbath to violating social customs and religious laws by associating with, dining with, and even touching people who were obviously the untouchable social outcasts. Not only that, he had befriended obvious sinners and without saying a harsh word had gone so far as to tell them they were forgiven. Who did he think he was? What was even worse, Jesus had said these super pious folks were hypocrites, that they were like whitewashed tombs—all clean on the outside, but full of death and decay on the inside. These conscientiously religious peo9ple were so focused on their super religious way of living and believing that they saw Jesus and his followers as a very real and dangerous threat to the way of life they held dear. "Jesus, tell your followers to be quiet," they told him.

I wonder to what extent these stories are our stories? To what extent do we focus on some idealized past, looking to Jesus to lead us back to some imagined "good old days"? Do we use our religion as a safe place to hide from today, dreaming of some idealized yesterday to which we imagine God wants us to return?

To what extent do we try to use our religion as a way to accomplish our political agenda? Are we so focused on our political agenda that we just assume the political goals of Jesus are the same as ours, and assuming that sing, "Hosanna" as we go about doing what we think is our God-sanctioned work of imposing our political will on others? To what extent does our focus on our political agenda distort our ability to see clearly who Jesus was and is? To what extent are we scared of those who take this Jesus and what he was teaching all too seriously? Are we among those who see a clear separation between our business life and our religious life, and so we find ourselves made nervous by those whose understanding of Jesus causes them to become involved in issues dealing with social and economic justice? To what extent are we like those people in Jesus’ day who were upset because of all Jesus had to say about giving money away to help others, and because he broke so many religious rules while he was in the process of healing and helping people?

The passage we read says that Jesus looked on Jerusalem and wept. And I suspect there are times even in these days when the Christ looks on us, looks on our society, looks on our planet, and weeps, saying now what he said then: "If only you had recognized the things that make for peace—for wholeness."

On that elevator I was so focused on the cart and my own agenda that I failed to recognize what was really going on. The cast of characters that first Palm Sunday—and most of us in our daily living—are so focused on our own agendas we do not really see Jesus. The Jesus we imagine we see is the Jesus we want to see—the Christ who fits our agendas, matches our moods, soothes our fears, and endorses our desires. We seldom see the Christ who challenges us. Like I did on that elevator, we see what we want to see and fail to see the truth of who Christ really is.

The amazing part of the passage we read today is not that Jesus wept over Jerusalem, or that Jesus sheds tears over us and our world. The amazing part of this story is that Jesus nevertheless chose to go on into Jerusalem, that Christ continues to choose to enter into life where we are, even though we have not changed much from the people of that first Palm Sunday. He came and he comes knowing that there is a high probability of being crucified before the week is out, but he comes nevertheless.

Why did he do it? Why does he do it? He knows we have been told and told and told what it is to love God with all that we are and to love our neighbors as ourselves. We have been told about loving our enemies, blessing those who persecute us, forgiving one another, and carrying our cross. We have been told about justice and mercy being the way for healing and hope for this world. We have been told, but we did not learn, and so he came and comes in order to show us.

He came and comes to show us the kind of love that will allow us to live in hope—not the dreamy hopes of that first Palm Sunday crowd, but the deeper hope of life as God intends life to be. He came and comes to make known the tough and tender love that enables us to live lives of love and thereby participate in eternal life. For our sake and for the sake of the world, Jesus came and he comes.

God, open our eyes that we may see. And in seeing the incarnation of your love entering Jerusalem, may our living be changed from the way it is to the way you would have it be. Amen.

God, even in this special Palm Sunday service, it is easy for us to be insensitive to your grace coming into our lives. We can be so absorbed in our own agendas that we focus on little else. Insensitive to your love, we are also insensitive to the claims you have on our living. God, forgive us.

And yet, O God, we who live so much of our lives focused on ourselves, we long for our lives to be something more than they are. Help us become more aware of the meaning of this special day. Help us be aware of the Christ riding into our lives. Open our eyes to see who Christ really is and the possibilities God really is offering us. Make us aware of your grace at work in life and in the midst of our lives so that we are able to face life and live our lives with hope—even though there are crosses we must pick up and carry.

On this Palm Sunday, enable us to do more than sing songs of praise. Enable us to follow him—even to the cross, so that with him we may also experience the resurrection. Enable us to live as Jesus was teaching us to live when he taught us to pray: "Our Father …"