Between the Sounds of Marches and the Cross

Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him,
“Teacher, order your disciples to stop.”
He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent,
the stones would shout out.”
(Luke 19:39-40)

One cannot help but notice the current conversations and images of this season have been perhaps as challenging as the ancient images of 2,000 years ago. This past week, we have witnessed children and youth marching in cities throughout our nation – declaring their concern for where we, as adults, have failed them while affirming their hope for the promise of a future. Let us rewind 2,000 years –an ancient city where children and adults were singing and marching together as they accompanied and followed Jesus through the city gates – declaring their hope for the promise of a future that looked different than the one they knew; one that defied the status quo. Fast-forward to today – it is a season of marches – remembering and reaffirming the need to stand with the poor. Rewind 2,000 years – the marching throng was eager to live in a world where oppression and inequality would no longer frame their daily existence. Their songs were framed by “Hosanna – God save us.”

The parallels are uncanny and unnerving, as we find ourselves between the shouts of Palm Sunday and the light of an empty tomb. This is holy week – a week that began with songs of hope and new possibilities while giving way to unsettling whispers in the shadows of fear and concern. While some are singing and shouting for hope, others are wondering how to stop the music and silence the lyrics. While some are dreaming of a new world, others are fearful they will lose the world as they know it. And it is all happening simultaneously, causing a deep unrest in the culture around us and within us.

The significance of Palm Sunday has evolved, for me, over time. Although I still love the processions and the affirmation of the one who became us to save us, I now cross the city gates with a profound sense of unrest for what is to come. I am aware that the initial singing and palm waving gave way to a collision of fears, values, power, assumptions, and hopes that spilled out upon that ancient city – culminating in the crucifixion of Jesus. The values of Jesus were not welcomed by those in authority – neither religious nor secular. The teachings of Jesus caused great unrest – so much so, that they would not risk co-existence and he – the Christ – the identified cause of the unrest – was eliminated in a most dramatic and violent manner.

It is no secret that we have somewhat romanticized Palm Sunday, but history reminds us there was nothing romantic or a-political about our Messiah’s entrance into Jerusalem. The tension of the questions with which we are wrestling today are the same ones of 2,000 years ago. Why is the church talking about what feels like politics? Why is the church not saying more about injustice? These conversations are stirring a huge unrest in our society. They are challenging us to ask ourselves about our role and voice in this world as Christians. What is it that distinguishes us as a “Jesus people” in the world? If the children are singing so boldly, should we not be asking ourselves – Why? Could there not be an important truth in their voices? If we are honest, the youth of yesterday and today have always sung songs in ways that challenge the ‘what is’ in an effort to claim the ‘what can be.’ And it is precisely that “what can be” that offers hope and gives courage. As a people of faith, it is the hope of resurrection possibilities that compels us forward in ways that often collide with the ways of the world. We believe those resurrection possibilities will always find their way back into the light out of darkness. Ultimately, they cannot be stopped or silenced. As Jesus reminds the religious leaders of his time, when they asked him to stop the sounds of “hosanna,” his response was “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”

This is the holiest of weeks, where the sounds of hope again collide with the sounds of denial and fear. But we cannot get to Easter morning without wrestling and dealing with the sounds of unrest that lead us to the discomfort and guilt of the darkest night when, for a while, it appeared that death and violence had the final word.

This is just a hard week.

It should be!