Sermon: Walking Into The Storm

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If each of us gets fifteen minutes of fame, Jesus got his on Palm Sunday. You could say that he’s had two thousand years of fame; that, contrary to what John Lennon said, he’s bigger than the Beatles. But really, as far as his own experience, it’s the day he rides a donkey into Jerusalem that he really gets the Beatles’-caliber welcome. It’s always described as his “triumphant” entry into Jerusalem. Adoring fans crowding around him, trying to catch a glimpse, trying to maybe, possibly, touch the edge of his clothing. They lay their cloaks down in the road in front of him and wave palm fronds as they would for a king. He must have been pretty pumped, right?

 

Actually, I’m thinking no. I’m thinking he knows that things are not going to go so well for him in Jerusalem. Days earlier in the story, the Matthew text says, “Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.” So when he is riding his donkey toward Jerusalem, he is knowingly walking directly into suffering and death. And the crowds around him, although they might not know that he’s going to die, they at least know that he’s not positioned well to take on the Roman army. He is the leader of a poorly armed Jewish insurrection. The crowd has seen what the Romans do to leaders of insurrections and it’s not pretty. And despite this, or maybe because of it, they lay their cloaks down in the road in front of him and wave their palm fronds for victory.

 

As with most Scripture, this is myth – we don’t know how much of it is historically true. The triumphant entry into Jerusalem probably happened in some form because it shows up in all four gospels. But we certainly don’t know what Jesus may have said in private to his disciples earlier – whether he really predicted he was going to be tortured and die at the hands of the Romans, whether he really told them he would rise from the dead three days later. We’ll never know. But the fact that this is the Palm Sunday story we’ve received two thousand years later suggests that this tension between Jesus knowing that he’s walking into suffering and his going there anyway is the point. There’s a truth in there that has resonated with people through the generations.

 

There are times in each of lives when we know that we’re walking into suffering. There are times when we can see, as crystal clearly as Jesus did, when we look down the road ahead that this is not going to go well. This is not going to be fun. This is going to hurt. And sometimes, as Jesus did in the story, we have a choice in the matter. We don’t have to do this painful thing. And the question we’re faced with in those moments is – should we do it anyway? Should we continue down that road or should we turn our donkey around and go home?

 

Maybe you’re in a relationship or marriage with someone you love deeply but you’re miserable together. You fight all the time, you want different things from life, you feel like they’re always trying to change you. You don’t feel good with them. You know that if you stay with them, you won’t be able to become fully yourself. And you also know that because of the very real love you share, leaving will blow a huge hole in your heart. It will be the most painful thing you’ve ever done. Should you walk into that storm?

 

Or say you’ve got a comfortable job as a nurse. It’s comfortable but it bores you and you don’t feel like you’re serving the communities that need the most help. You have a dream of working as a doctor in Haiti, where your family is from. You want to set up clinics in the poorest villages and help train others to provide medical care there. But first you’re going to have to go to medical school – sleepless nights of studying, more sleepless nights as a resident somewhere, relentless testing. Then, if you’re successful, you’ll leave all your friends and your Netflix, and your favorite take-out places, and go to a place with virtually none of that, for low pay with insufficient tools and resources to do your job. It’s going to be very, very hard. Should you walk into that storm?

 

Or maybe, in a third scenario, you like drinking. You really like drinking. And in fact recently it’s the only thing that’s been keeping you going because a year ago someone died – someone you needed and loved – and every time you’re sober the pain comes rushing in like it’s going to drown you. But now the drinking has gotten so bad that you’re starting to show up for work drunk. You’re not doing your laundry. Your friends are fed up with you. You know you need to stop. You know about AA and other programs to help. But you also know that the process is going to be brutal. Should you walk into that storm?

 

We can see a thousand examples of how we’re faced with choices to do something painful or hard. The decision to adopt a child, knowing all the likely heartbreak of attempts that fall through and loving a child with a past you can’t protect them from. The decision to have a biological child, knowing the pain of childbirth and the pain of letting go as the child grows up and leaves you. Even the decision to run a marathon or commit to any endurance sport, to test your body to its limits. The decision to go on a silent meditation retreat or to fast or do any kind of ascetic practice. And then there are the life and death decisions undertaken by people like Syrian refugees, who risk a journey of enormous suffering and even death in hopes of rebuilding their lives free from oppression and violence. Some of our own ancestors made such a journey in coming to this country.

 

We humans have the capacity to do a hard thing for a good reason, and it is this capacity that we lift up and celebrate on Palm Sunday. Now I want to be clear that I don’t believe in doing something hard simply because it’s hard. I don’t believe that suffering is redemptive. I don’t believe that whatever doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger. Sometimes suffering can be destructive; it can change you in bad ways; it can weaken you or make you cold and hard. I’ve heard it said that suffering is like salt. A little bit can add flavor to a meal. But too much salt can ruin a dish, like too much suffering can ruin a life. Emotional pain, like physical pain, often indicates that there’s a problem – that we ought to be doing something differently. In these cases, pain is a good teacher and we are wise to back off. But when pain doesn’t indicate a larger problem, but rather is the only problem with an otherwise transformative and positive course of action, we are challenged to move through it. We are challenged to face it head on and walk into the storm.

 

In the Jesus narrative, right after Jesus tells his disciples about his impending suffering and death, they try to talk him out of going. The text says, “And Peter took [Jesus] aside and began to rebuke him, saying, ‘God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.’ But [Jesus] turned and said to Peter…” (and this is a little harsh if you ask me) “…Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” Jesus was angry with Peter – even though Peter was just trying to be supportive and helpful – Jesus was angry with him for thinking small and trying to stop him from doing this thing that he needed to do. Jesus called him a “stumbling block.” It’s hard enough to get yourself into the right headspace and work up the guts to do something really hard, without your friends trying to be helpful and concerned and talk you out of it.

 

And yet I think we’ve all been that helpful friend, not wanting to see someone suffer, certainly not wanting to be responsible for encouraging them to suffer. We sometimes try to tone down other people’s ambitions because they can be threatening to us. We don’t necessarily want to see what our peers are capable of when they’re willing to go through pain. It can raise the bar too high for us. So we say, “No, no, take a load off, don’t strain yourself. Here, have another cookie.” We might say to the friend in the bad marriage, “I don’t know, your spouse seems pretty cool – and it’s hard out there being single.” We might say to the nurse who wants to go to Haiti, “Are you crazy? You’ve got a really good job.” We might say to our buddy who’s lost his loved one, “Come over, have a beer, we’ll watch the game, it’ll be okay.” Parents are especially guilty of this with their kids. We want to protect our kids from bad things happening. So we hold them back. Unwittingly, we become a stumbling block for them.

 

So when the crowds gather around Jesus, hailing him as a king, laying their cloaks down in his path, waving palm fronds for victory, they are doing the opposite of this: they are honoring him, encouraging him, trying to smooth this path as he’s in the chute heading toward this really hard, painful thing. They are the friend who says to the person in the unhappy relationship or to the nurse or to the grieving alcoholic, “You can do better. Go. Do it. I’ll be here supporting you and loving you.” They are the parent who says to the child, “Go. Make your mistakes, take your risks. I am behind you all the way.” They are saying yes: as much as we don’t want to see you get hurt and as much as we don’t want to lose you, this is your one life and we want you to think big, not small. We are in awe of you for what you are about to do.

 

When you leave today, you’ll be handed a leaf from a palm frond, the kind of plant people used to honor Jesus on his journey. Let this leaf represent the honoring of our capacity to do a hard thing for a good reason. If you feel like you are searching for the courage to go and do the hard thing that you really need to do… or if you want the courage to support a friend or a child in doing the hard thing that they need to do… take this palm leaf. Bring it home. Wrap it around your wrist and make it into a bracelet. Or keep it in the pocket of your coat. Or put it on your fridge. Or on your dresser. Or under your pillow. Put it somewhere to remind you and inspire you. Sometimes we need to walk into suffering, to walk into adversity, to walk into pain. Sometimes we need to think big and walk directly into the storm to break free and become everything that we are meant to become.