Something in the Air

Rev. Whitworth Ferguson III
Manassas Presbyterian Church
Manassas, Virginia
March 16, 2008
Palm Sunday

Something in the Air
Matt 21:1-11
Phil 2:5-11

It was early Monday morning,
the sun only just beginning to come up over the horizon,
the blanket of the night’s silence
thrown off as the world awakened to a cacophony of sounds.
Look east, north,
south, or west
and all the eye could see were pilgrims:
men, women, children, dogs, donkeys, chickens --
all awakening, stretching, wiping sleep from their eyes.

For some of the pilgrims,
the journey had been only a few miles;
For others, the journey had covered hundreds of miles
and had taken days.
For all, Jerusalem was the goal:
hopes and hearts set on being in the Holy City
in time to celebrate the Passover,
the great Feast of Unleavened Bread,
the Festival that helped the children of God
remember that day from more than a thousand years before
when death had passed over the children of Israel in Egypt
and they were set free from centuries of bondage.

Jerusalem: the great city:
the city of David,
the city of God.
And there in the middle of the great city stood the Temple,
the place that every pilgrim
longed to see, longed to go to,
where every pilgrim longed to offer a sacrifice to the Lord God.
The Temple, first built by David’s son Solomon
according to plans given him by God himself
more than 900 years earlier.
It had been gilded, grand, and great.
Solomon’s Temple had been destroyed by the invading Babylonians
more than 500 years before,
and then rebuilt
standing strong century after century
to the glory of God.

Even in the early morning hours,
the Temple was already a busy place.
The moneychangers were setting up their stalls
in the courtyard.
They knew only too well that every pilgrim
would need to buy a dove or two
for the priests to sacrifice.
Only the local currency would do,
so those who came from other cities,
other localities, would have no choice
but to exchange their coins for the local currency.
The moneychangers were happy to help pilgrims
offer their sacrifices;
and they were even happier that they would profit
so handsomely in the bargain.

The day before a young man named Simon
had stepped off a boat at the port city of Joppa,
eager to complete his journey to Jerusalem,
a journey that had brought him across the Great Sea
almost a thousand miles
from the north African city of Cyrene.
This was for him the journey of lifetime.
As soon as his feet hit solid ground
he had headed southeast through Emmaus,
and from there east to Jerusalem.
It was only a day’s journey for one as young and strong as Simon;
He’d made the journey effortlessly,
filled with a sense of eagerness.
As late in the day as it was when he arrived in Jerusalem
he still walked by the Temple --
he just had to see that great structure.

When evening came, he joined so many others
who went out of the city by the Golden Gate,
on the east side of the city,
the side that led to the Mount of Olives.
He found that entrance to the city much more appealing
than the road from the west he’d taken from Joppa.
That road forced him to walk through the hill called Golgotha,
where the Romans crucified criminals on crosses;
crosses that stood as powerful sentinels
warning against the danger of dissension,
disagreements with Roman policy and politics.

Now on his first full day in Jerusalem
as the sun moved across the sky,
Simon found the mood on the Mount of Olives light,
fit for a festival,
He could see off in the distance to the east
that the road that led away from the city --
the road that led to Jericho, Bethany, and Bethpage --
was still thick with travelers,
pilgrims still coming, more and more,
all headed to the city.
A cloud of dust hung heavy in the air
from the shuffling feet on the road.

But there was something else in the air, too.
Something that Simon could not see,
but only feel.
He wondered whether every pilgrim felt that way
on their first journey to Jerusalem.

As Simon joined the throng in their revelry,
he noticed that those coming in from the east
had picked up palm branches along the way.
Why, he wondered:
To fan away the heat?
to chase away the gnats and flies?
to provide a bit of shade from the sun’s glare?

Simon was a learned man:
he knew his history and his Scripture.
He knew that for the Festival of Booths,
God had taught the children of Israel through Moses
to rejoice and wave palm branches throughout the seven days
of the Festival. (Lev. 23:40)
He knew that palm branches were also used
for the procession of a King.
Was something about to happen?
That feeling he had,
that something was in the air,
grew stronger.
Even in Cyrene there had been rumors of a Messiah,
a successor at long last to the throne of David.
What had the Psalmist written?
The Lord is God and he has given us light.
Bind the festal procession with branches!
… Bind the festal procession with branches.
Open to me the gates of righteousness
that I may enter through them
and give thanks to the Lord.
(Psalm 118:27)

Simon could feel the excitement of the crowd building
Something was happening,
Someone was coming!
The crowds moved to the side of the road
as they heard a commotion.
What could it be?
He could hear voices singing out, shouting out:
“Hosanna!
Hosanna to the Son of David!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.
Hosanna in the highest heaven.”
(Matthew 21:9)

Simon moved with the crowds to the side of road
as the group came through singing and shouting.
The crowds greeted the revelers with palm branches waving,
joining in the shouts of “Hosanna!”

And then Simon saw him,
the one in the middle of the revelers,
the man sitting on the back of the donkey.
The man looked intently at the crowds,
not waving, not singing, not laughing.
To Simon, it seemed like the man was
drinking in the crowds, taking them in,
each person, every person, one at a time.

And then, just as quickly as the group had come,
the group passed, headed to the gates of the city.
Simon noticed that most of the crowd chose not to follow,
chose not to head into the city,
but instead remained outside the gate on the Mount of Olives.
Slowly, they all drifted away,
intent now on buying some bread and fish
for the evening’s meal.

“The Son of David” is what the crowd
had called the man on the back of the donkey.
But why?
To Simon the man had looked so ordinary.
The Son of David on the back of the donkey?
It made no sense.

Simon’s mind raced.
He could still feel that there was something there,
something still in the air.
And then he remembered his Scripture:
hadn’t the prophet Zechariah
spoken 500 years before:
“Lo, your king comes to you;
triumphant and victorious is he,
humble and riding on a donkey…”
(Zechariah 9:9)
“Your king comes to you,
triumphant and victorious
yet humble, riding on a donkey.”

“Your king comes to you.”
For a few brief moments,
there had been something in the air
that had caused the crowd in their excitement
to look upon the man on the back of the donkey
as their king.
Had it been some elaborate joke?
After all, this week was a Festival and a holiday.

But then again, hadn’t Zechariah also prophesied
that the future king would stand on the Mount of Olives,
to the east of Jerusalem?
(Zech. 14)

Simon felt so confused.
As he walked back to where he'd left his belongings,
Simon’s feet crushed the discarded palms
strewn all about.
He heard people talk about the man
as some carpenter from Nazareth.
As the sun dropped on the horizon over Jerusalem,
Simon could hear laughter and revelry in the air.
The week ahead promised to be a great holiday
for those camped on the Mount,
a week with few demands,
a time for rest.

And yet Simon could feel it,
feel that there was something there,
something still in the air.
And all he could hear were the words of the psalmist,
“The Lord is God and he has given us light.
Bind the festal procession with branches…”
AMEN