Open the Gates

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 118: 1-2 and 19-29, Matthew 21: 1-11 Sermon Title: Open the Gates Preached on April 2, 2023 Today is Palm Sunday. Our second Scripture lesson describes it from the perspective of Matthew’s Gospel. Two scholars, John Dominic Crossan and Marcus Borg, have done some important work in imagining what Jerusalem was like on that day so long ago. On that first Palm Sunday, when Jesus’ rode into the city on a donkey and a colt, He was sitting on the cloaks of His disciples, which made His saddle, and the crowds around Him swarmed rejoicing. According to the scholars, we should pay particular attention to the size of the crowd. Jerusalem at that time had about 40,000 permanent inhabitants. However, on that day, when Jesus rode into the city, the population swelled. According to the scholars’ estimates based on historical records, on that first Palm Sunday so long ago, the population reached as high as 250,000. Think about that. A city of 40,000 welcomes more than 200,000 visitors. That’s like Athens on game day. Athens, Georgia, according to census data from 2021, has about 125,000 residents. On game day, they’ll welcome about 160,000 visitors, so the population more than doubles. In Jerusalem that day, the population more than quadrupled, which makes me wonder if anyone had the bright idea to sell palm branches the way the venders sell t-shirts in Athens, only first let’s ask: Why were so many people there? What was the big deal? To observe Passover, plenty of people were in town, which was expected. Passover is that ancient Jewish holiday remembering the moment when God led the Hebrew people out of slavery in Egypt. Jewish people celebrate Passover today just as they did then. Last Wednesday evening, I was honored to be a reader at the Passover celebration at Temple Kol Emeth in East Cobb. That synagogue was kind enough to invite me in for the celebration, just as Jerusalem welcomed all kinds of people from all over the Empire to celebrate the most important holiday of the year. However, more than these religious pilgrims, there were also crowds of people who came into town just to follow Jesus, waving Palm branches as they went. Why were they there? What was the big deal? To put it simply: Jesus is the One they had been waiting for. So, yes it was Passover, and every Jewish grandmother in Jerusalem was hosting her children and her grandchildren, but Jesus makes the big holiday even bigger. It’s like how plenty of people go to Athens for Georgia games every year, but it’s different when the national championship has been won. For the last two years, the Bulldogs did it, and crowds mobbed the streets to celebrate. Double that. Triple that. For Jerusalem to quadruple in population, it was four times the celebration. Four times the anticipation finally met. Four times the hope fulfilled, and all because one man rode into town on a donkey and a colt. That’s what today is all about. Jesus rode into Jerusalem, and the city went wild. They saw Him as an answer to their prayers. Having heard of the miracles, they imagined what He might do next. Having suffered under the oppression of the occupying Roman government, they imagined that He would bring their long-awaited independence and freedom, so they welcomed Him into the city, and they cheered as He rode by. They opened wide the gates of Jerusalem for salvation was at hand. The crowds waved palm branches and laid their coats onto the road making a kind of red carpet so that His steeds’ hooves did not touch the ground. “Hosanna to the Son of David!” they yelled. “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” “Hosanna in the highest heaven.” These cheers mean, “Here He is. The One we’ve been waiting for.” “Open the gates! He’s finally here!” they cheered, and in He went. The crowds went with Him so that Jerusalem quadrupled in size. But wait, there’s more, for we read from the Gospel of Matthew verse 10, “When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?’”. That’s what critics ask whenever the crowds swell with anticipation. “Wait just a minute. Who is this?” They asked that question of Stetson Bennett. Do you remember? Who is this? Those who believed, answered: “He’s our quarterback.” “But he’s 5’11 and 42 years old,” the critics responded. They asked the same of Jesus. “Who is this?” “This is Jesus, the Messiah,” the crowds answered, but the moment the critics open their mouths, damage is done, even with so simple a comment. When hope is fragile, sometimes all it takes is one question and the celebration stops in its tracks. It happened to me last Friday. There I was, getting ready for the most relaxing hour of my week. Every Friday morning, I take our dog, Izzy, for a run down the trail that starts at Burnt Hickory and goes on past the Illinois monument. That peaceful trail crosses two creeks, is covered by tree limbs, and being there always helps me relax after the end of a hard week. Last week was a hard week, and last Friday, I got out of the car ready to relax and recharge. I walked up to the start of the trail, but my shoes came untied. I’m holding the dog leash as I try to tie my shoes, and Izzy takes this opportunity to relieve herself before we get started. A man steps over what she’d left behind, and as I’m trying to tie my shoes while holding the dog, I hear him ask with true resentment, “You going to clean this up?” Now this is a reasonable question. There’s nothing wrong with asking, “You going to clean this up?” There’s nothing wrong with asking, “Who is this?” but hope can be a fragile thing, and I just needed a second to tie my shoes. Therefore, those words said in such a way sent me backwards into a week that started with a school shooting at a Presbyterian Church in Nashville where the pastor’s daughter was killed along with five others. “Who is this?” “You going to clean this up?” “Can we really do anything about gun violence?” Sometimes it doesn’t matter how many people have joined the crowd or how confident they are that the time has come for redemption, if the wrong question is asked, it can be the beginning of the end. “Who is this?” they hear, and the crowd starts to wonder. Their aspirations become ensnared by the cynics. The movement comes to a halt because the most negative, the most pessimistic, the most questioning voices can pull the hopeful in the wrong direction. Sometimes that happens. It’s happening now. However, today, I call on you to open wide the gates in hope, for the cynics were wrong then, and they’re wrong now. Here we are, 2,000 years later, and the crowds so large on that first Palm Sunday would be dwarfed by the crowds who gather to wave their palms in churches throughout the world today. Though cynics doubted, the fragile hope came to fruition. The One the crowds hoped in has changed the world already. So if you are discouraged, if you’re hope is running dry, or if the questions of the cynics resound in your hearts this morning, open the gates of your hearts wide this morning. Open the gates of your hearts wide to believe that things will get better. Open the gates to hope. To peace. To change. To reform. To faith. Open the gates, and let Him come in, for He has changed the world, and He’s doing it again even now. He is the One to save us all. We need simply to believe. Amen.