“Who do you say I am?” (Matthew 16:13-20)

Perhaps you’ve noticed it before. But as you read through the gospels you’ll find that Jesus is constantly asking questions. He puts them to strangers; he puts them to his critics; he puts them to his closest friends. He asks questions in moments of crisis. He asks questions when he already knows the answer. He asks questions that make people uncomfortable…

You’d think it would be the other way around—that people would have questions for him. And certainly we do meet with people who came to Jesus with questions of their own. But no, by far the greatest number questions in the gospels are posed, not by Jesus’ disciples, not by people in the crowds who gathered to hear him, not by those he met along the dusty roads of Galilee and Judea, but by Jesus. Here are just a few among the many that I came across as I leafed through the gospels in preparation for this morning:

·  To a couple of John the Baptist’s disciples set on following him: “What are you looking for?” (John 1:38).

·  To a paralyzed man lying helplessly on his mat: “Do you want to be made well?” (John 5:6)

·  To his disciples after healing another paralyzed man, “Which is easier, to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Stand up and walk’?” (Mark 2:9)

·  To a woman caught in the act of adultery: “Woman, where are your accusers? Has no one condemned you?” (John 8:10)

·  To a blind man sitting by the roadside: “What do you want me to do for you?” (Mark 10:51)

·  To a crowd of listeners gathered to hear him: “Can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?”

·  And a moment later to that same multitude: “Why do you worry about what to wear?” (Matthew 6:27,28)

·  And not very long after that: “Why do you see the speck in your brother’s eye but ignore the beam in your own?” (Matthew 7:3)

·  And to another crowd: “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you?” (Luke 6:32)

·  To a circle of his critics trying to find a way to undermine him: “Is it lawful to do good on the Sabbath or to do evil?” (Mark 3:4)

·  Holding up a coin before another cluster of detractors he asked, “Whose head is on this, and whose title?” (Matthew 22:20)

·  To a group of his followers he posed this one: “What good can it be for someone to gain the whole world in trade for their life?” (Matthew 16:26)

·  And after they had been tossed about in their boat by a violent storm at sea and practically scared out of their wits: “Where is your faith?” (Luke 8:25)

·  Finally and most poignantly, to the disciple Peter following his resurrection: “Do you love me?” “Do you love me?” “Do you love me?” (John 21:17)

Jesus’ question

So perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised when this morning’s gospel reading opens with Jesus asking yet another question. And on this occasion he addresses it to the disciples: “Who do people say the Son of Man is?”

Now we mustn’t think that it was as though Jesus were attempting to carry out some kind of first-century opinion poll. Frankly I can’t imagine that Jesus was all that concerned about what people thought about him. He was not like contemporary politicians, constantly checking the latest surveys to find out their standing among the public.

Jesus didn’t have any need to worry himself about that kind of thing, because he was perfectly secure in his identity. Elsewhere he confided to his disciples, “I have come … not to do my own will, but the will of him who sent me.” (John 6:38) It was plain that Jesus’ path was not determined by public opinion, but by the mission entrusted to him by his heavenly Father—and he knew that that mission would lead ultimately to his rejection and death.

So it is that when you look at the gospels, who did Jesus spend most of his time with? By and large it wasn’t the movers and the shakers. It wasn’t the influencers. It wasn’t the affluent or the well-heeled. It was the poor and the downtrodden, the crippled, the incurable, the prostitutes, the tax collectors and those pushed off to the sidelines of society.

But going back to Jesus’ question in this morning’s gospel reading, I imagine there was a gap of barely a few seconds before the answers came tumbling out from the disciples: “Some say John the Baptist.” “Others are thinking along the lines of Elijah.” “Still others are putting you in a category with Jeremiah or one of the prophets…” Jesus had been the talk of the town wherever he went. Even King Herod had heard about him. But in fact none of that stood behind Jesus’ motivation for asking the question, “Who do people say I am?”. The real question he was aiming at was the one he asked next: “But who do you say I am?”

Peter’s response

Now at this point I imagine that there was more than a brief pause. In my mind’s eye I can picture the disciples all standing there in dumbfounded silence. We can hardly blame them. For I wonder, how often have you or I taken the time to give serious thought to this question? Sunday by Sunday we repeat the words of the creed: “God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God…” But when did we last give them any meaningful consideration? Have we ever reflected on their consequences? Have we asked, what does all this mean for me, for the way I live my life today? When you take a moment to think about it, the implications are massive and have the potential of touching on every area of our lives.

But, going back to our gospel reading, it was predictable that Peter would be the one to answer—honest, impetuous, impulsive Peter. I can’t think he had to reflect for more than a fraction of a second before he found himself blurting out: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God!”

Remember that Peter had been among the first to respond to Jesus’ challenge to “Follow me…” He had wasted no time in leaving his boat and his nets behind to accompany Jesus (Matthew 4:18-20). It was Peter who had fished all night and had nothing to show for it. He began to object when Jesus said, “Let down your nets for a catch.” But his skepticism was proved wrong when his nets couldn’t contain the fish that were flipping back and forth to the point of almost sinking their boats (Luke 5:4-9). It was Peter who at Jesus’ word stepped out of his boat onto the roiling sea in the midst of a raging storm and began to walk towards him (Matthew 14:22-33). And later, in the darkness of Gethsemane on the eve of Jesus’ crucifixion, it would be Peter who would take out his sword and slice off the high priest’s servant’s ear to prevent Jesus’ arrest (John 18:10).

And so it was hardly a surprise, when Jesus asked, “Who do you say I am?” it would be Peter who would respond: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

Jesus’ promise

Now I suspect that Peter did not come to this conclusion entirely on his own. In my mind’s eye I can see the disciples clustering together on more than one occasion—perhaps following one of Jesus’ miraculous acts, perhaps after listening to another of his arresting parables. And I can hear them asking themselves, as they did after Jesus calmed that violent storm at sea, the waves swamping their boat and threatening to take them all down with it: “What sort of man is this, that even winds and sea obey him?” (Matthew 8:27).

The question of who this Jesus was had to have occupied the minds of the disciples for some time. But it always would have remained a question. What they must increasingly have been wondering seemed too stupendous to be true. Now it was Peter who gave voice to their growing suspicion: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

In a moment’s time I will ask you to stand and invite you to affirm that same faith in Jesus in the words of the Nicene Creed. It will not be a spontaneous outburst as it was with Peter. Instead, it will be in the carefully crafted words that have been echoed down through the centuries by men and women of faith.

However, let us not allow their familiarity to lull us into simply rattling them off. Let us place ourselves with Peter and the other disciples as Jesus asks not, “Who do people say I am?” Not, “Who does the church say I am?” But, “Who do you say I am?” And let us answer in humble amazement and with full conviction of faith…

 

“Your King is Coming” (Matthew 21:1-11)

The ancient world out of which our Scriptures arose was a succession of mighty empires that swept across the Middle East. There had been the Egyptian Empire (1560-1069 bc), followed by the Assyrian Empire (1300-612 bc), after which came the Persian Empire (550-330 bc). But by far the greatest of them all was the Macedonian Empire (338-136 bc). This vast domain covered a swath of land occupying over five million square kilometers. It stretched from modern-day Greece eastwards through what are now Bulgaria and Romania, Turkey and Armenia, Iraq and Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan, southwards through Syria, Jordan, Lebanon and Israel, and across northern Africa through Egypt and Libya to the fringes of the Sahara Desert. It would not be exceeded in area even by the mighty Roman empire at its peak five centuries later. And all of this was the doing of one man: Alexander the Great, unquestionably one of the mightiest conquerors in all of history.

Now come to the city of Jerusalem in the year 331 bc. A message has arrived that Alexander himself would be paying a visit. To understand what this meant, you need to know that Jerusalem had refused to ally with Alexander as his armies battled against the Persian empire. So when they were brought the news that Alexander himself was coming to their city, its leading citizens began to spin into a frenzy, fearing the worst. They were certainly in no position to defend themselves, so they went to extravagant lengths to try to wow him and head off disaster.

Four centuries later the story was still being told. Here is what Jewish historian Josephus would write of that visit:

Jaddus the high priest, when he heard [the news of Alexander’s planned visit], was in an agony, and under terror, as not knowing how he should meet the Macedonians, since the king was displeased at his foregoing disobedience. He therefore ordained that the people should make supplications, and should join with him in offering sacrifice to God, whom he besought to protect that nation, and to deliver them from the perils that were coming upon them. Whereupon God warned him in a dream … that he should take courage, and adorn the city, and open the gates; that the rest should appear in white garments, but that he and the priests should meet the king in the habits proper to their order…

Josephus continues:

Alexander was not far from the city [when Jaddus the high priest] went out in procession, with the priests and the multitude of the citizens… When Alexander saw the multitude at a distance, in white garments, while the priests stood clothed with fine linen, and the high priest in purple and scarlet clothing, with his mitre on his head … he approached by himself … and saluted the high priest. The Jews also did all together, with one voice, salute Alexander, and encompass him about…

Just try to picture the scene in all its grandeur: Standing at the gate, the high priest and his entourage robed in their finest ceremonial attire. Behind them stretches a numberless crowd all clothed in white. Even for a great conqueror such as Alexander it must have been an impressive sight.

Applauded

Now let’s move ahead three and a half centuries. Jerusalem is bustling with pilgrims from every corner of the known world, all preparing for the feast of Passover. It is likely that its population of less than 100,000 swelled to twice that amount on those occasions, so you can just imagine the chaos: narrow streets swarming with pilgrims, and having to elbow and jostle your way even to make the least progress to get anywhere.

At this point Jesus and the disciples are just outside the city proper, standing on the Mount of Olives. The Mount of Olives rises about three hundred feet above Jerusalem itself (about twice the height of Citadel Hill) so you can imagine the panoramic view they had of the city across the Kidron Valley. It was from there that Jesus gave instructions to two of his followers to bring him a donkey with her colt. And so, as the next scene unfolds, you can picture Jesus riding slowly down the hill towards the city gate.

Perhaps some people had already seen him coming from across the valley and begun to tell others. Soon what started out as a quiet entry into the city became a royal procession, as onlookers began to spread their cloaks along the dusty road, while others took branches they had cut from the trees and laid them on the ground. All the while people were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!”

It is amazing, even without social media like Facebook and Instagram and WhatsApp, how widely and rapidly news could travel in the ancient world. Maybe there were some who had heard of Jesus’ miracles along their way to the Passover festival. Perhaps others had even witnessed them themselves—the healing of ten lepers, the restoring of sight to a blind man, the astonishing change of heart to Zacchaeus the tax collector… Perhaps still others had heard his arresting parables about the lost sheep, or the prodigal son, or the rich man and the beggar Lazarus, or the Pharisee and the tax collector… And, while this would have aroused the animosity of some, there would have been more than a few who had found themselves being irresistibly attracted to this remarkable man.

Added to that was the fact that there was a widespread expectation of a coming Messiah. Peter and the other disciples had long arrived at the firm conclusion that this was indeed who Jesus was. And by this time there were others who were beginning to ask themselves the question if this Jesus might not himself be the long promised Saviour-King (John 7:40-41).

So it is that we are confronted with the narrow streets of Jerusalem crowded with people cheering with Hosannas and waving their branches of palm. Excitement filled the air. The sense of anticipation was palpable. As we look back upon the scene, I wonder if this ought not to be our model, not just for Palm Sunday, but for every Sunday as we gather to celebrate the King of kings. It is a tragedy when worship becomes a routine for us—or even worse for some, a chore.

In my Anglican tradition, early in the service the worship leader would greet the congregation with the exhortation, “Praise ye the Lord!”. To which the congregation would reply, “The Lord’s name be praised!” Being Anglo-Saxons, that response was often rather muted, dare I say half-hearted? But let’s all stand up and imagine for a moment that we are on one of the streets of Jerusalem and Jesus is passing by…

Hosanna to the Son of David!
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!
Hosanna in the highest!

Abandoned

But we move on now to another location, once again a short distance outside the walls of Jerusalem—but this time not the picturesque Mount of Olives, rather what was known as the Place of the Skull, Golgotha, the execution ground. It is five days later. Gone is the excitement of Palm Sunday. The cheers of “Hosanna!” are not even a faint echo anymore. Only days later they had given way to angry calls of “Crucify him!” Now even those shouts have faded into the eerie quietness of Calvary. Gone are the crowds, their places taken by a small cohort of Roman guards, a few of the religious officials and the occasional passerby. Not far away a few women and a teenage boy stand in grief-stricken silence.

For the Romans crucifixion was a favourite means of punishment, combining both sadistic, drawn-out torture and execution, and standing as a public warning to any who dared to join in opposition against the imperial régime. A hundred years before Jesus’ crucifixion, after a lengthy slaves’ revolt, six thousand crosses had lined the Appian Way.

In the end, though, it would not be the waving palms and the shouts of “Hosanna!” that would endure. No, it would be the cross of Calvary and the parched cry that continues to echo down the centuries: “Father, forgive them…”

A generation later a former persecutor of Jesus’ followers would write, “[Some] demand signs and [others] seek wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called … Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.” (1 Corinthians 1:22-24) And again, “Far be it from me to boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world.” (Galatians 6:14)

“There is … no Christianity without the cross,” wrote Bible teacher and author John Stott. “If the cross is not central to our religion, ours is not the religion of Jesus.”[1]

Every time we look at the cross, [he wrote elsewhere] Christ seems to say to us, ‘I am here because of you. It is your sin I am bearing, your curse I am suffering, your debt I am paying, your death I am dying.’ Nothing in history or in the universe cuts us down to size like the cross. All of us have inflated views of ourselves, especially in self-righteousness, until we have visited a place called Calvary. It is there, at the foot of the cross, that we shrink to our true size.[2]

And I would want to add, it is there, at the cross, that we also discover that you and I, flawed and wayward sinners though we be, are of infinite worth to our Father God.

Acclaimed

Which brings us to a third scene—and it is another palm procession, not on the dusty streets inside the gates of Jerusalem, but on the streets of gold in the holy city of God. It comes to us in the Book of Revelation:

After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!” And all the angels were standing round the throne and round the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshipped God, saying, “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honour and power and might be to our God for ever and ever! Amen.”

Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, “Who are these, clothed in white robes, and from where have they come?” I said to him, “Sir, you know.” And he said to me, “These are the ones coming out of the great tribulation. They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.

“Therefore they are before the throne of God,
     and serve him day and night in his temple;
     and he who sits on the throne
              will shelter them with his presence.
They shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore;
     the sun shall not strike them,
     nor any scorching heat.
For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd,
     and he will guide them to springs of living water,
and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

 (Revelation 7:15-17)

It is a remarkable scene, that stretches beyond the limits even of the wildest imagination. It sends chills down my spine every time I read it. It reveals to us that the celebration of that first Palm Sunday and our celebration today are but a preview, a rehearsal if you will, of the surpassing joy that awaits us, when we put our trust in Christ and in what he has won for us by his death on the cross.

Today, on this Palm Sunday, we look ahead not only to the events of Good Friday and Easter. We look beyond them to when you and I will gather with countless myriads of God’s people from every continent and century to rejoice before the throne of our crucified, risen, ascended and glorified Saviour. But that can happen only as we can speak with the Apostle Paul of the Saviour “who loved me and gave himself for me” (Galatians 2:20). Those words are reflected so beautifully in the song,

It was for me he cried, for me he died,
For me he shed his blood upon a tree.
It was for me he came, for me his shame;
For me, oh praise his name, it was for me.[3]

And so let me ask: Have you stood at the foot of the cross? Have you looked up at the one hanging there and recognized that it was for you he suffered and bled and died—that it was your sins, your guilt, your death he took upon himself there?

Let’s take a moment to pray in silence, and use the opportunity to offer ourselves to Jesus, our glorious King, who is worthy of all praise, and who gave himself once and for all for you and for me and for our salvation on the cross…

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[1]     The Cross of Christ, 68

[2]     The Message of Galatians, 179

[3]     Dave Bolling, “It was for me”

“When the Spirit Comes” (John 16:4b-15)

For the next few minutes I want you to imagine that you are in the upper room with Jesus and his followers. (I am tempted to suggest that you close your eyes, but I don’t want you to fall asleep!)

It is the fateful night before Jesus’ crucifixion. They have gathered for the Passover supper, observed for more than a thousand years, since the time of Moses. It was intended as a festive occasion, celebrating the liberation of God’s people from centuries of slavery under the cruel hands of the Egyptians. Yet I can only imagine that on this particular occasion the air must have been fraught with apprehension and foreboding.

The disciples could not have known exactly what lay ahead. But Jesus did. And almost certainly they must have picked up on the mounting hostility that had been surrounding him since their coming to Jerusalem only a few days before. And if that weren’t enough, Jesus had already taken the unleavened Passover bread and broken it with the ominous words, “This is my body, broken for you…” And then the cup of wine, saying, “This is my blood, shed for you…”

Perhaps you have noticed already, however, that, unlike the other three gospel writers, John makes almost no mention of the Last Supper. He gives it barely a mention—just a single word in passing. And there is a reason, for John’s focus is on something else: on Jesus’ words of comfort and assurance to his followers, words that John would carry with him for the remainder of his life.

It is clear that Jesus knows what lies ahead of him. And this is his last opportunity to prepare these, his closest companions, for the sequence of events that would lead to his crucifixion—not to mention all that would be happening to them after that!

In the dozen verses that make up our passage for this morning Jesus assures his followers that, even though his time with them is coming to its end, they will not be left alone. In chapter 14 he has already promised them that he would not leave them as orphans—that he would be giving them another Helper, the Spirit of truth, who would be with them not just for a few short years but forever. Now, as we come to chapter 16, Jesus unwraps that promise for them, to give them some more extended teaching on who the Holy Spirit is and what he will do.

The word that Jesus uses for the Holy Spirit both in chapter 14 and in our passage this morning in our English Standard Version Bibles is “Helper”. If you look at other translations, you will find that it is rendered “Advocate”, “Comforter”, “Counsellor” and “Friend”.

The challenge for translators is that very often a word in one language has no exact equivalent in another. The original word that in our Bibles is translated “Helper” literally means a legal advisor—that is, someone who is called in to assist another person in court, whether as an advocate, a witness, or a representative.[1] For this reason my own preference would be to go for “Counsellor” or “Advocate”.

But we don’t need to sweat over words, because in our passage this morning Jesus himself sets out for us exactly what the Holy Spirit’s role will be—in relation to the world, in relation to his followers (which includes you and me today) and in relation to himself.

He will convict the world (4b-11)

First, then, in relation to the world: Jesus tells us that the Holy Spirit “will convict the world concerning sin and righteousness and judgement”. So let’s take a moment to try to unwrap what Jesus means when he tells us that the Holy Spirit will convict the world.

Other translations render that phrase “expose the error of the world” or “prove the world wrong”. The word literally means to cross-examine, to put to shame, to treat with contempt, to accuse, to bring to the test, to refute…[2] I had a little fun this past week and asked the internet to give me some other synonyms and here are a few of the alternatives that it came up with:

invalidate; discredit; give the lie to; debunk; show in its true light; knock the props out from under; shoot full of holes; blow out of the water; blow sky high…

I suspect you get the drift!

So often the world’s idea of what is right or good is diametrically opposed to what God himself has set forth and commanded. You may remember way back in chapter 3 of John’s gospel, when Jesus warned Nicodemus, “This is the judgement: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil.” (John 3:19)

Centuries before Jesus, the prophet Isaiah had mourned,

All of us have become like one who is unclean,
   and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags;
we all shrivel up like a leaf,
   and like the wind our sins sweep us away. (Isaiah 64:6)

And in the New Testament the apostle Paul echoes that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23).

We live in a world and in a society that is morally and spiritually spinning out of control. Gender confusion is considered healthy behaviour. So-called abortion rights are protected by the courts, no matter the precious lives of the helpless ones within their mothers’ wombs. Assisted suicide is upheld by legislation as a morally acceptable, even desirable, way for life to end. And in the nation to the south of us there is a man who likely will be convicted of criminal offences and who clearly has no moral judgement, who could easily be elected president.

It is clear to me that, left to our own devices, we human beings cannot be relied upon to choose good over evil, truth over falsehood, right over wrong. Yes, there have been and there are many noble exceptions. And there are times when truth and righteousness have prevailed. Yet there is also a sad trail of wreckage that goes all the way back to when our first forebears spurned the wisdom of God for a fruit that they found pleasing to the eyes and naïvely thought would bring them wisdom.

It is the Holy Spirit who is able to unmask the lies that the world would have us believe and to lead us into the truth. That is not to say that Christians have not taken the wrong path and do not continue to do so—and sometimes with cruel and calamitous results. But it happens when we close our eyes and shut our ears to the Holy Spirit. As the psalmist pleads, “Today, if only you would hear his voice, ‘Do not harden your hearts…’” (Psalm 95:7-8).

He will guide you (12-14)

If the first role of the Holy Spirit, then, is to expose sinful thoughts and attitudes, the second is to be our guide into what is true and right and just and good.

Some years ago Karen and I spent a day in the village of Ghadames, an ancient Berber settlement in the Sahara desert, near the border of Libya, Algeria and Tunisia. Its history can be traced back six thousand years. No doubt we would have found it interesting just wandering through its curving whitewashed passageways and admiring its palm-shaded oasis. Had we known more than a word or two of Arabic, it might have been even better! But what made all the difference was that we had a guide. And Tahar took us into places we never would have known about or even imagined were there. He explained its history and traditions and introduced us to some of its people. In a word, he was able to bring it all to life—to make sense out of what otherwise would have been a mystery to us. And we would have left Ghadames never knowing what we had missed.

So it is with the Holy Spirit. Jesus promises that he will be our guide, to lead us into all the truth. Now I don’t believe that the truth Jesus is referring to in these verses is what we might call scientific truth. More than once people have gone wrong by thinking they can treat the Bible as a kind of scientific manual.

No, the truth that Jesus is talking about here is that the God he came to reveal is a God who is sovereign over all creation. Yet he does not dwell in blissful isolation on some remote throne in the heavens. No, he is personal and accessible to every human being. What is more, he loves you and me. And we’re not just talking about some wishy-washy feel-good love but a costly love—indeed a love that shouldered the ultimate cost, borne in the pain and shed blood of his own Son on the cross for your sins and mine.

The truth that Jesus was talking about is discovering “the wisdom from above”—the wisdom that in the Bible’s words is “pure, peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere” (James 1:17).

The Bible warns us that this kind of truth, the truth into which the Holy Spirit guides us, is something that the world by and large just does not “get”. The apostle Paul described it as “a wisdom not of this age or the rulers of this age” but “the secret and hidden wisdom of God” (1 Corinthians 2:6-7). Yet, as Jesus himself has promised, this is the truth that sets us free, free to become the women and men that God has created us, that Jesus has redeemed us, and that the Holy Spirit empowers us, to be (John 8:31-32).  

He will glorify me (14-15)

So the Holy Spirit comes to convict the world of sin, righteousness and judgement. He comes to lead us into the truth—and specifically the truth that is in Jesus. And all of this brings us to a third point that Jesus left with his disciples. And it is a point that really flows from the first two. That is, the Holy Spirit comes to glorify Jesus.

Indeed without the Holy Spirit we would never be able to claim Jesus as Lord in the first place. For it is the Holy Spirit who enables us to recognize Jesus for who he is. The Holy Spirit does not come to point us to himself. He comes to point us to Jesus. He does not stand at the centre of the stage, for he does his work in the background and for the most part silently and unseen. It is for that reason he has sometimes been called the shy member of the Trinity.

Yes, there were the big events like Pentecost and the conversion of the Gentiles in Cornelius’ house. But those are the exceptions, the high points, the events that made the headlines—while all along, quietly in the background there were those faithful souls in their thousands, who “devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers … with glad and generous hearts and having favour with all the people” (Acts 2:42,46-47).

This past week, as I was preparing for this morning, I came across these very helpful words from a Pentecostal website:

The Spirit does not reveal himself. The Spirit reveals Christ. The fullness of the Spirit is the fullness that he gives as we gaze on Christ. The power of the Spirit is the power we feel in the presence of Christ. The joy of the Spirit is the joy we feel from the promises of Christ.[3]

And so it is the Holy Spirit who enables us to proclaim from our hearts with true conviction, “Jesus is Lord!” It is the Spirit who empowers us to worship God in joyful adoration. It is the Spirit who makes it possible for us to bear witness to Jesus with genuineness and authenticity.

In the next moments we will pause to do what Jesus did with his disciples on that last evening before his crucifixion. With them we will hear his words, “This is my body, given for you…” “This is my blood, shed for you…” As we take the bread into our hands and bring the cup to our lips, may we also take the opportunity to open our hearts afresh to the Holy Spirit, to the Spirit of Jesus, that he may be glorified in our lives.

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[1]     See D.A. Carson, The Gospel According To John, Pillar New Testament Commentary, p. 499

[2]     See Carson, p. 534

[3]     https://thecophq.org/holy-spirit-the-shy-member-of-the-trinity%EF%BF%BC

“If Stones Could Shout” (Luke 19:28-40)

For the next few moments I want you to try to imagine what it must have been like to be among those who stood on the streets of Jerusalem on the first Palm Sunday. (I’ll even let you close your eyes if you like, as long as you promise not to go to sleep!)

The city would have been bustling with people, as worshippers from all over Palestine and many from considerably farther afield—from as far away as the distant corners of the vast Roman Empire—had begun to gather in preparation for the annual Passover celebration.

For centuries there had been a tradition that, as they made their way towards the holy city, travellers would recite what are known as the Psalms of Ascents, the fifteen psalms beginning with Psalm 120. Many of those psalms remain familiar to us today, as they have become entrenched in our Christian worship: “I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come?” “I was glad when they said to me, ‘Let us go the house of the Lord.’” “Those who trust in the Lord are like Mount Zion, which cannot be moved…” “When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream…” “Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labour in vain…”

So it was that there was literally music in the air as Jesus and his followers made their way towards Jerusalem. Our Bible reading this morning opens with them looking across at the city from the top of the slope that separates it from the Mount of Olives—and I find myself hearing the distant echoes of those psalms being sung in the background.

As they made their way along the twisting road that led down into the valley and then up towards the city, Jesus knew what awaited him there. Indeed, he had been warning his followers about it for some months: “See, we are going up to Jerusalem, and everything that is written about the Son of Man by the prophets will be accomplished. For he will be delivered over to the Gentiles and will be mocked and shamefully treated and spit upon. And after flogging him, they will kill him, and on the third day he will rise.” (Luke 19:31-33)

The Disciples

In fact, Jesus had warned them on at least three separate occasions what was going to happen to him. However, the disciples, really hadn’t paid very much attention at the time. Plus, I suspect that by this time they were so caught up in the excitement of the coming Passover celebration that those words of foreboding had faded almost entirely from their minds. They would have had no idea of the darkness that was to engulf them over the coming days.

It was in that context that Jesus came to them with a request: “Go into the village ahead of you. There on entering you will find a colt tied, on which no one has ever yet sat. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ say this: ‘The Lord has need of it.’”

The instructions seem strange to me—almost like something out of a James Bond movie. However, the disciples seemed to think nothing of it and went on their way unquestioningly, following Jesus’ directions to the letter. And as it turned out, everything was exactly as he had told them. Little did they know that they were embarking on a trajectory that would lead to treachery, betrayal, torture and execution.

Now they were happy to obey Jesus and to carry out his instructions. But in a few days’ time they would see this same Jesus, whom they had come to love and adore, roughly arrested, unjustly tried, brutally tortured, and nailed to a cross to die a slow, agonizing death. And they would find themselves cowering behind locked doors in fear for their lives. Piece by piece, everything that they had come to believe in and to hold dear over the previous three years would be turned on its head.

The Multitude

The next scene takes us to the gates of Jerusalem. Located atop Mount Zion and surrounded by thick stone walls, the city would have made an impressive site, especially for those who came from the towns and villages of the countryside.

I am reminded of one of my visits to New York City. I was with a friend and we were walking through the streets of Manhattan, when a stranger came up to us and said, “You’re visitors here, aren’t you?” When we asked him what gave us away, he replied, “It’s because you’re looking up, not ahead.” All our attention had been riveted on the enormous skyscrapers that towered above us, to the point where we weren’t paying any attention to where we were going!

I can imagine a similar dynamic taking place with many of the pilgrims from the tiny hamlets of Palestine—among them Jesus’ disciples. There were the more than a quarter of a million of them jostling along through its narrow streets. And everything about the city would have prompted oohs and ahs.

At the centre of it all was the magnificent Temple occupying thirty-six acres of land. Its fifty-foot-high gates flanked by enormous columns, its gold glistening in the hot Near Eastern sun, it would have been an impressive sight even to modern eyes. Already more than forty-six years in the making, it would not be fully completed for another four decades.

Now add to that the excitement and anticipation over the coming celebration of Passover. Then into this scene there enters a strange sight—a man riding on a donkey, with other men going before him and spreading their cloaks along his path as though he were a king or some kind of royalty. This leads to what seems to have been a spontaneous outburst of excitement, as some join in and spread their garments on the road, while still others cut down palm branches and lay them along the cobblestones. Meanwhile, all of this is accompanied by joyful shouts of “Hosanna!” and “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”

Of course, we all know that within the space of a few short days the jubilant cheers of the multitude would turn to shouts of “Crucify!” Among them there might even have been some of those who passed by him as he hung naked on the cross, who jeered at him and mocked him with the words, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself…”

The Stones

Then there were the religious authorities, who would have none of this spontaneous celebration. “Teacher,” they snapped, “rebuke your disciples.” To which Jesus replied, “I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.”

My suspicion is that the stones that Jesus was referring to may have been the enormous megaliths that formed the base of the Temple. Some of them weighed as much as five hundred tonnes. You may recall that on a previous visit to Jerusalem one of Jesus’ disciples had drawn attention to them. “Look,” he said (and I can imagine the wonderment in his voice). “What massive stones! And what enormous buildings!” (Mark 13:1)

Now let me ask: Can you think of anything more inanimate than a stone—particularly a stone of that magnitude? Yet Jesus says, “If [the human voices] were silent, the very stones would cry out.” What did he mean? Was he just being poetic? Was he using exaggeration to get his point across?

Maybe. But I think there was more. And my reason is this: It is because at the cross everything would change—and I mean everything. It was not just a matter of closing the gap that separates you and me from God on account of our sin. What was happening on the cross would radically affect the whole created order in its entirety—even the rocks! For it was on the cross that Jesus would defeat once and for ever the cosmic powers of sin and evil and death—all that is wrong and sinful and out of step with God’s will in the universe.

We get a glimpse of what was happening in Matthew’s remarkable account of what took place in Jerusalem at the moment when Jesus gave up his spirit:

And behold, the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. And the earth shook, and the rocks were split. The tombs also were opened. And many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised, and coming out of the tombs after his resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many. (Matthew 27:51-53)

So it is that when we get to the Book of Revelation, we find the aged John peering through his astonished eyes not just to catch a dream of things made better, but to be captured by a vision of the whole of creation transformed. What he gazed upon was a new heaven and a new earth. “For,” he says, “the first heaven and the first earth had passed away.” (Revelation 21:1)

The apostle Paul expressed the same kind of understanding in his letter to the Romans, when he wrote:

I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. The creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the glorious liberty of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. (Romans 8:18-23)

So as we move through this Holy Week towards the observance of Good Friday and Easter, if I leave you with anything, I want to leave you with a cosmic vision of what was taking place as our Lord and his disciples made their way into the holy city.

When Jesus was to utter those words from the cross, “It is finished,” he was not just saying that his life was coming to an end. He was doing away once and for all with sin and evil and death. He was ushering in a whole new creation, made perfect in accordance with the will and pleasure of his Father.

In the words of the apostle Paul, “For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross.” (Colossians 1:19-20)

When New Testament scholar N.T. Wright wrote his book about the meaning of Jesus’ crucifixion six years ago, he chose the dramatic title The Day the Revolution Began. In his conclusion to this massive 400-page-plus study, he wrote this (and please forgive me for quoting it at length!):

With all this we lift up our eyes and realize that [we] have been so concerned with getting to heaven, with sin as the problem blocking the way, … that [we have] forgotten that the gospels give us [the atonement] not as a neat little system, but as a powerful, many-sided, richly revelatory narrative in which we are invited to find ourselves, or rather to lose ourselves and to be found again on the other side. We have gone wading in the shallow and stagnant waters of medieval questions and answers … when only a few yards away is the vast and dangerous ocean of the gospel story, inviting us to plunge in and let the waves of dark glory wash over us, wash us through and through, and land us on the shores of God’s new creation.[1]

The obedience of the disciples would quickly turn to fear. The shouts of “Hosanna!” that rang through the streets of Jerusalem would soon be no more than an echo. But the day is coming when even the stones will not be silent, but will resound with the joyful chorus of all the redeemed:

Worthy is the Lamb who was slain,
to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might
and honour and glory and blessing!
(Revelation 5:12)

Let’s be sure that you and I are part of the crowd!

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[1]       The Day the Revolution Began, 415-416