What
was I expecting? What was I expecting,
when I ran into the field and cut branches from a tree to carry in the procession? What was I expecting, when I shouted “Blessed
is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!?” I don’t know…I didn’t have a clear picture, just
a feeling of excitement. Excitement was
in the air. Pilgrims were streaming into
the city for the Passover, to celebrate our redemption of from slavery. We’d heard the rumors about Jesus of Nazareth,
“a man,” they said, “like the prophets of old.
A man who preached God’s Kingdom.”
“He is coming to Jerusalem”, they said, “They
saw him pass through Jericho—he’s coming, today.”
The
feeling was like it had been at the Jordan, when we went out to see John. It was like we’d finally come to a turning
point. John baptized us and told us to
repent of our sins because someone was coming who was greater than him. And when John was killed, people started
asking more and more urgently “Who?” Then
we started to hear the rumors from Galilee: “He heals the sick, and there is no
demon he can’t master. They said he gave
a blind man his sight, that he even raises the dead.” And then they said he’s coming here, to
Jerusalem. And he did.
I
guess I just got caught up in the enthusiasm of the moment. Then I saw him riding, on that donkey—it
looked like a joke, to be honest with you.
And the people with him—what a bunch of rednecks! Half of them were women! What was he thinking? But there he went,
bold as brass, right into the temple. And then he did--nothing. Just looked around a little and then left
again. What was I expecting?—more than
that!
But
I don’t think anyone was expecting what happened on Monday. I still can’t believe that he got away with
it. It’s been a long time since anyone
saw action like that in the temple, what with the tables knocked over and seats
knocked down. Everyone saying “who does
he think he is?” and moaning about their lost business. Obviously the higher-ups were none too
pleased about it, either. But I could
see then why people were impressed with him.
That was stone cold crazy, and I could hardly wait to see what he did
next!
On
Tuesday, I got to the temple as early as I could, and he was already there,
drawing a big crowd. And he was dealing.
The chief priests and the scribes and the Pharisees kept
interrupting and asking him questions, trying to find a chink in his armor, and
every time he just took them apart.
But it wasn’t like he was just ripping on them to show them who was
the top dog. Everything he said made so
much sense. Listening to him you started to see
things in a different way, like the things that you thought you already knew
you didn’t really know at all. It was
like when you’re having a dream where you’re being chased and you’re totally
caught up in it and afraid you’re going to die or something and then you wake
up and you knowe that it’s just a dream and you’re back in real life and
there’s nothing to be afraid of.
And
these people who you’ve been taught to respect like their word is law—I mean
big shots, chief priests, elders, who are on the council and have big houses up
on the hill—you start to see that deep down they’re really afraid and
everything they say is calculated—every word like a weapon to defend them and
their position and to beat down anyone that tries to say anything
different. They’d talk about God and
Moses but then Jesus would answer them and you couldn’t help but wonder if they
were just making stuff up, and what were they really after. But with him
you always felt like he was just giving you the straight dope.
So
I wasn’t that surprised when I my cousin came over on Friday morning, just as
we were waking up, and said that he’d been arrested. I wasn’t happy about it. I thought he’d at least put up a fight. He should have asked for volunteers when he
was teaching in the temple and hundreds of people were there hanging on his
every word. I would have stepped
up. All my friends would have, too. We could have protected him, or smuggled him
out of the city. I heard he didn’t even
try to get away, just waited for them like a stupid sheep.
Anyway,
my cousin’s mother is a cook at the High Priest’s house and he told me that she
said that they’d taken him to the Gentile governor to have him executed. So we headed over there to see what was going
on. As we got close there was a big
crowd coming up the street. They were
talking about how Pilate (that’s the governor) likes to release a prisoner at
the Passover to show what a good guy he is, and they were all going there to
get someone out. When we got to the
square outside the fortress the governor was there on his seat with Jesus in
front of him with his hands bound, and the chief priests were going at him, accusing
him of stirring up rebellion and plotting to destroy the temple and blaspheming
God and all kind of crimes. So then
Pilate turned to him and asked him what answer he had to all the charges they
were making.
All
eyes were on him. And there was this
silence. I remember thinking—“here it
comes!” I looked around at the chief
priests and the elders and the governor and his officers and I thought “Now I
get it--he planned it all, they’re all playing into his hand and now he’s going
to spring his trap.” I don’t know what I
was expecting, but he just stood there.
Completely still. And then the
governor’s face kind of twitched, and he shifted in his chair, and suddenly the
people around me were pressing forward and yelling about releasing a prisoner
and I don’t really remember what happened after that except someone started
shouting the name “Barabbas” and pretty soon everyone was chanting “Barabbas,
Barabbas, Barabbas!”
But
all I could think about was how betrayed I felt. What was I expecting? I guess when I heard him teaching in the
temple I felt like, for the first time in my life, I had a part to play. You
know how in all the old stories it seems like God’s plan works through the underdog—Moses
with his speech problem, and David, the youngest of all Jesse’s sons, Rahab the
prostitute and Amos the herdsman? For a
couple of days it had felt like I was in one of those stories, that I wasn’t
meant to spend my whole life just being pushed around by the decisions that
other, more important people make. I
felt like I knew just as much about who God is, and what God wants, as any priest or
scribe, maybe more.
But
when I saw Jesus standing there, not even trying to defend himself, letting
them just walk all over him, I knew I’d been wrong. I knew that whoever God is, he doesn’t have
time for people like me. I knew that all
those old stories are just fairy tales, and that in the real world it is the
big shots who matter, and they will do whatever they have to do to keep it that
way. And the flame in my heart, the hope
that he put there, turned to hate. And when
the crowd started shouting “Crucify him! Crucify him!” my fist was in the
air. My voice was shouting as loud as
any of them.
So
what do I expect? Nothing. I don’t expect anything at all.
