Here Comes The King
Sermon
Here Comes The King
Sermons And Children's Lessons For Advent, Christmas And Epiphany
A flashback - that's what this story is when it is read on the First Sunday in Advent. It has nothing to do with Jesus' birth, nor with Christmas. It has to do with his true identity, his last days before his death, his coronation as "the King of the Jews" on the cross of Calvary. And it ties together Christ the King Sunday, the end of one church year, and Advent, the beginning of a new church year. A flashback - that's what it is when we read and hear it today. And that's why it is so important.
This story highlights the impending death, not the birth of Jesus Christ. He entered Jerusalem in the manner that the prophets had foretold - "Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord." What a strange king! He chose to commandeer a lowly beast of burden for his glorious ride into the Holy City! There wasn't anything regal about him or his entrance, was there? In Voices At The Crossroads, Paul Peterson, editor, an imaginary Roman centurion writes about Jesus' entrance into Jerusalem in another flashback: "Last Sunday we were on patrol in the city when there was a minor ruckus at one of the city gates. A small crowd of people surrounded this Jesus - the one we just executed today - as he came riding into the city on a donkey. They were shouting and carrying on like he was a conquering king. But truthfully he looked kind of silly sitting on that donkey with people throwing branches in his pathway.... I didn't think too much about it, except for the comedy of it."
There is something ludicrous about Jesus' riding into the city of Jerusalem, with his disciples quoting scripture to support his claim to the throne of David, isn't there? It was hardly the red carpet treatment, because Jesus' path was lined with the garments of ordinary people. Would any of them have been dyed red? Jesus had to supply the red dye himself, and he did it by pouring out his blood on the awful tree, the cross. He knew that when he rode into the city that he was riding not to a kingly coronation but to a painful baptism on a Roman cross. Pilate would preside over his coronation, after the soldiers made a crown of thorns and put it on Jesus' head, by identifying Jesus for all time, for all people, with a sign nailed to his cross, "This is the King of the Jews." This flashback leads us to the cross on Calvary, not to the creche of the babe born in Bethlehem, doesn't it?
And if the "red carpet treatment" were something less than Jesus deserved, what about the identification of Jesus? According to Luke, it was the small band of the disciples who proclaimed Jesus' claim to the crown of Israel. Without their quoting of scripture, the so-called "triumphal entrance" of Jesus would have been quite silent. Luke's story emphasizes: "As he was now drawing near, at the descent of the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice for all the mighty works that they had seen, saying, 'Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest.' " The shouts of the disciples broke that sIlence in a manner that has reverberated throughout the world ever since. They called him the King, the promised one of God, as he entered the Holy City as rightful Ruler of the Jews. It was a strange way for God's anointed king to enter his capitol city.
On a day in May, 1991, another strange arrival and entrance into Jerusalem occurred. Some 14,000 refugees were air-lifted from Ethiopia to Israel. They had been living in Ethiopia for some 2,500 years. Sylvia Krugman comments: "They are said to be descendants of Queen Sheba and King Solomon, 3,500 years ago. Who said they have no 'right' to Jerusalem! and the land of Israel?" The Israeli government secretly made arrangements to transport them from Ethiopia to Israel where their lives were threatened; nearly 40 planes were involved in the rescue operation. David Grossman, in a New York Times story, says that an Ethiopian Jew, who had lived in Israel for 20 years had been sent to speak to the refugees and comfort them: " 'A 2,500-year-old dream is coming true,' he told them as the plane came over Jerusalem: 'It is for her we have longed and prayed, and now we have been granted the right to come to her thanks to the Government of Israel and because, thank God, we have a state.' "
Grossman was an eyewitness to the arrival of the refugees and described the event as he saw it: "The arrivals from Ethiopia proceeded down the ramp leading from the plane with slow, suspended steps. Their browned soles - bare, or shod in colorful sneakers - groped hesitantly for the metal stairs. A first glance was sent out, cautious, covert: not a gaze that claimed propriety over the near landscape. Nor a joy-filled glimmer. Just eyes that twinkled behind the dull mask of the refugee." And he continues, "The silence and slow motion of the arrivals enveloped those who received them, too. Before our eyes an entire culture was uprooted from its life source and brought here, to be replanted." "Most of all," the writer comments, "and with that silence that is the end of words, they faced the thing itself: The barrenness of another fate."
"But then," Grossman describes, "a boy burst through the doorway of the plane, a boy of five or six, shaved head, very black, a large wooden flute in his hand. Standing at the head of the ramp, he began to play. For a moment, all activity stopped, a few photographers even forgot their flashbulbs. He stood and played in earnest, with intent. Perhaps it was a shepherd's tune he had played in his village, with his flock. Perhaps it was a melody he had prepared for the moment. With his song, one live shimmering spark flew out from under the anvil of our lives. For one whole day, from within the jarring dissonance of our inner sound system, we produced one true note, one clear harmonious note; enough to evoke the entire melody."2
Isn't that similar to what happened when the disciples cried out, "Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord?" The silence of 1,000 years was broken. As the promised One, Jesus the Christ, entered Jerusalem to be crowned on the terrible tree of Golgotha. It is in the perspective of that event, Jesus' crucifixion and his resurrection, of course, that we can sing and celebrate the birth of Christ, and Christmas, with any real understanding and comprension, "The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight." But the birth of Jesus
- his incarnation - cannot save us from sin and death without his obedient sacrifice on the cross and his rising from the tomb.
When Luther Northwestern Seminary built its student center, after the merger of Luther and Northwestern Seminaries was affected in 1982, the new institution really had three chapels, plus an old wooden church that had been moved to the campus for preservation. One chapel was in an old building, Asgaard Hall, and was, in effect, "decommissioned." The two remaining chapels, a smaller one in Northwestern Hall and the new, larger chapel in the new building, should be, it was decided, given names. It was quite natural that the smaller chapel should be named "The Chapel of the Cross;" it contains Paul Granlund's striking crucifix of the dead Christ, his somewhat smaller than life-size body, suspended on the carpenter's cross in the middle of the pews. But what to name the new and larger chapel? After much study and discussion, it was named "The Chapel of the Incarnation." Some said it should have been given the appellation, "The Chapel of the Resurrection," but that would have done violence to the Lutheran concept of the theology of the cross, which supports his victory over death in his resurrection. Besides, worship services, conceivably might have to begin in one chapel and be concluded in the other, if this had happened. The incarnation of the Lord is seen by itself, but also in the perspective of the crucifixion and resurrection of the Lord! The incarnation could never be fully comprehended and the birth of Jesus might become merely a lovely bedtime story for children, or even forgotten in time, without the terrible tale of Jesus' death and the glorious proclamation of his resurrection.
Jesus knew very well what would happen when he went up to Jerusalem. Luke makes that manifestly clear, devoting so much of his gospel to the journey to Jerusalem and to Jesus' prediction of his death in the Holy City. He announced his impending assassination three times and, perhaps, the disciples were beginning to understand what his mission to humanity was all about; he came to bring God's peace to earth and to reconcile all people to God. The disciples not only called him King; they also repeated - if with a twist - the angel's chorus on the night of Jesus' birth: "Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!" And this pointed to Calvary, because the only way to establish "peace in heaven and glory in the highest" was by Jesus' perfect obedience on the cross, by dying for the forgiveness of sins and rising to give new life and eternal hope to those who believe that he is the King of kings and the Lord of lords who came to earth in the name of God almighty.
That's why this flashback is so important; it really does prepare us for the celebration of Jesus' birth. The silence of the centuries was broken by the shouts of those who had been with Jesus for three years, had heard his teachings, his prediction of death and witnessed his compassionate healing of the sick and infirmed. It had to be that way, just as the silence of the Ethiopian Jews, who were airlifted to Jerusalem, was - and had to be - broken by a young boy with a flute. Jesus says that if the disciples had not heralded his advent into Jerusalem, the "very stones would cry out" and declare "Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord" because it was for this that he came into the world.
Jesus was born to be King, the anointed of God, and when he was called the King "who comes in the name of the Lord," the cross was suspended over the cave where he was born. And that cave became the sign and symbol of an empty tomb outside of Jerusalem. Jesus' approach and advent into Jerusalem packages new life for us, a new birth in the Christmas event. All we need do is believe and take up the refrain: "Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord. Peace in heaven and glory in the highest."
The silence is broken again as we greet and worship him today, "Here comes our King!" - now and forever.
This story highlights the impending death, not the birth of Jesus Christ. He entered Jerusalem in the manner that the prophets had foretold - "Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord." What a strange king! He chose to commandeer a lowly beast of burden for his glorious ride into the Holy City! There wasn't anything regal about him or his entrance, was there? In Voices At The Crossroads, Paul Peterson, editor, an imaginary Roman centurion writes about Jesus' entrance into Jerusalem in another flashback: "Last Sunday we were on patrol in the city when there was a minor ruckus at one of the city gates. A small crowd of people surrounded this Jesus - the one we just executed today - as he came riding into the city on a donkey. They were shouting and carrying on like he was a conquering king. But truthfully he looked kind of silly sitting on that donkey with people throwing branches in his pathway.... I didn't think too much about it, except for the comedy of it."
There is something ludicrous about Jesus' riding into the city of Jerusalem, with his disciples quoting scripture to support his claim to the throne of David, isn't there? It was hardly the red carpet treatment, because Jesus' path was lined with the garments of ordinary people. Would any of them have been dyed red? Jesus had to supply the red dye himself, and he did it by pouring out his blood on the awful tree, the cross. He knew that when he rode into the city that he was riding not to a kingly coronation but to a painful baptism on a Roman cross. Pilate would preside over his coronation, after the soldiers made a crown of thorns and put it on Jesus' head, by identifying Jesus for all time, for all people, with a sign nailed to his cross, "This is the King of the Jews." This flashback leads us to the cross on Calvary, not to the creche of the babe born in Bethlehem, doesn't it?
And if the "red carpet treatment" were something less than Jesus deserved, what about the identification of Jesus? According to Luke, it was the small band of the disciples who proclaimed Jesus' claim to the crown of Israel. Without their quoting of scripture, the so-called "triumphal entrance" of Jesus would have been quite silent. Luke's story emphasizes: "As he was now drawing near, at the descent of the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice for all the mighty works that they had seen, saying, 'Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest.' " The shouts of the disciples broke that sIlence in a manner that has reverberated throughout the world ever since. They called him the King, the promised one of God, as he entered the Holy City as rightful Ruler of the Jews. It was a strange way for God's anointed king to enter his capitol city.
On a day in May, 1991, another strange arrival and entrance into Jerusalem occurred. Some 14,000 refugees were air-lifted from Ethiopia to Israel. They had been living in Ethiopia for some 2,500 years. Sylvia Krugman comments: "They are said to be descendants of Queen Sheba and King Solomon, 3,500 years ago. Who said they have no 'right' to Jerusalem! and the land of Israel?" The Israeli government secretly made arrangements to transport them from Ethiopia to Israel where their lives were threatened; nearly 40 planes were involved in the rescue operation. David Grossman, in a New York Times story, says that an Ethiopian Jew, who had lived in Israel for 20 years had been sent to speak to the refugees and comfort them: " 'A 2,500-year-old dream is coming true,' he told them as the plane came over Jerusalem: 'It is for her we have longed and prayed, and now we have been granted the right to come to her thanks to the Government of Israel and because, thank God, we have a state.' "
Grossman was an eyewitness to the arrival of the refugees and described the event as he saw it: "The arrivals from Ethiopia proceeded down the ramp leading from the plane with slow, suspended steps. Their browned soles - bare, or shod in colorful sneakers - groped hesitantly for the metal stairs. A first glance was sent out, cautious, covert: not a gaze that claimed propriety over the near landscape. Nor a joy-filled glimmer. Just eyes that twinkled behind the dull mask of the refugee." And he continues, "The silence and slow motion of the arrivals enveloped those who received them, too. Before our eyes an entire culture was uprooted from its life source and brought here, to be replanted." "Most of all," the writer comments, "and with that silence that is the end of words, they faced the thing itself: The barrenness of another fate."
"But then," Grossman describes, "a boy burst through the doorway of the plane, a boy of five or six, shaved head, very black, a large wooden flute in his hand. Standing at the head of the ramp, he began to play. For a moment, all activity stopped, a few photographers even forgot their flashbulbs. He stood and played in earnest, with intent. Perhaps it was a shepherd's tune he had played in his village, with his flock. Perhaps it was a melody he had prepared for the moment. With his song, one live shimmering spark flew out from under the anvil of our lives. For one whole day, from within the jarring dissonance of our inner sound system, we produced one true note, one clear harmonious note; enough to evoke the entire melody."2
Isn't that similar to what happened when the disciples cried out, "Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord?" The silence of 1,000 years was broken. As the promised One, Jesus the Christ, entered Jerusalem to be crowned on the terrible tree of Golgotha. It is in the perspective of that event, Jesus' crucifixion and his resurrection, of course, that we can sing and celebrate the birth of Christ, and Christmas, with any real understanding and comprension, "The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight." But the birth of Jesus
- his incarnation - cannot save us from sin and death without his obedient sacrifice on the cross and his rising from the tomb.
When Luther Northwestern Seminary built its student center, after the merger of Luther and Northwestern Seminaries was affected in 1982, the new institution really had three chapels, plus an old wooden church that had been moved to the campus for preservation. One chapel was in an old building, Asgaard Hall, and was, in effect, "decommissioned." The two remaining chapels, a smaller one in Northwestern Hall and the new, larger chapel in the new building, should be, it was decided, given names. It was quite natural that the smaller chapel should be named "The Chapel of the Cross;" it contains Paul Granlund's striking crucifix of the dead Christ, his somewhat smaller than life-size body, suspended on the carpenter's cross in the middle of the pews. But what to name the new and larger chapel? After much study and discussion, it was named "The Chapel of the Incarnation." Some said it should have been given the appellation, "The Chapel of the Resurrection," but that would have done violence to the Lutheran concept of the theology of the cross, which supports his victory over death in his resurrection. Besides, worship services, conceivably might have to begin in one chapel and be concluded in the other, if this had happened. The incarnation of the Lord is seen by itself, but also in the perspective of the crucifixion and resurrection of the Lord! The incarnation could never be fully comprehended and the birth of Jesus might become merely a lovely bedtime story for children, or even forgotten in time, without the terrible tale of Jesus' death and the glorious proclamation of his resurrection.
Jesus knew very well what would happen when he went up to Jerusalem. Luke makes that manifestly clear, devoting so much of his gospel to the journey to Jerusalem and to Jesus' prediction of his death in the Holy City. He announced his impending assassination three times and, perhaps, the disciples were beginning to understand what his mission to humanity was all about; he came to bring God's peace to earth and to reconcile all people to God. The disciples not only called him King; they also repeated - if with a twist - the angel's chorus on the night of Jesus' birth: "Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!" And this pointed to Calvary, because the only way to establish "peace in heaven and glory in the highest" was by Jesus' perfect obedience on the cross, by dying for the forgiveness of sins and rising to give new life and eternal hope to those who believe that he is the King of kings and the Lord of lords who came to earth in the name of God almighty.
That's why this flashback is so important; it really does prepare us for the celebration of Jesus' birth. The silence of the centuries was broken by the shouts of those who had been with Jesus for three years, had heard his teachings, his prediction of death and witnessed his compassionate healing of the sick and infirmed. It had to be that way, just as the silence of the Ethiopian Jews, who were airlifted to Jerusalem, was - and had to be - broken by a young boy with a flute. Jesus says that if the disciples had not heralded his advent into Jerusalem, the "very stones would cry out" and declare "Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord" because it was for this that he came into the world.
Jesus was born to be King, the anointed of God, and when he was called the King "who comes in the name of the Lord," the cross was suspended over the cave where he was born. And that cave became the sign and symbol of an empty tomb outside of Jerusalem. Jesus' approach and advent into Jerusalem packages new life for us, a new birth in the Christmas event. All we need do is believe and take up the refrain: "Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord. Peace in heaven and glory in the highest."
The silence is broken again as we greet and worship him today, "Here comes our King!" - now and forever.
