Marching Orders

Packing to leave is a harried experience. You’re always worried you’ll forget something. You’re uncertain about what will be appropriate in the new place – what clothes, manners, and words. Certainly, there is some excitement too. We can’t diminish that. But woven through the enthusiasm for the upcoming trip is the anxiety of uncertainty. There is fear of change. There is an overwhelming lack of confidence and disorientation in a new and unfamiliar place.

Maybe that’s overstating it a bit. Yet you can’t help wondering what was going through the disciples’ minds as they packed for their trip to Jerusalem. Packing? Well, gathering the things required. Jesus sent them out to do a little donkey rustling. That surely added to the anxiety about going where they were considered unwanted agitators, stirring up the people against the status quo and the powers that be. Being sent to nab a donkey seems a bit sketchy. Perhaps it was prearranged: the directions given to the two who were sent might imply that this was all worked out ahead of time. There was a code phrase, a precise description; it was all set. Maybe it was something mystical, a knowing on Jesus’ part. Or maybe it was a plan. We don’t know for sure, and maybe it doesn’t really matter. We don’t have a lot of the backstory here. We don’t have the conversation between the two sent on this donkey-procuring mission. There is so much we don’t know, yet we are called to get in the car.

Or get in line. The bus is leaving; the train is at the station; the procession is happening. Where are you? That’s the real Palm Sunday question, after all: Where are you? Where are we? There are so many roles in this drama, and we find ourselves flitting from one to another based on our mood or personal circumstances. But what if we got to choose? What if it isn’t which one fits us, or which one others would choose for us, based on our personality profile or Enneagram number? What if we could choose?

Would we choose to tag along on the donkey mission? Would we go without questioning the rather odd and seemingly out-of-the-blue directive from Jesus and trundle off across the countryside to find a donkey and a colt tied and waiting for a Messiah to climb on board? Would we, in other words, decide to listen to what Jesus said and follow that path, even when it doesn’t make sense or seems out of step with current political and social trends? Would we be willing to risk loving enemies, welcoming the stranger, and praying for those who persecute us, even when everyone else thinks we’re crazy? And our only response is, “The Lord has need of it.”

Or would we tag along with the other disciples, walking a risky road to challenge the center of power? Maybe we have a clue about what is happening, or maybe we’re just caught up in the spirit of the event. It has a party feel, a parade vibe, so we go along. And for a moment, we stop worrying about what might happen and lean into what is happening. How many times have we heard Jesus say, “Do not be afraid”? And for a moment, we aren’t. Fear has been replaced with love—our love for him and the word he brings, our love for one another, and the sense of wholeness that we are becoming has pushed aside personal fears of failure or inadequacy. This perfect love has cast out fear. So, we march along behind him, with him. We choose this.

Or we aren’t ready for that. For donkey-hunting or parade-marching. It asks too much of us, we think. There is so much we don’t know. There is so much we lack. And we are filled with fear. Yet, we feel called to something. So, we stand along the side of the road. Maybe we wave as the parade passes by. Maybe we find a branch and wave it, to extend our reach, to go higher, to be seen. And maybe we shout, “Hosanna!” As he passes by, riding that bemused donkey with its colt trotting alongside, we shout, “Hosanna!” Maybe it means hello, or hooray, or “Hi, Jesus.” Or maybe, somewhere underneath all the excitement, there is a deeper memory that recalls the original translation of the word on everyone’s lips: “Hosanna! Save us.” Save us, please; save us now. We may not be ready for it all, but at least we are there. Along the road, waving and hoping, we stand and ask for salvation, whatever that means.

We’re there, somewhere, on a mission or bystanding. We’re there. That means we are there when the tone changes, as when a conductor calls for a minor chord, or there is thunder in the distance. There is change in the air. And the lips of those who shouted “Hosanna!” are now twisted in anger and disappointment and are saying, “Crucify him.” It’s as if something went wrong. It’s as if the soundtrack is off and the instruments are out of tune.

And still, we hear the question, “Where are you?” Where do we stand when everything changes? Where are we when the parade moves from celebration to condemnation? Whose marching orders do we follow now?

Rev. Dr. Derek Weber, Director of Preaching Ministries, served churches in Indiana, Arkansas, and the British Methodist Church. His PhD in preaching and media is from the University of Edinburgh. He has taught preaching in seminary and conference settings for more than twenty years.