I wonder, actually, I wonder every year, what I might have done if I lived in or near Jerusalem on the day that rabbi guy came in riding a donkey. What would I do? Every year, I wonder how tall I would stand, of course taking the knowledge I have now and applying it to then. I would want to be brave and declare who this guy was.
But I wouldn’t.
I would want to go and bend my knee and kiss his robe and clear a path for his walk to the temple so he could tear up the money changers-and let everyone see me do it.
But I wouldn’t.
I would be there when he got convicted and scourged and then hung on a cross on a desolate knob of a hill.
But I wouldn’t. I would cower and come up with some less than weak excuse like I had laundry to do. Then, after Thursday, it would be too late for me to be the hero. We all want to be the hero of our own story. I want to ride in on a big horse, save the day, ride out into the sunset, tipping my hat to the crowd. We all want to do that. But not this time. This time I would have to look at myself and deal with who I was, who I really was.
…who I am.
The worst part is the who I am part. The idea of this guy really coming into town and actually believing in who he says he is, strips me. If I dare believe who he is, then I put him on that cross. I scourged him. It was me who did that. That is a tough pill to swallow. It chokes me, and there is no escaping it.
But that’s from a guy who lived then. Who didn’t have the end in sight. The thread which strung it all together didn’t exist like it does in the Bible. We can skip to the end and see the victory. I’m just looking at a man, a non-descript man, a man who looks like my cousin from Sumaria, and this is the savior of the world?
…the final countdown….
What really was happening was the final countdown to when the Messiah comes and saves the world. It is going to happen in just a few hours. They are going to kill that man on that donkey and put him somewhere, I do not know and then he pops back to life. Am I suppose to believe that? Why-why would he bother with me? That’s crazy talk. Romans won’t let it happen. Romans didn’t let it happen. At least they thought so. Their commanders were more afraid of Pontius Pilate than some rabbi with a carpenter’s skill set.
What would I do? I can see myself finding some spot on the wall and sitting, watching the parade of crazy’s laying their coats down and then when they ran out of coats, palm fronds. I wonder if they will go back and pick up their coat? Some of those look pretty nice. I wonder if I might snag one if I creeped down from this place and found one someone overlooked. I can watch the guy on the donkey anytime. Snagging a coat, well I could use that.
Find out later he went in to the temple and went nuts. Turning over tables and scattering money everywhere. Screaming something about this being a house of prayer. I had spent time in the temple, looking at some of the stuff being sold. I guess he’s right. We should clean up our act about that.
Who is this guy?
Who is this guy?
I would work my way from the wall and back to my place. I was a Jew after all and there is a history here. But this is the Messiah? HE is the one who is going to deliver us from bondage? Roman bondage? I don’t think he can even right the donkey well. Frankly, I don’t think anyone can ride that animal well. Too small.
What would I do?
What about you?