Matthew 21:12-32, with its varied storyline - the cleansing of the Temple, the cursing of the fig tree, the debate with the chief priests, and the parable of the two sons - can be summarized as follows: Jesus’ arrival in Jerusalem on a donkey, his arrival at the Temple, at the very heart of Israel, is God’s announcement of his immanence, his presence with his people.
In, with, and through Christ, God announces his presence with Israel; indeed, not only Israel, but all people, everywhere.
But, we ask ourselves, on a donkey? God on a donkey? Why not on a magic carpet, or a caravan, or at least a camel!
Well, the reason for the donkey is that God is, after all, the God who honours meekness, humility, and - gasp - even lowliness. This is what “God with us”, “Emmanuel”, means: a God who is for us. He is not afraid to get his hands dirty; he does not avoid the sweat of suffering; he does not run away from shedding tears of pain.
Surely this is why the lowly, the outcast, the less-privileged, and the “weak”, flock to him. We read of five such types in our passage. The blind and the lame, they came to Jesus to be healed (21:14); the tax collectors and the harlots, they repented and believed (21:31-32), and the children, well, they echoed the crowd as Jesus entered the city: “Hosanna to the Son of David! Hosanna to the Son of David!" (21:16).
These are people who had tasted and touched the world and all it’s evil in ways that others - the rulers, the leaders, in short, the privileged, the powerful, the strong - could never identify with, and these are the people who saw their sin and helplessness, they saw their need for a God who could identify with all that is wrong with the world, because he too was experiencing it.
But of course, not everyone could accept such a God. Such a God couldn’t possibly deal with the problems of this world, they thought. Such a God couldn’t deal with the economic, political, and other social ills of society.
That’s why they, the chief priests, that is, asked Jesus questions, questions that sounded genuine, but reeked of doubt and manipulation: “‘Do you hear what these are saying?”, they said, in response to the children’s praises of Jesus. Or how about this one: “By what authority are you doing these things, [these things refer to the healing of the lame and blind, and other miracles they’d heard of or seen] and who gave you this authority?” (21:23).
Much to their frustration and anger, though, they found out that this God, the Christ, could deal with their feeble questions. In fact, he most often left them speechless. I mean, how would you respond as a chief priest, if Jesus asked you the following: “Have you never read, ‘Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings thou hast brought perfect praise?’” (21:16)
The crux of the matter, therefore, is that Christ’s arrival in Jerusalem and the Temple was the very arrival of God at the heart of Israel. And this does not leave us unaffected. It reaches us at the core, actually, because although the arrival occurred years ago, it’s symbolic of God’s closeness to all, everyone, now. God is immanent now, he’s ready to enter our lives, our hearts, today, by His Spirit.
We can’t just stand at arms-length, read the story, and go home thinking “Thank God I’m not like those chief priests. I’m so much better than they are.”
Because the truth is that in many ways we are just like the chief priests. In one way or another we live lives of privilege and power, not realizing our need for God. In fact, unless we consciously invite God to be present to us, we run in great danger of elevating ourselves as our own chief priests each and every day.
We need to repent of that.
Do we realize our need for God, or are we fooling ourselves into self-sufficiency?
Do we yearn for the simplicity of faith that children have, do we repent and believe like the tax collector and the prostitute did, do we rejoice at the ways God works in and around us, or are we busy questioning things too great for us to understand?
These are questions well-worth pondering.
May God in his Mercy give us the courage to see our need for him, and the humility to repent and turn to him each day.
Thanks be to God.
Amen ✠
In, with, and through Christ, God announces his presence with Israel; indeed, not only Israel, but all people, everywhere.
But, we ask ourselves, on a donkey? God on a donkey? Why not on a magic carpet, or a caravan, or at least a camel!
Well, the reason for the donkey is that God is, after all, the God who honours meekness, humility, and - gasp - even lowliness. This is what “God with us”, “Emmanuel”, means: a God who is for us. He is not afraid to get his hands dirty; he does not avoid the sweat of suffering; he does not run away from shedding tears of pain.
Surely this is why the lowly, the outcast, the less-privileged, and the “weak”, flock to him. We read of five such types in our passage. The blind and the lame, they came to Jesus to be healed (21:14); the tax collectors and the harlots, they repented and believed (21:31-32), and the children, well, they echoed the crowd as Jesus entered the city: “Hosanna to the Son of David! Hosanna to the Son of David!" (21:16).
These are people who had tasted and touched the world and all it’s evil in ways that others - the rulers, the leaders, in short, the privileged, the powerful, the strong - could never identify with, and these are the people who saw their sin and helplessness, they saw their need for a God who could identify with all that is wrong with the world, because he too was experiencing it.
But of course, not everyone could accept such a God. Such a God couldn’t possibly deal with the problems of this world, they thought. Such a God couldn’t deal with the economic, political, and other social ills of society.
That’s why they, the chief priests, that is, asked Jesus questions, questions that sounded genuine, but reeked of doubt and manipulation: “‘Do you hear what these are saying?”, they said, in response to the children’s praises of Jesus. Or how about this one: “By what authority are you doing these things, [these things refer to the healing of the lame and blind, and other miracles they’d heard of or seen] and who gave you this authority?” (21:23).
Much to their frustration and anger, though, they found out that this God, the Christ, could deal with their feeble questions. In fact, he most often left them speechless. I mean, how would you respond as a chief priest, if Jesus asked you the following: “Have you never read, ‘Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings thou hast brought perfect praise?’” (21:16)
The crux of the matter, therefore, is that Christ’s arrival in Jerusalem and the Temple was the very arrival of God at the heart of Israel. And this does not leave us unaffected. It reaches us at the core, actually, because although the arrival occurred years ago, it’s symbolic of God’s closeness to all, everyone, now. God is immanent now, he’s ready to enter our lives, our hearts, today, by His Spirit.
We can’t just stand at arms-length, read the story, and go home thinking “Thank God I’m not like those chief priests. I’m so much better than they are.”
Because the truth is that in many ways we are just like the chief priests. In one way or another we live lives of privilege and power, not realizing our need for God. In fact, unless we consciously invite God to be present to us, we run in great danger of elevating ourselves as our own chief priests each and every day.
We need to repent of that.
Do we realize our need for God, or are we fooling ourselves into self-sufficiency?
Do we yearn for the simplicity of faith that children have, do we repent and believe like the tax collector and the prostitute did, do we rejoice at the ways God works in and around us, or are we busy questioning things too great for us to understand?
These are questions well-worth pondering.
May God in his Mercy give us the courage to see our need for him, and the humility to repent and turn to him each day.
Thanks be to God.
Amen ✠
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