A Reflection for
Palm Sunday
by Abby Mohaupt
Matthew 21:1-11 Common English Bible
(CEB)
When they approached Jerusalem and
came to Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, Jesus gave two disciples a task. He
said to them, “Go into the village over there. As soon as you enter, you will
find a donkey tied up and a colt with it. Untie them and bring them to me. If
anybody says anything to you, say that the Lord needs it.” He sent them off
right away. Now this happened to fulfill what the prophet said, Say to Daughter
Zion, “Look, your king is coming to you, humble and riding on a donkey, and on
a colt the donkey’s offspring.” The disciples went and did just as Jesus had
ordered them. They brought the donkey and the colt and laid their clothes on
them. Then he sat on them.
Now a large crowd spread their
clothes on the road. Others cut palm branches off the trees and spread them on
the road. The crowds in front of him and behind him shouted, “Hosanna to the
Son of David! Blessings on the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna
in the highest!” And when Jesus entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred
up. “Who is this?” they asked. The crowds answered, “It’s the prophet Jesus
from Nazareth in Galilee.”
I'm standing in the courtyard in
front of Memorial Chapel at Stanford University. I've just asked my students in
the course I've been co-teaching in Liberation Theology to leave the classroom
and come outside. I'm going to ask them to make a web out of rope, a web made
out of the things that connect us and things that define us. This is an
activity that I've used with people of all ages: older and wiser members of
congregations, third graders, seminary students, and--now--Stanford University
students.
We stand in a circle. One student
holds the end of the rope and she names something about herself--something that
makes her, her. Together we find someone else in the circle that shares that
part of her story. Together we build a web of our identities. Together we
recognize that each of these pieces about ourselves matter. Standing in this
circle, on this campus, I look at the faces of these students, and I am
surprised.
•
I am too young to be teaching a class
at Stanford, so I wear my clergy collar to class, to remind everyone that I'm
supposed to be there.
•
I am educated at a Midwestern Liberal
Arts university, and I didn't even think about applying to a school like
Stanford when I was their age.
•
I am the female member of the
teaching team and I've spent a lot of time loving on these two older male
colleagues who invited me to challenge them.
Who am I to be asking these students
to get out of their familiar classroom?
These surprises give way to the
moment at hand and push away the fluttering in my belly. Instead I feel the
solid rock under foot and the warm sun overhead.
I know these rocks and this sun. They
are unsurprising because they are familiar.
Our connections are born out in this
web of rope and the students look each other in the eye and they stand
together. They see each other. They begin to know each other. They are not
really strangers to each other. This is week six and they've been learning from
each other, challenging each other, and teaching each other. But this is the
first time they see each other.
I think about what it would have been
like to see Jesus for the first time--to really see him in all his earthy
glory. Having walked with him for years, listening to his stories, watching his
healings, growing comfortable with this man named Jesus. He would have become
so familiar.
And then he gets on a donkey and
rides into the center of the city and he is so surprising. All of creation
celebrates his entry and yet he is not what they expect.
•
He’s too peaceful to be the coming
King.
•
He’s not educated or born into the
ruling class.
•
He’s spent too much time loving on
the peasants and the people in the fields.
Who is this who comes in the name of
the Lord?
I know this story, this donkey, this
singing.
There’s a familiarity to this story
about Jesus, this leader who has come to us, humble and riding on a donkey. He
is not what we expect, but he is exactly what we need, connecting us as we are,
to each other, to creation, to God. Each part matters, even when it celebrates
the arrival of this surprising Jesus, even when it groans with anticipation.
There’s something comforting in
knowing that while I have internalized so many parts of me that just seem like
not enough, I matter—I belong to this web, not to the insecurities of the
world.
Too much of creation groans, too much
of creation suffers because we forget that the web of creation includes us all.
As we celebrate the recognition of Jesus in our lives, as we look toward this
Holy Week, how will we see the web that connects us? How will we welcome Jesus
with hosannas and joy?
Contributor: Abby Mohaupt works at Puente de la Costa Sur in Pescadero, CA,
where she divides her time between coordinating volunteers, meeting with faith
communities, and nurturing learning in children. Abby holds a M.Div. and a
Th.M. in eco-feminist theology from McCormick Theological Seminary. She is the
At-Large Representative for the PEC Steering Committee.
