Wide Open

I used to cook for a living. If youʼve ever worked in a kitchen, or known someone who does, then you
know that there are a thousand little signs that creep in - little occupational markers: nicks and cuts and
scars from a knife thatʼs slipped, burns and blisters from splattering grease or popping oil or splashing
water, stains from tomato and garlic. I can remember sitting with friends after a busy Saturday night
comparing battle-scars over beer. All of these wounds, no matter how serious or how slight, were badges
of honor, worn with pride.

Itʼs been about eight years since Iʼve cooked professionally, eight years since Iʼve spent any time in a
restaurant kitchen. Most of those things that once marked me as a member of that strange fraternity of
cooks have vanished: there are no more cuts or nicks or burns. If I try, i can just barely feel the callous at
the base of my index finger where the spine of my knife sat. One day, that will probably disappear as well.

I say this for a reason. We are used to seeing Jesus after he was betrayed, after he was crucified, after
the resurrection, after he was recognized on the road to Emmaus, after his ascension. We are used to
seeing Christ in his glory, with the marks - and the reality - of his life in the background. For today,
however, I want us to keep focused on this day... this day before the ascension, before the road, and
before the resurrection; this day before his crucifixion, before even his betrayal. Jesus is, today, a prophet
and a preacher and a healer and an exorcist, but still, to most of those who see him, just a man. [2:05]

Today, we are close to Passover. Passover is a night different from all others. On other nights, the Jewish
people eat both leavened and unleavened bread, but on Passover, only unleavened bread is eaten. On
other nights, they eat all sorts of vegetables, but on this night, only bitter herbs. On other nights, they do
not dip their vegetables, but tonight the bitter herbs are dipped twice in salt water. On other nights, one
might eat sitting or reclining, but tonight, everyone reclines on pillows to eat. All of these practices revolve
around the exodus from Egypt: The unleavened bread - matzoh - reminds them that when they fled Egypt
there was no time to leaven the bread; the bitter herbs - maror - remind them of the bitter way Pharaoh
treated them; dipping the herbs in salt water reminds them both that new life will come, and of the tears of
the Jews in slavery; they lean on a pillow to be comfortable and to remind them that once they were
slaves and now they are free.

As you can imagine, the Romans were not thrilled with this holiday that celebrated the Jewish people
escaping the oppression of another empire. Every year, a procession entered Jerusalem from the west. At
the head of this procession was the equestrian procurator of Judea - Pontius Pilate - known for his
violence, thefts, assaults, abuses, executions, and ferocity. Behind him were Roman soldiers: enough to
reinforce the garrison at Jerusalem and send an unmistakable signal that, while Rome might tolerate the
celebration of this holiday, reenactments would be met with crushing force.

On this Sunday before passover, we are confronted with a different procession: one led by a man not on a
warhorse, but by a man on a colt; one not attended by a Roman legion, but by a mob; one not led by a
man known for his cruelty, but by a man known as a preacher and a healer - a man who, at the beginning
of his ministry, in a synagogue in Nazareth, had proclaimed his mission statement: to preach good news
to the poor, to proclaim freedom to prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed,
and to proclaim the year of the Lordʼs favor. (Luke 4:18-19)

We are presented with a choice between two processions - the procession of the Empire of Caesar and
the procession of the Kingdom of God. We are presented with a choice between two different lives: a life
where we stumble under the weight of earthly powers and a life where we walk humbly with God.

Which brings us to our other reading for today. [2:59; 5:04]

Here, a paralyzed man is brought to Jesus, and it is an ordeal. He is not simply brought into the house
where Jesus is preaching and handed over to be healed. Instead, the house is so crowded that the manʼs
friends must climb - while carrying a paralyzed guy - onto the roof. They must dig through the roof. They
must lower the man, on a mat, into the house. This is an incredibly complex operation which, if you read
the story straight, nobody notices: nobody hears anyone climbing onto the roof or notices the roof
cracking and falling as people dig through it. Or, at least, nobody takes any action about it. Itʼs all very
strange.

And even once the man is lowered into the house, Jesus, in a sense, doesnʼt really do anything. Iʼve
noted this before in a message: there are healings where Jesus does something ornate or ritualistic, and
then there are healings like this. The paralytic man does not confess his sins, and he does not repent of
them. Jesus does not say, “I, the son of God, hereby declare your sins forgiven and grant you the power
to walk.” Instead, he simply states an apparent fact: “Son, your sins are forgiven.” Only when others
question the appropriateness of this does he say that the son of man has the authority to forgive sins, and
then he simply tells the man to get up and take his mat and go home. In a world where physical infirmity
was often taken as an outward sign of inward sin, this is the equivalent of saying: your sins are forgiven...
live like it. [2:07; 7:11]

This is the nature of the Kingdom. Jesus does not ride into Jerusalem demanding oaths of loyalty and
repentance of sins. Jesus does not heal the paralytic only after he has gone through some set of required
actions. There are no membership classes or discipleship courses or forms to fill out or interviews to be
had. You come into the house any way you can, whether its with the crowd through the front door or
through the roof. You come to the procession and line the streets, there are no barricades or police lines.

It is a Kingdom of Grace and grace is a gift. It is, by definition, given freely, in exchange for nothing. If we
had to do anything to receive it, it would not be grace. If we had to leap through hoops to enter the
Kingdom, it would not be Godʼs Kingdom. We are presented not with rules or regulations or heavy
burdens, but with a simple choice: given the choice to lie on the mat or walk, which will we take? Given
the choice between Caesar and God, between Rome and Grace, which will we take? The Kingdom of
Grace is wide open, will we go in? [1:38; 8:49]

Now, of course, we know this. We all know that grace is a gift given to all of us. We all know that if we
would just choose to live in a world not marked by sexism, patriarchy, racism, white supremacy,
homophobia, classism, poverty, hunger, thirst, war, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, we could. If we chose to
live in a nation not marked by those things, we could. If we chose to live in a state, or a town, or a city, or
a neighborhood not marked by those things we could. If we chose - and this is hard, but must be said - to
live in a church not marked by those things... we could.

But lord... thereʼs a lot that gets in the way of that.

We hear that someone we donʼt like is forgiven, we think it blasphemy. We are asked to forgive someone,
we say we will as soon as they repent and change their ways. People come in through the roof, we think
thatʼs an inappropriate way to enter a house. A man whoʼs friends break into a house is healed, we
wonder why attention is being paid to him and not to us. We are faced with the radical grace of the
Kingdom of God and we are all too often happy to have grace for ourselves - we know we need it - just so
long as itʼs not also for the wrong sort of people.

We see people who need a colt untying it, we ask them what theyʼre doing... and we probably call the
police. We see people throwing their coats on the ground and we wonder why theyʼre being so messy.
We hear people shouting joyfully and we demand they keep it down. We are told that rocks and stones
would cry out, we demand a demonstration. We tend to ask that religion be in its appropriate place at its
appropriate time and focused on the right things: in church, on Sunday morning, talking about a personal
relationship with Jesus Christ... not in the street and, letʼs say, strongly suggesting that an oppressive
society should be torn down and replaced with a community of the good news.
We see the year of the Lordʼs favor before us and we think itʼs too hard. We canʼt ensure that everyone
will have food and clothing and shelter because we fear our resources are too limited, and other people
having more will mean us having less. We canʼt set prisoners free because we canʼt trust that theyʼre
rehabilitated. We canʼt give the blind sight because that many corneal transplants would just be
prohibitively expensive. We canʼt let the oppressed rise up because we donʼt trust them not to take
revenge for their oppression. We canʼt turn our swords into plowshares and our tanks into tractors
because our enemies would take advantage of us. We come to the threshold of the house of God and
fear going in because it seems too dangerous given the world that we know outside. [3:14; 12:03]

We fear leaving Egypt because the desert looks too formidable. We fear going up against Rome because
weʼve seen the troops that are at its command. We fear entering the Kingdom of God because it seems
too big, too audacious, too impossible given the forces of this world.

And the thing is: it is frightening and it is foolish. Breaking into a house through the roof in the hopes that
some man with a reputation as a wonder worker will - against all probability and against all medical
knowledge - heal your friend is a tremendous risk and an act of absurdity. Lining the streets to celebrate
the entry of a man on a colt while the most powerful military in the world flexes is muscle a few streets
over is taking a huge chance and, of course, an act of extreme foolishness. But God chose the foolish
things and the weak things, God chose the lowly things and the despised things (1 Corinthians 1:27-18).
The Kingdom is wide open, but it is those who are willing to turn their backs on the wisdom and strengths
and heights and honors of this world who will lead the way in.

Palm Sunday is a day of amazing hope, when we stand in our foolishness to back a new king who comes
in the name of the Lord, when we say to the lords of this world - the lords of injustice and iniquity - that we
will follow this new king into a new kingdom where the prisoners will be set free, where the blind will see,
where the oppressed will be lifted up, where we will beat our swords into plowshares and our spears into
pruning hooks, where the old order will be turned upside down and a new order will take its place. Today
is the day that good news rides in... so let us celebrate. [1:55; 13:58]