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“Everything had Changed”
Palm Sunday 2008
The Reverend Canon Elizabeth Knowlton
The Cathedral of St. Philip
I wonder who was the first to notice that everything had changed. How the jubilant crowds had now become bewildered bystanders.
Who could have anticipated at the height of all the excitement, the way everything would end?
No one waving their palms at the triumphal entry into Jerusalem would have thought ahead to Golgotha. No Georgia or Kentucky fan entering the Dome on Friday night expected a tornado to interrupt their plans.
I wonder who was the first to notice that everything had changed. How the jubilant crowds had now become bewildered bystanders.
I watched the local news and heard the disbelief in the voices of the commentators. I saw their confusion as they picked up handfuls of shattered glass and pointed to office chairs in the middle of the street. I kept wondering how it was possible that we had gone from an ordinary day at the office, to wondering if friends were safe from the destruction now on the screen.
As the faces of taxi cab drivers, businessmen out to dinner, and loft residents were interviewed, no one had seen it coming. Fans decked out in their college affiliated paraphernalia, looked around in confusion. A few had heard what sounded like a train, noticed a green sky, but most had no warning.
Everything had changed. Jubilant crowds were now bewildered bystanders. People were leaving events and hotels not knowing what to expect. Not sure how they would get home. Residents were carrying belongings and pets to different lodgings for the night.
And I heard echoes of Palm Sunday. It had come early to Atlanta this year. Crowds caught unaware. Fans transformed from joy to shock. Fear and disbelief. Finding yourself in a place you never would have expected. The great reversal. Parade to crucifixion.
I thought of Peter, the earnest follower of Jesus. When did he first notice everything had changed for himself? That all the hopes and images he had of himself had shattered before his eyes? The debris of his promises he could not keep. That the loyalty sworn at the farewell dinner had yielded a denial of the one he loved. Frailty so present he could not stay awake in the garden, let alone sustain his hopes for himself through the sound of the cock crow. As incongruous as a waterfall staircase downtown, he had a new vision of himself to confront.
But I wondered. Did his bitter weeping of self knowledge prepare him for the greatest of reversals? When he heard Jesus crying out words of abandonment from the Psalter, did he hear them in a new way? Was his own humanity now affirmed?
We are invited to enter holy week. We start by moving from parade to bewilderment. But that opens us up to be participants in a new way. We are invited to stop being mere spectators. We are not sure what to expect. Who will we resonate with this year? Where will we find unexpected sorrow? Or joy? But we are asked to enter. To walk this way with Jesus. To go deeply into this mystery. To not take resurrection for granted. But allow it to come to us in a new way this year. To let its power surprise us as and catch us unaware. I wonder when we’ll realize everything has changed. Will it be during the foot washing? As we keep vigil through the night and don’t fall asleep? Will it be during the somber tone of the Good Friday liturgy when we pray for the world? Or will it be as the crowd gathers early Easter morning? We’ll start in the darkness and come out to the fire. And we’ll proclaim the Light of Christ. Even the power of death and destruction will be changed. Our bewilderment will be transformed to joy. Amen.
Comments? Contact Beth Knowlton at: BKnowlton@stphilipscathedral.org