Is That Our Turn?
The Rev. Canon George M. Maxwell, Jr.
The Cathedral of St. Philip
Atlanta, Georgia
09 April 2006
Palm Sunday – Year B
Years ago, we decided to take a camping trip to North Carolina. We headed north one Saturday morning after packing everything we owned into the family Suburban. My son David offered to serve as the navigator – which, of course, entitled him to sit in the front seat. Jessie and Peter crawled into their accustomed places in the back.
I told David that, as navigator, he only needed to do one thing. I had driven the highway many times before, but I was anxious about making the one turn. When we got to Dillard, we were supposed to look for an Exxon station on the right and then take the next left just before a McDonalds.
As we approached the town, I looked over and realized that David was playing one of those hand-held video games. Frustrated, I asked David to take out the directions and start looking for the gas station. David told me, without looking up, that he remembered the directions and didn’t need to read them again.
As I started to tell David to take them out anyway, I saw the familiar red and blue gas station logo out of the corner of my eye. I had just enough time to get into the turn lane before the next light and take the left before the McDonalds.
But, as soon as I began to change lanes, David – who was maybe ten at the time – looked up and began asking me what I was doing. He had already mastered that exasperated tone of voice that says, “I don’t know what you think you are doing, but you are wrong.”
When I replied that I was making the turn he was supposed to have spotted, he told me emphatically that this wasn’t it.
Thinking it was time for a little parenting, I pulled into the McDonalds and reminded David that I had only asked him to do one thing. I had asked him to look for this turn. And, he would have recognized the turn if he had been paying attention.
David calmly let me finish. Then, without a hint of defensiveness, he said, “Dad, that wasn’t an Exxon station. That was a Chevron station. And this isn’t Dillard. This is Clayton.”
My kids love to tell that story.
I wish it were the last time that I let my anxiety prevent me from paying attention to what I was doing.
And I must confess that Palm Sunday can sometimes be a difficult time for me to pay attention to my relationship with God.
I realize that this is not what you were expecting to hear.
Palm Sunday is one of the most important days of the Christian year. It is the day that we gather to read the passion narrative – the story of the suffering and death of Jesus. This is our story. It is the heart of our faith. Perhaps, more than any other, this story shapes who we are as a people of God.
But, it’s a story that can generate a lot of anxiety. Think about what has happened so far. We started the morning walking down Peachtree Street waiving palms and shouting “Hosanna!” Only moments later, we were sitting here in the Nave shouting, “Crucify him!”
We have already experienced both triumph and tragedy -- and it’s not even time for lunch yet.
Sometimes I deal with my anxiety by reminding myself that the passion narrative actually happened in another time and place. It wasn’t really me in Jerusalem waiving those palms to welcome Jesus as the conquering Messiah. It wasn’t really me telling Pilate to crucify Jesus when it turned out he didn’t have the kind of power that I wanted.
Sometimes I deal with my anxiety by translating the passion narrative into abstract terms. I recast the story in the form of theological theories and use technical language to reduce the story to a set of beliefs I can manage comfortably in my head.
Sometimes I deal with my anxiety by simply accepting the passion narrative as unassailable truth. It’s in the Bible, so I can take it as essential Christian doctrine, regardless of whether I quite know what to do with it.
But, although these strategies may reduce my anxiety, they make it more difficult for me to pay attention to my relationship with God. By removing me from the story, these strategies have the effect of putting distance between God and me.
I know this is happening when I realize that I am becoming more sure of what I believe and less sure of how that belief makes any difference in my life. And I know that it really is time to worry when the primary motivation for my belief is a concern about my eligibility for a life after death. That is usually about the same time that I start finding it increasingly difficult to tolerate even being around people who don’t agree with me.
But, despite the anxiety it creates, the passion narrative also reminds me of how to pay attention to God.
Jesus shows me how to put myself back into the story. The key, I think, is Jesus’ prayer in the garden of Gethsemane. It appears near the beginning, just after the Passover Meal and just before his arrest. The words are already familiar to you.
“Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want but what you want.” ( 14:36)
It’s not that hard to explain really. Paying attention to my relationship with God is really just a matter of truly trusting God.
Mark describes Jesus as distressed and agitated, even to death. This is the first time that Jesus doesn’t appear to be in control. He appears, in fact, to be frighteningly powerless.
But, he doesn’t try to gain control by organizing his disciples for a defense, or preparing an escape. He, instead, responds to his sense of powerlessness by turning to God. He retreats to a quiet place, assumes a posture of prayer, tells God what he wants and listens for an answer.
It is worth noting that Jesus took his most trusted disciples -- Peter, James and John -- with him to the garden. Yet, when he turned to them for help, they were asleep. They appear to have shut down, as if suffering from debilitating depression.
Although the text isn’t clear on this point, it appears as if Jesus may have asked God three times to spare his life.
Yet, when he doesn’t get what he wants, Jesus is not consumed by anxiety. Mark does not give us a long litany of all the things Jesus begins to worry about. Instead, Jesus is able to stay in relationship with God until he feels that his will and the will of his Father are one.
And, once God has told him what to do, Jesus gets about the business of doing it. Mark tells us simply that Jesus returns to his disciples, wakes them a third time and goes to face his betrayer.
I know that I am paying attention to God when I feel the need for God and a compassion for God’s creation. Prayer becomes something that I want rather than something that I think I have to do. Doing the right thing and caring for others becomes more a matter of who I am than a series of ethical obligations.
But, I feel like I need to warn you. The spiritual masters tell us that this is not entirely safe. Once you start the business of aligning your will with that of God, you will start to care about what God cares about. And you will start to change.
Some of this change will be personal. This is the process of dying and rising again. It is what Paul and the Gospel writers describe as taking up your cross and following Jesus. And it involves a new awareness. It will force you to face things you have been able to ignore before.
But, perhaps more frightening for many of us, some of this change will be political. The fires of compassion, once lit, rarely stay within predefined boundaries. Although I don’t pretend to fully understand why Jesus had to die, I am convinced that at least part of it was a consequence of his having challenged the political and religious authorities of his day.
We won’t be able to separate our faith from our relationship to the social, political and economic systems in which we live. We will find, for example, that we have to talk about whether these systems are of God. We will have to talk about the war in Iraq. We will have to talk about the availability of health care. We will have to talk about how we treat our environment.
And we should not have any expectations that these discussions will be easy. We are not all going to agree. For many of us, these conversations will amount to nothing less than whether we should change the rules of the game that we have worked so hard to master!
But, don’t worry.
The good news is that if we pay attention to our relationship with God – if we accept the invitation of Palm Sunday and put ourselves in the passion narrative – then we too can enjoy eternal life. We too can develop the character of trust in God that Jesus shows us. We too can conform our will to God’s will and begin to care about what God cares about.
So, don’t let your anxiety cause you to turn from the way prematurely. God, in and through Jesus, has given us a good set of directions, and even an angel or two to tell us when we make a wrong turn.
Amen
Comments? Contact George Maxwell at: GMaxwell@stphilipscathedral.org