SACRED. HOLY. MOMENTS. And Shouting Stairs

 Dear Family in Faith,

This Sunday, which is Palm Sunday, we’re celebrating a baptism during worship; and we’ll be reading the gospel story of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem—as if he were taking the worldly throne away from Rome, and occupying it himself.  As if this were to be the great restoration of the great Kingdom of Israel!  No wonder both religious leaders and Roman occupiers might have been “nervous” about this Passover celebration and the power of God. 

Ordinarily, THAT story is followed in worship by another story—where Jesus’ “victory” includes his betrayal, arrest, denial, and eventual crucifixion and death.  This second story, known as the Passion story, is a witness to Jesus’ suffering and dying.  You know already, don’t you?  The shouts of loud “Hosanna!” on Palm Sunday morning are drowned out by shouts of “Crucify!  Crucify!” on the following Friday morning!  

It’s between “Hosanna!” and “Crucify!” that Jesus is arrested, bound, and taken to Caiaphas to be tried (err, falsely accused) in front of Jewish religious authorities.  The religious leaders are empowered to accuse Jesus; but they are prohibited from imposing a sentence of death.  They can order their thugs to spit in Jesus’ face; to slap Jesus and mock him; and Jesus can comfortably turn the other cheek, knowing they cannot take his life.  The zealous religious prosecutors seek witnesses against Jesus, but they can’t find a corroborating account to any of their accusations.  And while the religious court will ask Jesus question after question, he will remain agravatingly elusive, or silent. 

Before all of this, Peter tried pledging to follow Jesus, saying:

"Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death!" 

But Jesus said,

"I tell you, Peter, the cock will not crow this day, until you have denied three times that you know me." 

Rather than the false witnesses the religious leaders line up, rather than Jesus himself, enter a fowl to become the star witness in this drama!  And though Peter has been told how this story will end, he remains dedicated to any ending but the one Jesus shared with him!  Until …that cock crowed. 

In Jerusalem, there’s a set of stairs rising stately up an incline toward a Church that now sits atop what many people believe was the location of Caiaphas’ house, outside the Jerusalem walls, in the old City of David, in one of the most ancient parts of the holy city.  The stairs are said to have ascended to the courtyard where Peter would arrive to stand around a fire to warm himself.  Where Peter would be accused of being one of the men with Jesus; one who knew Jesus; even one who believed in Jesus.  Yet unlike Jesus, Peter did not remain silent. 

On this night, Jerusalem was in the hands of the Romans, whose military might and authority had arrived to be especially stationed in the religious capitol during the celebration of the Passover—the proclamation of the story of the Hebrew liberation from Egypt.  The Romans were guarding against any attempt to reprise the story for real.  And the Jews were necessarily gathered secretly, out of sight of Roman spies and Jewish bystanders—because what they were talking about involved whispers of messiahship as well as blasphemy, sedition, and the possible overthrow of Rome.  About which, Jesus says nothing. 

This set of stairs now sits in a less-popular neighborhood, despite its historically significant surroundings.  We quickly and easily identified the poorer residents who lived in nearby homes as as our group began to climb the stairs and arrange ourselves for worship.  Then, someone read a psalm.  Another prayed a prayer.  Another took out a bible and began to read from the gospel account central to this location …when it began …crowing.  At first, each of us seemed to believe we must have been “hearing things.”  But the cock just kept crowing …and crowing.  Eventually, gazing into one another’s faces we could see—we were all hearing it.  The cock.  Crowing.  And crowing, and crowing, and crowing, and crowing.  As if Peter’s denial had been unleashed like the flooding rain of a summer thunderstorm, over and over and over.  Annoyingly persistent, the crowing kept up, until all we could do was stop worship …and just listen. 

Sacred.  Holy.  Moments.  And even those stairs seemed to be shouting. 

Come this Sunday.  Add your voice to the shouting choruses—carry a palm, profess your faith, submit yourself to follow Jesus to the cross through the crowds and with the deafening cock-crows that might dissuade you.  It’s time to join the parade of faith, to remember your own baptism, to voice your own promised following, and wait, listening in hope .  …God is rewriting our stories.  See you in Church!