On Palm Sunday I always hear the comparison of the people on
Palm Sunday shouting praises and lauding Jesus as king and then a week later
they are the same ones shouting “Crucify” the loudest in the crowds. Whenever I
hear about these people I think ‘what wishy-washy, despicable, ignorant,
immoral, and downright evil people these must have been.’ Maybe it’s just me
and that means I’m a terrible judgmental person, who knows? But this year the more I thought about those
people the more I thought, “yeah, I can see that.”
On Palm Sunday these people were full of hope, anticipation,
excitement, and passion. Their king had finally come. They would finally see
peace they had only been read about, generations of suffering ended, true
justice restored, and the world set right again.
Then their King does nothing. Nothing. He says nothing. He does nothing. Nothing.
And I think these people were hurt.
Just when they had started to open their hearts to even the
chance of hope, it disappears in silence. And then, as it often does, this deep
hurt turns quickly to anger. And before they know it they are screaming at the
top of their lungs “Crucify!”
I’m a little embarrassed to admit it (because on this side
of history who wants to admit they could have easily been the bad guy in the
story, come on!) but I think that could have been me.
Last year I came into my new job, as a therapist for youth in foster care, with my eyes wide, full of
hope, passion, and faith that the love I had through Christ could fix just
about everything. Then I came face to face with the darkest dark. And I
realized things weren’t quite as easy as I hoped. I prayed and prayed for
restored families, healing for victimized children, and repair for the broken
systems that compound these problems.
And families still fell apart. Children still faced immense
suffering. And systems were still broken and making things worse.
I found myself so angry that justice was nowhere to be found
for the innocent. Furious that suffering was not immediately removed.
Frustrated at the lack of love and understanding that constantly stood in the
way of healing. I found myself doing less praying and more yelling. Shaking my
fists and demanding justice now – not next week, not in 6 months, not when
they’re older. That’s not good enough. NOW OR ELSE!
Not too far from “Crucify”, right?
It’s at this point that I’m comforted by Jesus’ reaction to
the angry crowds. He looks out at their faces, hears their anger and hate, and
chooses to love them anyway. He doesn’t call them snakes or taxcollectors or
whatever the best derogatory term was then. He sees them, he hears them, and he
dies anyway to save them. It reminds me
that He’s big enough to handle anything I can dish out. He can hear my anger
and my doubt. He can see my frustration and my hunger for justice. And He can
accept it, accept me, and love me.