April 2019
April 7, 2019
"A Sister's Love," based on John 12:1-8
(reading follows the sermon)
Thirty-one years ago, my boyfriend Steve died of AIDS. It was a sudden, unexpected death of a young man. Steve went into the hospital with pneumonia on a Tuesday, and died five days later. Steve’s death was a huge shock for his large, Catholic family—with six brothers and three sisters. What made it awkward for all of us was that before Steve’s hospitalization, I had only met one sibling—Mike, Steve’s closest brother. Mike was the only one in the family that Steve had told he was gay, a couple months before he went into the hospital. And while Mike was supportive, he also told Steve to make sure he never got HIV. So, Steve had never told Mike about that.
A couple weeks after the funeral, Steve’s family invited me to dinner at his sister Connie’s home. Later in the evening, Connie came to me with a difficult question. With tears in her eyes, Connie asked me why Steve had never told them he was gay. She said they all loved him, and she couldn’t understand why he had kept it a secret. I hesitated, and then told her the truth—that Steve didn’t tell them because he was afraid. Afraid that they wouldn’t accept him as he was. Afraid that they would stop loving him. I could tell Connie had a hard time hearing that. Because it was too late to do anything about it. Too late to show her love. Which is sometimes the story of grief and families. Of loved ones wishing they could have said or done something different before their loved one died.
Today’s Gospel lesson is another one of those grief stories. Another story about siblings—two sisters and a brother. Another story of a brother’s death. Though there’s a big part of the story missing here. Just before our Gospel lesson in John, you find the story of Mary and Martha, and their brother Lazarus, who was raised from the dead. We don’t know what caused Lazarus to become seriously ill. But it was unexpected. The sisters send a message to their friend Jesus, begging him to come quickly. But before Jesus arrives, Lazarus dies. A few days later, Martha meets Jesus in front of their home and asks him a question: “Why didn’t you come sooner, Jesus? You could have saved my brother.” When Jesus leads the sisters to the tomb, and asks the stone to be rolled away, Martha warns him that the stench of death will be horrible. But Jesus tells her, “I am the resurrection and the life.” After someone rolls away the stone, the women are amazed to see their brother walk out alive.
These two sibling stories foreshadow the death and resurrection of Jesus in this Gospel. And both are connected by intense smells. In the first story , Lazarus suffers a human death, which produces a horrible stink. In the second, Mary, the sister of Lazarus, prepares Jesus for his own death. Using a nard ointment that was also burned as incense in the sanctuary of the Jerusalem Temple. The scent is symbolic. The overwhelming perfume of eternal life destroys the stench of death. The house stinks of Heaven. The fragrance of amazing grace and abundant life. A scent all Christians should wear—carrying a divine aroma into our world.
Nearly a century ago, the famous spiritual leader, Mahatma Ghandi was asked by a missionary what he thought of Christians coming to India. Ghandi replied with a question: “Let us think of the bulk of your people who preach the Gospel…. Do they spread the perfume of their lives? That is my sole criterion. All I want them to do is to live Christian lives…. Don’t [just] talk about it…. [For] a rose doesn’t have to propagate its perfume. It just gives it forth, and people are drawn to it.” While living with Christians in his country, Gandhi expected to experience qualities like unconditional love, forgiveness, and kindness. But in his eyes, the Christians he knew failed to live up to the standards preached by Christ in the Sermon on the Mount and on the cross. Sadly, many people could say the same today. Like LGBTQ individuals rejected by churches. Like women who still can’t serve as leaders in some denominations, or congregations that won’t call a female pastor. Like people of color who face passive microaggressions and blatant racism from white Christians.
In our Gospel reading, Mary, a Middle-Eastern Jewish woman breaks through others’ expectations. Her outrageous behavior reveals her radical love. Her perfume is shocking in its extravagance. Its fragrance overpowering, filling the house.
Today, seeing a woman wipe the feet of a religious leader like Jesus would seem inappropriate. Yet, it’s something that Jesus imitates when, during the last supper, he washes the disciples’ feet. Maybe Jesus even borrowed the idea from Mary. (Men have been known to do things like that.) Like Ghandi, Mary challenges us Christians to live out the love of Jesus in our lives and actions. This past Monday, I attended a support group run by the Minnkota Health Project. Minnkota is a volunteer-run nonprofit for people living with HIV/AIDS. Each month, they meet in a room at the Fryn’ Pan Restaurant not far from here for a meal and emotional support. I serve as their spiritual advisor.
This month, I also brought $30 gift cards from Hornbacher’s, funded by a grant we received again this year from the ELCA’s Office of HIV and AIDS Ministry. Thirty dollars might not seem like much to most of us. But for an HIV+ individual living in poverty, it makes a huge difference in helping to buy enough food each month. They’ve told me how grateful they are that St. Mark’s does this for them. Like Mary’s perfume in our Gospel story, the gift cards are a tangible sign that our church cares about them. The ELCA likes it, too. They tell me that most HIV ministry today happens in large metro areas. It’s unusual, they say, to see it happen in a rural area like Fargo. And in a little congregation like ours.
As I was getting ready to leave the Minnkota group on Monday, one of the members—who’s a Native American woman (whom I will call “Carol”)—stopped with her husband to talk with me, and another man who often helps other group members with rides or shopping or errands. Carol told us how much the group means to her. Then she added, “Boy, the two of you sure smell nice.” We all laughed. The other guy joked that he had just taken a shower. And Carol told me she liked my cologne.
Reflecting on that conversation, I like to think her comment wasn’t just about body odor. That it was Carol’s way of telling us how much our involvement affects her. That a disease, still closely linked to death, can bring us face-to-face with people to love. That’s the kind of perfume Mary shared with Jesus—not just a pleasant-smelling ointment. But also a graceful compassion revealed in a lifelong journey of faith in following Jesus and serving others. A love that ultimately led her to stand with a small group of women where Jesus was crucified, abandoned by others. That’s the kind of love Jesus calls us Christians to share with our community and world. Even when it leads us to places of disease and death. Even when it leads us to the cross. Amen.
+ + +
John 12:1-8
Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”
A couple weeks after the funeral, Steve’s family invited me to dinner at his sister Connie’s home. Later in the evening, Connie came to me with a difficult question. With tears in her eyes, Connie asked me why Steve had never told them he was gay. She said they all loved him, and she couldn’t understand why he had kept it a secret. I hesitated, and then told her the truth—that Steve didn’t tell them because he was afraid. Afraid that they wouldn’t accept him as he was. Afraid that they would stop loving him. I could tell Connie had a hard time hearing that. Because it was too late to do anything about it. Too late to show her love. Which is sometimes the story of grief and families. Of loved ones wishing they could have said or done something different before their loved one died.
Today’s Gospel lesson is another one of those grief stories. Another story about siblings—two sisters and a brother. Another story of a brother’s death. Though there’s a big part of the story missing here. Just before our Gospel lesson in John, you find the story of Mary and Martha, and their brother Lazarus, who was raised from the dead. We don’t know what caused Lazarus to become seriously ill. But it was unexpected. The sisters send a message to their friend Jesus, begging him to come quickly. But before Jesus arrives, Lazarus dies. A few days later, Martha meets Jesus in front of their home and asks him a question: “Why didn’t you come sooner, Jesus? You could have saved my brother.” When Jesus leads the sisters to the tomb, and asks the stone to be rolled away, Martha warns him that the stench of death will be horrible. But Jesus tells her, “I am the resurrection and the life.” After someone rolls away the stone, the women are amazed to see their brother walk out alive.
These two sibling stories foreshadow the death and resurrection of Jesus in this Gospel. And both are connected by intense smells. In the first story , Lazarus suffers a human death, which produces a horrible stink. In the second, Mary, the sister of Lazarus, prepares Jesus for his own death. Using a nard ointment that was also burned as incense in the sanctuary of the Jerusalem Temple. The scent is symbolic. The overwhelming perfume of eternal life destroys the stench of death. The house stinks of Heaven. The fragrance of amazing grace and abundant life. A scent all Christians should wear—carrying a divine aroma into our world.
Nearly a century ago, the famous spiritual leader, Mahatma Ghandi was asked by a missionary what he thought of Christians coming to India. Ghandi replied with a question: “Let us think of the bulk of your people who preach the Gospel…. Do they spread the perfume of their lives? That is my sole criterion. All I want them to do is to live Christian lives…. Don’t [just] talk about it…. [For] a rose doesn’t have to propagate its perfume. It just gives it forth, and people are drawn to it.” While living with Christians in his country, Gandhi expected to experience qualities like unconditional love, forgiveness, and kindness. But in his eyes, the Christians he knew failed to live up to the standards preached by Christ in the Sermon on the Mount and on the cross. Sadly, many people could say the same today. Like LGBTQ individuals rejected by churches. Like women who still can’t serve as leaders in some denominations, or congregations that won’t call a female pastor. Like people of color who face passive microaggressions and blatant racism from white Christians.
In our Gospel reading, Mary, a Middle-Eastern Jewish woman breaks through others’ expectations. Her outrageous behavior reveals her radical love. Her perfume is shocking in its extravagance. Its fragrance overpowering, filling the house.
Today, seeing a woman wipe the feet of a religious leader like Jesus would seem inappropriate. Yet, it’s something that Jesus imitates when, during the last supper, he washes the disciples’ feet. Maybe Jesus even borrowed the idea from Mary. (Men have been known to do things like that.) Like Ghandi, Mary challenges us Christians to live out the love of Jesus in our lives and actions. This past Monday, I attended a support group run by the Minnkota Health Project. Minnkota is a volunteer-run nonprofit for people living with HIV/AIDS. Each month, they meet in a room at the Fryn’ Pan Restaurant not far from here for a meal and emotional support. I serve as their spiritual advisor.
This month, I also brought $30 gift cards from Hornbacher’s, funded by a grant we received again this year from the ELCA’s Office of HIV and AIDS Ministry. Thirty dollars might not seem like much to most of us. But for an HIV+ individual living in poverty, it makes a huge difference in helping to buy enough food each month. They’ve told me how grateful they are that St. Mark’s does this for them. Like Mary’s perfume in our Gospel story, the gift cards are a tangible sign that our church cares about them. The ELCA likes it, too. They tell me that most HIV ministry today happens in large metro areas. It’s unusual, they say, to see it happen in a rural area like Fargo. And in a little congregation like ours.
As I was getting ready to leave the Minnkota group on Monday, one of the members—who’s a Native American woman (whom I will call “Carol”)—stopped with her husband to talk with me, and another man who often helps other group members with rides or shopping or errands. Carol told us how much the group means to her. Then she added, “Boy, the two of you sure smell nice.” We all laughed. The other guy joked that he had just taken a shower. And Carol told me she liked my cologne.
Reflecting on that conversation, I like to think her comment wasn’t just about body odor. That it was Carol’s way of telling us how much our involvement affects her. That a disease, still closely linked to death, can bring us face-to-face with people to love. That’s the kind of perfume Mary shared with Jesus—not just a pleasant-smelling ointment. But also a graceful compassion revealed in a lifelong journey of faith in following Jesus and serving others. A love that ultimately led her to stand with a small group of women where Jesus was crucified, abandoned by others. That’s the kind of love Jesus calls us Christians to share with our community and world. Even when it leads us to places of disease and death. Even when it leads us to the cross. Amen.
+ + +
John 12:1-8
Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”
April 14, 2019
"Palm Branches and Garden Stones," based on Luke 19:28-40
(reading follows the sermon)
Jesus said, “I tell you, if these people were silent, the stones would cry out.”
I like rocks. And stones. And boulders. Especially in a garden. Back when I started gardening at our house in Minneapolis, Charlie and I would look for rocks everywhere we went, and bring them back to our yard. It was almost like a game. If we were driving along a road and passed some good-sized stones, I’d yell “rocks!” and we’d stop. Once on the way to Red Wing in southern Minnesota, we pulled over for small boulders that had fallen from the bluffs along the highway.
Another time at a resort, we fished rocks out of a lake in the dark so no one would see us. More than once, we hauled large stones from the cabin Charlie’s mom has near Grand Marais. But, eventually, I got impatient with that slow rate of stone gathering. You know, it takes a long time to get enough rocks to make a significant impact when you’re landscaping a large yard, stone by stone.
So, one spring, I called a company that sold rocks north of the Twin Cities, and ordered two tons of small boulders. Now, I’m sure most North Dakota farmers would laugh at the thought of paying for rocks, when they have an unending supply in their fields. Yep, that’s what those City folks do,” they’d say. A couple weeks later, a large truck lumbered down our alley, and dumped my order next to our driveway. It’s amazing how much noise rocks can make. I spent that summer moving those precious boulders around our yard… next to the pond I had created, along the borders of the garden, to perfectly complement the shrubs and trees and plants.
When Charlie and I moved here three years ago, of course we had to bring some of those stones with us. I think the moving company guys thought we were crazy. After all, who moves rocks? But for us, some of those stones carried memories. Of places we had visited. Of good times shared. Of our Minneapolis home. When I look at those rocks now, I see more than lumps of granite or limestone. My mind hears the stories they tell.
Jesus said, “If these people were silent, the stones would cry out.”
Today is Palm Sunday. At least that’s what we called it when I was a kid. Now it’s “Passion-slash-Palm Sunday.” Now we combine all of Holy Week into one Sunday service. That’s why we read the entire passion story in today’s Gospel readings from Luke. But did you notice anything funny about the Gospel lesson I read before the procession? I did. Something I had not seen before. What’s weird is that in Luke’s Gospel, there is no mention of palm branches. The same story is told in the other Gospels. And in all three, as Jesus processes on a donkey into Jerusalem, the crowd waving palms like pompoms.
But in Luke, there are no palms. The people only lay down their coats in the street. Which means if we only had Luke as a Gospel, there would be no Palm Sunday. There’s also one other detail that makes Luke’s story different. The talking rocks. The verse where Jesus responds to the religious leaders, who tell him to silence the crowd. Hearing them call Jesus “king,” the leaders fear that Rome will send their troops to quiet the crowd with horses and swords. But Jesus says, “If these people were silent, the stones would cry out.”
For the rocks hear what the people say. The rocks remember the blood of those murdered by cruel oppressors. The rocks witness the change of tone from this day when the people shout hosannas, to five days later, when crowd chants for Pontius Pilate to crucify him, when Jesus walks over these stones carrying his cross. The rocks speak when everyone else is silent.
Which makes me think of an old Hasidic Jewish teaching that says a time will come when the stones of the earth will testify against us human beings, remembering the days we have spent walking and driving over rocks. I don’t know about you, but I don’t pay much attention to gravel and boulders when I’m in a hurry. However, Hasidic mystics view those stones as holy witnesses. For after being silent for millennia, they believe our actions will be judged by those same rocks. They will tell God and everyone how we treated other humans and our earth.
Maybe that’s what Jesus had in mind when he talks about the stones crying out. Shouting. Even whispering what they know. Voicing words when no one else can. Speaking truth to power. No longer keeping silent.
Years ago, people living with HIV/AIDS came up with a slogan that describes that struggle: “Silence Equals Death,” usually represented with an equal sign between the first and last word (Silence = Death). It was born out of an era when gay and bisexual men were dying because they were afraid to come out. Along with that slogan, they created a grassroots organization called “ACT UP,” which stands for AIDS Coalition To Unleash Power. Together, ACT-UP organized protests that eventually forced our government to do something. They staged die-in’s at Senators’ offices, blocked the lobbies of pharmaceutical companies, and led angry marches down city streets. Groups like “Black Lives Matter” are doing similar work for justice today. Refusing to remain silent in the face of hatred and bigotry and discrimination.
Jesus said, “If these people were silent, the stones would cry out.”
Sadly, the voices of hatred still seek to silence people. On Friday, the Administration’s ban on transgender individuals in our military took effect, without much notice. Which means that 13,700 trans military members might be discharged and lose their jobs. Which means that any trans individual who tries to enlist will be barred from doing so. Which means that we Christians need to speak up for the voiceless and work for justice in our world.
That’s also the model for following Jesus described by St. Paul in our second lesson from Philippians—who says Jesus “did not regard equality with God as a thing to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave.” For Jesus didn’t come as a king to reign on earth; he came to serve the sick and poor. For even though Jesus was recognized as a rabbi, he spent much of his time with the outcasts of his community. Despite Jesus being the Word Incarnate, he welcomed the lowest class of his society. Theologians say that some of those early Philippian Christians were probably slaves or former slaves. So, the imagery Paul uses is not just poetic. It spoke to their social and economic reality.
I believe the same applies to us today. We need a Savior who enters our human condition. Who knows our internal doubts and fears. Who understands what it’s like to be a silent minority. Who has compassion for those who live in the closet, or struggle with depression, or feel overwhelmed by the barriers we face just living each day. That’s where the grace of the cross comes in. For Jesus came and died for people like us. Revealing a love for each of us, even when we feel unlovely. So that we can, in turn, can live freely and love graciously. And become the living stones that speak when the world seems to have nothing to say. As Jesus said, “For if these people were silent, the stones would cry out.” Amen.
+ + +
Luke 19:28-40
After he had said this, [Jesus] went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem. When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, saying, “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’ ” So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?” They said, “The Lord needs it.” Then they brought it to Jesus; and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”
I like rocks. And stones. And boulders. Especially in a garden. Back when I started gardening at our house in Minneapolis, Charlie and I would look for rocks everywhere we went, and bring them back to our yard. It was almost like a game. If we were driving along a road and passed some good-sized stones, I’d yell “rocks!” and we’d stop. Once on the way to Red Wing in southern Minnesota, we pulled over for small boulders that had fallen from the bluffs along the highway.
Another time at a resort, we fished rocks out of a lake in the dark so no one would see us. More than once, we hauled large stones from the cabin Charlie’s mom has near Grand Marais. But, eventually, I got impatient with that slow rate of stone gathering. You know, it takes a long time to get enough rocks to make a significant impact when you’re landscaping a large yard, stone by stone.
So, one spring, I called a company that sold rocks north of the Twin Cities, and ordered two tons of small boulders. Now, I’m sure most North Dakota farmers would laugh at the thought of paying for rocks, when they have an unending supply in their fields. Yep, that’s what those City folks do,” they’d say. A couple weeks later, a large truck lumbered down our alley, and dumped my order next to our driveway. It’s amazing how much noise rocks can make. I spent that summer moving those precious boulders around our yard… next to the pond I had created, along the borders of the garden, to perfectly complement the shrubs and trees and plants.
When Charlie and I moved here three years ago, of course we had to bring some of those stones with us. I think the moving company guys thought we were crazy. After all, who moves rocks? But for us, some of those stones carried memories. Of places we had visited. Of good times shared. Of our Minneapolis home. When I look at those rocks now, I see more than lumps of granite or limestone. My mind hears the stories they tell.
Jesus said, “If these people were silent, the stones would cry out.”
Today is Palm Sunday. At least that’s what we called it when I was a kid. Now it’s “Passion-slash-Palm Sunday.” Now we combine all of Holy Week into one Sunday service. That’s why we read the entire passion story in today’s Gospel readings from Luke. But did you notice anything funny about the Gospel lesson I read before the procession? I did. Something I had not seen before. What’s weird is that in Luke’s Gospel, there is no mention of palm branches. The same story is told in the other Gospels. And in all three, as Jesus processes on a donkey into Jerusalem, the crowd waving palms like pompoms.
But in Luke, there are no palms. The people only lay down their coats in the street. Which means if we only had Luke as a Gospel, there would be no Palm Sunday. There’s also one other detail that makes Luke’s story different. The talking rocks. The verse where Jesus responds to the religious leaders, who tell him to silence the crowd. Hearing them call Jesus “king,” the leaders fear that Rome will send their troops to quiet the crowd with horses and swords. But Jesus says, “If these people were silent, the stones would cry out.”
For the rocks hear what the people say. The rocks remember the blood of those murdered by cruel oppressors. The rocks witness the change of tone from this day when the people shout hosannas, to five days later, when crowd chants for Pontius Pilate to crucify him, when Jesus walks over these stones carrying his cross. The rocks speak when everyone else is silent.
Which makes me think of an old Hasidic Jewish teaching that says a time will come when the stones of the earth will testify against us human beings, remembering the days we have spent walking and driving over rocks. I don’t know about you, but I don’t pay much attention to gravel and boulders when I’m in a hurry. However, Hasidic mystics view those stones as holy witnesses. For after being silent for millennia, they believe our actions will be judged by those same rocks. They will tell God and everyone how we treated other humans and our earth.
Maybe that’s what Jesus had in mind when he talks about the stones crying out. Shouting. Even whispering what they know. Voicing words when no one else can. Speaking truth to power. No longer keeping silent.
Years ago, people living with HIV/AIDS came up with a slogan that describes that struggle: “Silence Equals Death,” usually represented with an equal sign between the first and last word (Silence = Death). It was born out of an era when gay and bisexual men were dying because they were afraid to come out. Along with that slogan, they created a grassroots organization called “ACT UP,” which stands for AIDS Coalition To Unleash Power. Together, ACT-UP organized protests that eventually forced our government to do something. They staged die-in’s at Senators’ offices, blocked the lobbies of pharmaceutical companies, and led angry marches down city streets. Groups like “Black Lives Matter” are doing similar work for justice today. Refusing to remain silent in the face of hatred and bigotry and discrimination.
Jesus said, “If these people were silent, the stones would cry out.”
Sadly, the voices of hatred still seek to silence people. On Friday, the Administration’s ban on transgender individuals in our military took effect, without much notice. Which means that 13,700 trans military members might be discharged and lose their jobs. Which means that any trans individual who tries to enlist will be barred from doing so. Which means that we Christians need to speak up for the voiceless and work for justice in our world.
That’s also the model for following Jesus described by St. Paul in our second lesson from Philippians—who says Jesus “did not regard equality with God as a thing to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave.” For Jesus didn’t come as a king to reign on earth; he came to serve the sick and poor. For even though Jesus was recognized as a rabbi, he spent much of his time with the outcasts of his community. Despite Jesus being the Word Incarnate, he welcomed the lowest class of his society. Theologians say that some of those early Philippian Christians were probably slaves or former slaves. So, the imagery Paul uses is not just poetic. It spoke to their social and economic reality.
I believe the same applies to us today. We need a Savior who enters our human condition. Who knows our internal doubts and fears. Who understands what it’s like to be a silent minority. Who has compassion for those who live in the closet, or struggle with depression, or feel overwhelmed by the barriers we face just living each day. That’s where the grace of the cross comes in. For Jesus came and died for people like us. Revealing a love for each of us, even when we feel unlovely. So that we can, in turn, can live freely and love graciously. And become the living stones that speak when the world seems to have nothing to say. As Jesus said, “For if these people were silent, the stones would cry out.” Amen.
+ + +
Luke 19:28-40
After he had said this, [Jesus] went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem. When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, saying, “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’ ” So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?” They said, “The Lord needs it.” Then they brought it to Jesus; and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”