"Hosanna!"
Based on Matthew 21:1-11
April 5, 2020
In the book, Man’s Search For Meaning, Viktor Frankl shares his experience as a Jewish psychiatrist who spent three years at Auschwitz and other Nazi prisons. During his time in the concentration camp, Frankl observed individual responses to that horrible experience. He noticed that in many cases, the prisoner who lost faith in the future was “doomed.” Without anything to look forward to, their spiritual hold on life faded.
One day in camp, another prisoner who was a well-known composer confided in Dr. Frankl. He told him about a dream, where a voice promised to tell the composer anything he wanted to know. So the prisoner asked when the war would over for him, and his suffering might end. The voice replied, “March 30, 1945.” The prisoner told Frankl about the dream at the beginning of March. So, for the next few weeks the prisoner was ecstatic—convinced that his dream would come true very soon.
But as the promised day drew near, the war news made it clear that they would not be freed by then.
“On March 29, [the man] suddenly became ill and ran a high temperature. On March 30, the day his prophecy foretold that his suffering would be over, he became delirious…. On March 31, he was dead. To all outward appearances, he died of typhus.”[1]
This story suggests that a person’s state of mind—especially related to their hope or courage—has a strong correlation to one’s health. Dr. Frankl concluded that his friend died in part because of his deep discouragement.
I saw something similar in the early years of the HIV/AIDS epidemic among those who suffered. For it appeared the most stubborn and ornery individuals were the ones who refused to give up and—despite all the odds—survived. Their attitude seemed to strengthen their immune system when nothing else could. Which of course is not the same as laying blame on someone who did die, implying their death was due to their lack of faith.
Yet, hope does affect our ability as humans to live. The philosopher Nietzsche once said, “One who has a why to live can bear with almost any how.” That kind of inner strength is central to the Passion narratives in our Gospels.
“Hosanna!” is what the crowd shouted as Jesus entered Jerusalem on that first Palm Sunday. Many Christians assume “hosanna” is just a word of praise to God, like “hallelujah!” Jewish people sing “hosanna” during the Feast of Tabernacles or Sukkot, the 7th day of which is called “The Great Hosanna.”
But in Hebrew the original phrase for “hosanna” is also a cry for help. In Psalm 118:25 the writer uses the same words to say, “Save us, we beseech you, O Lord!” Hosanna! Today we might say something like, “Please, God, I beg you to save us!”
In one sense, it’s desperate cry—like a drowning person yelling for help. But it was even more than that. An oppressed people’s lament for freedom. Eventually, it became an expression of joy and praise for their long-expected liberation.
When Jesus rides into Jerusalem, the Passover crowd shouts, “Hosanna, Jesus, son of David! Save us from our cruel Roman oppressors! Hosanna! God, give us freedom!”
Today, we all have similar prayers. Hosanna! Save us from COVID-19! Hosanna! Heal the sick! Hosanna! Protect my family!
Hosanna! Help the unemployed! Hosanna! Free us from social isolation! Hosanna! Save me from hopelessness!
Hosanna! Protect our doctors and nurses! Hosanna! Don’t let my loved one die! Hosanna! Comfort those who grieve!
But Hosanna is not a magic word. Or a guaranteed response to my urgent prayer. Or a holy promise for a miracle. Some Christians like to say that if you just have enough faith, God will protect you from failure, disappointment, and disease. A theology of glory. A Christ without a cross.
But we know, if we are honest with ourselves, that sometimes life is not a picnic. That sometimes we have to face serious illness, the end of relationships, and loss of loved ones. We Lutherans call that the theology of the cross.
Because we believe God in Jesus is with us even in the midst of pain and suffering and tragedy. Even in the midst of a pandemic none of us could ever imagine. For sometimes Hosanna is nothing more than a lament. A word expressing doubt and despair. A question asking why God has allowed the thing you most feared to happen.
Like the words that Jesus cried from the cross, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” A prayer that comes from another Jewish lament, Psalm 22. A psalm we Christians read each Holy Thursday, as we strip the altar. As we think on Jesus’ death.
And yet with Hosanna, there is always a ray of hope. For even in our most desperate prayer, God is still listening. God’s arms enfold us.
I believe there are no easy explanations for why we experience loss and suffering in this world. Our theology of the cross doesn’t offer simple answers or empty promises. Only that Jesus walks with us during our lives’ most heart-breaking days.
That, as Paul says in our second lesson, the Holy One in Jesus emptied God’s self and became one with us in suffering. Which gives us hope in our darkest hour. And grace to know that no matter what, we are God’s beloved children.
And that today God hears our prayers and tears and cries. As together we say, “Hosanna! Save us, God! Hosanna!” Amen.
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[1] Frankl, Victor E, Man’s Search for Meaning; 1975, New York, NY, Pocket Books/Simon & Schuster; pp. 119-120.
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GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 21:1-11
When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, “Tell the daughter of Zion, ‘Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’”
The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!” When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”
One day in camp, another prisoner who was a well-known composer confided in Dr. Frankl. He told him about a dream, where a voice promised to tell the composer anything he wanted to know. So the prisoner asked when the war would over for him, and his suffering might end. The voice replied, “March 30, 1945.” The prisoner told Frankl about the dream at the beginning of March. So, for the next few weeks the prisoner was ecstatic—convinced that his dream would come true very soon.
But as the promised day drew near, the war news made it clear that they would not be freed by then.
“On March 29, [the man] suddenly became ill and ran a high temperature. On March 30, the day his prophecy foretold that his suffering would be over, he became delirious…. On March 31, he was dead. To all outward appearances, he died of typhus.”[1]
This story suggests that a person’s state of mind—especially related to their hope or courage—has a strong correlation to one’s health. Dr. Frankl concluded that his friend died in part because of his deep discouragement.
I saw something similar in the early years of the HIV/AIDS epidemic among those who suffered. For it appeared the most stubborn and ornery individuals were the ones who refused to give up and—despite all the odds—survived. Their attitude seemed to strengthen their immune system when nothing else could. Which of course is not the same as laying blame on someone who did die, implying their death was due to their lack of faith.
Yet, hope does affect our ability as humans to live. The philosopher Nietzsche once said, “One who has a why to live can bear with almost any how.” That kind of inner strength is central to the Passion narratives in our Gospels.
“Hosanna!” is what the crowd shouted as Jesus entered Jerusalem on that first Palm Sunday. Many Christians assume “hosanna” is just a word of praise to God, like “hallelujah!” Jewish people sing “hosanna” during the Feast of Tabernacles or Sukkot, the 7th day of which is called “The Great Hosanna.”
But in Hebrew the original phrase for “hosanna” is also a cry for help. In Psalm 118:25 the writer uses the same words to say, “Save us, we beseech you, O Lord!” Hosanna! Today we might say something like, “Please, God, I beg you to save us!”
In one sense, it’s desperate cry—like a drowning person yelling for help. But it was even more than that. An oppressed people’s lament for freedom. Eventually, it became an expression of joy and praise for their long-expected liberation.
When Jesus rides into Jerusalem, the Passover crowd shouts, “Hosanna, Jesus, son of David! Save us from our cruel Roman oppressors! Hosanna! God, give us freedom!”
Today, we all have similar prayers. Hosanna! Save us from COVID-19! Hosanna! Heal the sick! Hosanna! Protect my family!
Hosanna! Help the unemployed! Hosanna! Free us from social isolation! Hosanna! Save me from hopelessness!
Hosanna! Protect our doctors and nurses! Hosanna! Don’t let my loved one die! Hosanna! Comfort those who grieve!
But Hosanna is not a magic word. Or a guaranteed response to my urgent prayer. Or a holy promise for a miracle. Some Christians like to say that if you just have enough faith, God will protect you from failure, disappointment, and disease. A theology of glory. A Christ without a cross.
But we know, if we are honest with ourselves, that sometimes life is not a picnic. That sometimes we have to face serious illness, the end of relationships, and loss of loved ones. We Lutherans call that the theology of the cross.
Because we believe God in Jesus is with us even in the midst of pain and suffering and tragedy. Even in the midst of a pandemic none of us could ever imagine. For sometimes Hosanna is nothing more than a lament. A word expressing doubt and despair. A question asking why God has allowed the thing you most feared to happen.
Like the words that Jesus cried from the cross, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” A prayer that comes from another Jewish lament, Psalm 22. A psalm we Christians read each Holy Thursday, as we strip the altar. As we think on Jesus’ death.
And yet with Hosanna, there is always a ray of hope. For even in our most desperate prayer, God is still listening. God’s arms enfold us.
I believe there are no easy explanations for why we experience loss and suffering in this world. Our theology of the cross doesn’t offer simple answers or empty promises. Only that Jesus walks with us during our lives’ most heart-breaking days.
That, as Paul says in our second lesson, the Holy One in Jesus emptied God’s self and became one with us in suffering. Which gives us hope in our darkest hour. And grace to know that no matter what, we are God’s beloved children.
And that today God hears our prayers and tears and cries. As together we say, “Hosanna! Save us, God! Hosanna!” Amen.
----------------------------------------------
[1] Frankl, Victor E, Man’s Search for Meaning; 1975, New York, NY, Pocket Books/Simon & Schuster; pp. 119-120.
+ + +
GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 21:1-11
When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, “Tell the daughter of Zion, ‘Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’”
The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!” When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”
