THE ROCKS CRY OUT ON PALM SUNDAY

It was sunny here in Nashville on Palm Sunday.

After visiting a different church last Sunday, Jessica and I went back to our regular church this week. Like I mentioned last before, Jessica loves our church. It’s me who can’t seem to find peace.

To be honest, it’s not the same church we joined nearly three years ago.

Just to give you some background, about nineteen months ago one of the two “teaching” pastors stepped down [the circumstances surrounding his departure weren’t pleasant, but he wasn’t angry when he stepped down; in fact, he continued to attend our church until he and his family ventured into a new ministry out of state]. His decision to leave was the beginning of change at our church.

At least, that’s true from my personal perspective.

This morning we walked into the 11:00 service and instantly noticed the church floor covered with palm branches.

I’ve always loved Palm Sunday; the visuals that exist in this particular story are glorious and powerful, but also very strange, mainly because the same people who seem excited about Jesus’ arrival into Jerusalem end up wanting him dean on a cross just a few days later. In the story, I think the people with the palms feel a certain amount of mental conflict, they’re stuck somewhere between praise and unbelief.

That’s a reality I can relate to at times.

As we got ready to enter the auditorium, the usher handed us both a church bulletin and then said, “Oh, yeah, and pick up a rock.” Right in front of us was a wooden box full of small stones. Jess looked at me and laughed as she picked up one of the rocks; she knew what I was thinking:

“Oh, no, it’s PROP Sunday.”

I didn’t take a stone.

Another confession.

The “prop” thing bugs me. Yes, I know it’s small and probably very stupid, but our church hands out “sermon props” at least once a month [sometimes more often, sometimes less] These “props”–which have been a red ball, a box of Nerds candies, a small piece of maroon fabric, and other items–are supposed to be “helpful tools” to illustrate the a major point in the pastor’s sermon. Okay, so I get that, and if I were 7, maybe I would appreciate it more. But I think it’s trite; it reminds me of Sunday school.

Maybe I should have picked up a rock; I would have had something to throw…

Jessica gave me a look that said, Um, let it go.

We found our seat. Jess wrote a check and put it in the offering plate. Then the pastor began speaking. Apparently, for Palm Sunday, the order of service was reversed–the sermon came before the praise and worship music and then communion.

Once the sermon began, I forgot about the rock. Our pastor taught from one of the passages that tells of Jesus’ triumphant entry. He gave us three “truths” about Jesus that he had gleened from the story. The second and third points were pretty general, ones that I had heard many times: 2] Jesus is in control and 3]Jesus brings the only peace that really matters.

But the first point, that was one I had never heard before. He was talking about the fact that Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey. He directed our attention to how the book of Matthew states that Jesus chose to ride a donkey because it had been told by the prophets that he would ride a donkey.

Duh, right?

Right.

“Jesus didn’t have to ride a donkey,” said my pastor loudly and with a lot of passion like he was telling us some miraculous truth, “He could have just walked if he had wanted to!”

Then he picked up his Bible from off of the pulpit, placed it over top of his head, walked around the stage, and then said: “Do you know what this teaches us about Jesus?”

A list of things began going through my head: Jesus was tired. Jesus knew that he was supposed to ride a donkey. Jesus really liked donkeys. His Dad told him to get himself a donkey. And so forth…

My pastor’s hands went straight up into the air as if praise and worship music had started early, and he began to speak loudly: “This teaches us that Jesus lived under the authority of the Bible, just like we should live under the authority of the Bible.”

I felt like that statement is assuming a lot. And we know what assuming makes us into, right? [Hint: Jesus rode one into the city]

In all seriousness, I’m still processing that statement.

At the end of his sermon my pastor asked everybody to pull out the rock that was given to them on the way into the auditorium. He instructed everyone to hold them up into the air.

Everybody did.

He said, “Here’s the deal, friends; if you don’t speak the truth and give him praise, Jesus says the rocks will do it instead. Did you catch that??? These rocks will begin speaking truth and singing for us.”

Still holding up his stone, he said this:

“Are you going to let your rock speak the truth? Are you?!? I want you to take this rock with you this week, wherever you go and then bring it back with you next week. When this week gets hard, chaotic, crazy, I want you to take your rock out…”

He laughed, perhaps because he too, was beginning to think this seemed a bit ridiculous?

“When you feel like letting that rock speak the truth for you, hold it tightly in your grip, y’all,” he said loudly, holding the rock in his fist and putting his hand behind his back, “Don’t you let it speak; you keep that rock silent…Don’t. Let. It. Speak…”

Does it matter that the rocks he keeps talking about came in an 80-pound bag from Home Depot?

We then sang Famous One, which I suppose was the worship band’s attempt to keep everybody’s rocks silent until they got home.

When we got to the second verse of that worship song, I could have sworn Jessica’s rock said hello to me.

She didn’t believe me.

And yes, I know I am missing a word in one of the “speech bubbles”; I will try and fix it later… need to go to bed.

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