Matthew 21:1-11
Two of my fellow students in seminary had cerebral palsy. They both used wheelchairs, but that was pretty much where their similarities ended. Ann Marie was tall; Sophia was small. Ann Marie was blonde; Sophia had dark hair. Ann Marie’s CP was more severe than Sophia’s, with greater limits on her speech and movement. But the biggest difference between them was the dog. Ann Marie had a therapy dog who accompanied her everywhere—a yellow lab that everyone petted even though the sign on her back said not to.
On the first day of our second year, I walked beside Sophia as we crossed the campus for a class. When she rolled into the room, the professor immediately asked Sophia, “So, where’s your dog?” Sophia didn’t have a dog. Ann Marie had a dog. But the professor wasn’t looking at the woman. He was only looking at the chair.
It was a common mistake. As her friend, I saw others do the same thing. People would often relate to Sophia as if she were stupid. She was working on her Master of Divinity degree and her law degree simultaneously. All they saw was disability. They didn’t see Sophia
Years ago I had a conversation with a woman named Vicki about a condescending boss she had when she was first out of college. The first time Vicki was required to travel on business, her boss pulled her aside and started giving her travel advice, woman to woman. Make sure you pack extra stockings in case you run a pair, etc. Then her boss explained how airports work. You need to arrive early, and you go in and check your bags, and then you go through security, and on and on. I asked, “Why in the world would your boss think you needed this instruction?” “Because I’m black,” she said. My confusion must have been obvious because she explained: “My boss assumed that because I’m African-American, I grew up poor and had never traveled.” Her boss didn’t see a well-educated professional young woman. All she saw was the color of her skin. She didn’t see Vicki.
Our biases have a huge impact on what we see, and on what we don’t. Author Malcolm Gladwell wrote a book called Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking. He gives many examples of how our biases affect what we see, therefore influencing everything from the outcome of presidential elections to the guilt or innocence of defendants. (“Unattractive defendants tend to get hit with longer, harsher sentences – on average 22 months longer in prison” than good looking defendants guilty of the same crimes.)
But Gladwell addressed more than biases. He also wrote about how our expectations influence our thinking. He told of how a group of trained, experienced art experts were fooled into believing that a fake was authentic—because they wanted it to be, and they expected it to be. In other words, we see what we expect to see.
We all know how this works. We expect to see good in the world, and we do. We expect to see acts of kindness, and we do. But if we expect to see greed and selfishness and hatred, then we do. We see what we expect to see.
I wonder how many different visions there were when Jesus rode into town. What did people expect to see?
We know, of course, that the people had been waiting for, longing for, a Messiah. They hoped and prayed that this Messiah would help them overthrow the Roman government, with its cruel domination. The Roman governors could change with one slash of a sword, and the people never knew what to expect from the next leader. One of them was particularly seen as “greedy, vindictive, and cruel.” His name was Pontius Pilate. One of his more ingenious strategies was that, when he feared a riot from the Jews, he would have some of his soldiers dress like Jews, mingle in the crowd, and “at the first sign of trouble, kill the potential troublemakers.”
This is what the people were living with. Then here comes Jesus, with his disregard for the rules and his fearlessness of those in power. So the people looked at this miracle-worker, this healer, this teacher, and they placed their hopes in him. Surely Jesus was the Messiah. And surely the Messiah would save them from their enemies.
So when Jesus rode into town, they saw their king, their deliverer, the one who would lead them to conquer Rome and be free once again. It’s no wonder they shouted “Hosanna.” Hosanna is a plea for mercy, a cry to the anointed king for deliverance. It’s no wonder they shouted “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” They believed he was their deliverer, who would establish his kingdom. They wanted to see a king, and that’s what they saw. But they didn’t see Jesus.
Of course, not everyone in the crowd saw a king. Some of the people, especially the religious leaders, saw a troublemaker. They saw this young upstart of a teacher who thought he knew better than all the religious leaders put together. He defied the laws of his people while claiming to uphold them. He worked on the Sabbath, touched the untouchables, ate with sinners, insulted the Pharisees, flouted the authority of the synagogue, and virtually thumbed his nose at the entire religious establishment. And worst of all, he was now inciting a riot. They expected to see a troublemaker, a heretic, and that’s what they saw. But they didn’t see Jesus.
And then there were skeptics—they are found in every crowd. (At least every crowd that I’m in.) They’d heard the stories, heard about the miracles, but they didn’t believe. Perhaps they just weren’t the believing kind. Perhaps they learned long ago that it hurts too much to hope. But they expected to see a fake, a fraud, someone who would accept all the accolades of the crowd without ever actually doing anything. They expected to see a fraud, and that’s what they saw. But they didn’t see Jesus.
And then there was Rome. Scholars have recently told us that Jesus’ parade wasn’t the only one happening in and around Jerusalem that day. Jesus came from the east, but from the west came the Roman army led by none other than Pontius Pilate “coming to maintain order during Passover, a time when the population of Jerusalem would swell from around 50,000 to well over 200,000–both conservative estimates. [Plus,] Passover was a celebration of liberation from Pharoah in Egypt, and Rome was uneasy about the anti-imperial message of this association.
If the two parades had met in the middle of town, how would Pilate have viewed what we now call Jesus’ “Triumphal Entry”? Most likely as a threat to the empire and the stability he worked so hard to maintain. Obviously the man had no real power . . . yet! . . . but that could change. Pilate saw someone he would need to keep an eye on, someone who was a potential threat to the empire. But he didn’t see Jesus.
Over and over, people saw what they wanted to see, what they expected to see. But I’m not sure any of them saw Jesus.
I’d like to think I would have. I’d like to think I would have seen him for who he was, and not who I wanted him to be. But I doubt it. I’m no cleverer, no more insightful, no closer to God than my counterparts in the religious community of Jesus’ day. I probably would have seen what I wanted or expected to see. We all do it.
Some of us are still expecting a Savior who will rescue us, a Messiah to remove us from the mess we find ourselves in. We stand there with our palms raised, ready for deliverance, ready for our Christ to declare war on our enemies. And we’re either still waiting and wondering when he will act, or we’re taking matters into our own hands and claiming that our clenched fists are God’s.
Some of us are with the religious leaders of the day: we see a trouble-maker, someone upsetting the status quo, and we don’t like it one bit. Oh, we don’t say so—but that’s what our actions say. We don’t trust this Jesus because we can’t predict what Jesus will do. Sure, we love that Jesus welcomes the outcasts when we are the outcast. But that other person or group? Surely Jesus won’t welcome them. So we keep Christ at arm’s length, so that we can’t be changed by this trouble-maker’s actions.
And then there are the skeptics. I told you there are some in every crowd. Those of us who stand with the skeptics are so busy doubting Jesus that we can never really see with our own eyes. We can never even consider that the coincidence we just experienced might be a miracle. We can’t entertain the possibility that God might work in illogical ways. Or maybe we simply have learned that it hurts too much to hope.
And last but not least, some of us can’t see Jesus because we are too busy defending the empire—the empire of capitalism and economic imperialism; the empire of nationalism and blind patriotism; the empire of might equals right, and who cares what’s wrong. Whatever the cause, we don’t see Jesus.
I think that when Jesus rode into Jerusalem, few people saw the look on his face, or at least understood it for what it was. We might expect that someone on the receiving end of such accolades would look pleased at the response he was getting. (I can’t recall many frowning faces in parades!) But that wasn’t the look of satisfaction on his face—that was determination to face the road ahead. That wasn’t the look of victory in his eyes—that was the look of a burning passion to accomplish everything he could before he was out of time. That wasn’t the smile of someone accepting the accolades of the masses. That was the grimace of one who knew how quickly those accolades would change.
For he knew. He had to have known. Not because he was divine and had foreknowledge, but simply because he had been watching the signs. He knew the cries of Hosanna would be followed by shouts of Crucify. He knew the palm branches would be exchanged for a crown of thorns. He knew that although the donkey carried him that day, he would soon be a beast of burden, carrying his own cross.
He knew. And he went anyway . . . because he wanted to show us the high cost of love. He wanted to illustrate what might happen if we stand up for the marginalized. He wanted to demonstrate his solidarity with all those who suffer in every time and place.
The question remains: Will we recognize him then? Will we see Jesus?