“The LORD needs it.”
“The LORD needs it.”
This phrase, as you may recall, shows up twice in the short tale that I just read for you.
The first time it comes out of the mouth of Jesus himself, when he is giving his disciples their marching orders, as it were. Upon entering the next village, he instructs them, they will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. They are to commandeer this beast, Jesus tells them, and if anyone should ask them just what they think they are doing, he instructs them to say:
“The LORD needs it.”
The story proceeds without the slightest speed bump – the plot conforming exactly to Christ’s prediction. The colt’s owners do approach the disciples:
“Why are you untying the colt?” they ask
And doing exactly as they were told, the disciples reply:
“The Lord needs it.”
And that’s that.
The owners of the colt must have simply acquiesced, because the story promptly leaves them behind and we never hear from them again.
This in spite of the fact that in that time in history and in that part of the world, a young colt was probably of extraordinary value. That young colt might have been someone’s livelihood.
“The Lord needs it”…
I find this phrase compelling.
It has a kind of singular significance that is worth considering.
If, let us say, we were to remove the phrase from its context in this story, and just think about it as a direct imperative being told to you… it is really quite fascinating to think about.
What, I wonder, would the LORD need from me?
My 2014 Toyota Prius?
My cat?
A place to stay overnight?
My soul?
Something to eat and drink?
And if the LORD needed it – whatever it was – would I give it?
Without hesitation?
It’s a good question.
Here’s another question to consider.
Why did the LORD need the colt?
Apparently, Jesus needed the donkey to help him enter Jerusalem. This whole story is about Christ entering Jerusalem.
Palm Sunday is the day, in our church calendar, when we celebrate Christ’s “triumphal return.”
Christ approaches the gate, and passes through it.
This is what literary theorists and English teacher nerds would call a liminal story – a story about a threshold.
For the last three years Jesus has been wandering around Galilee teaching the multitudes, sharing meals with unsavory characters, performing miracles and healing the poor and afflicted. It was a dusty road, and it wasn’t always easy, but it was his life.
Jesus knows that when he passes through the gate into Jerusalem, he will set in motion a spiral of events that will ultimately lead to his crucifixion. All the people in the streets may be waving palms and singing Hosanna’s of praise, but Jesus himself knows full well that to pass into Jerusalem, is to pass, irreversibly, into the final painful act of his story.
Outwardly, this is a story of confetti and cheering.
Inwardly it is a story of pain and resignation.
The thresholds in our lives – the definitive, irreversible moments when transformation is demanded of us – such moments can seem like this story – they can appear to be like a ticker tape parade from the outside, while from the inside they feel more like a descent into uncertainty.
Or worse.
To manage these moments in our lives, we need strength.
In this morning’s story, the LORD needed something. Did he need a young colt? The story makes it seem so. But if you think about it, what he needed was a beast that would help him get to Jerusalem. He needed something to get him to the gate, and carry him through all the craziness – all that mixed up ticker tape and pain.
When the disciples said “The LORD needs it” to the owners of the colt, the owners of the colt were given an opportunity to help God.
To help God?
That sounds odd to our ears. We are accustomed to the idea of God helping us.
The idea of one of us being asked to help God?
That is not an idea that we are accustomed to.
But think about it. If the phrase “the LORD needs it” is spoken to you, and you are expected to respond – you are being asked to help God.
This makes me wonder:
What does the LORD need from me?
**
Each Sunday, we sing together here in church.
Each Sunday, we pray together here in church.
Every Sunday, unless there is something unusual going on, there is a sermon offered.
These different elements of our church service are collectively known as the liturgy of the church.
There are countless liturgical traditions that we don’t do very often, or at all.
In this church we don’t “pass the peace” as other churches around these parts often do. Early in my ministry here, I tried chanting a psalm a couple times but it didn’t really stick. The United Church of Christ is a non-creedal denomination, so we do not recite the Nicene creed in church.
I experienced many of these liturgical practices when I was in Divinity School, mixing with people of all different denominations.
One such liturgical practice is the practice of giving a blessing.
Someone approaches the minister. They speak to each other in low tones. Finally the minister lays his or her hand on the person’s shoulder or forehead, and gives the person a blessing.
When I saw this being done in the Chapel at Yale I found it oddly beautiful and also a little unsettling.
It felt personal – perhaps something not quite proper to be done in such a public manner…
Something about the interaction felt both sacred and kind of dangerous. I loved seeing the earnest hope expressed – the desire to healed or forgiven. But at the same time I could not imagine how the person doing the blessing – the priest or minister – could dare to claim the authority to do such a thing. It felt a terrible impertinence.
Is it not for God to bless?
I remember thinking to myself that the person who does the blessing not only presumes a power and position that they should not claim – their action also implies that they are somehow better equipped than their humble brethren standing before them, to understand and even direct Divine favor.
This morning, though, I have taken the Palm Sunday story – this threshold story – as an opportunity to actually build the ceremonial gate that you see before you.
In a few moments, I will offer each of you who are here, a chance to walk through it and receive a blessing, if you so choose.
I do not pretend that my blessing can, in any way, stand in for God’s blessing. I do not pretend to be better equipped than any of you at understanding God, and, of course, I do not presume to be able to direct God’s divine favor.
But, today’s story makes me wonder what God needs from me, and so I wonder if this might be how I can.
Do you suppose, when we help each other, we also help God?
I would like to think so.
Perhaps when we try to offer forgiveness and grace, we help God, by bringing those things into the world.
Perhaps part of our growth, as people of faith, is to try to discern what the LORD needs from us.
And do it.
From that position of humility, I offer you this small grace today – to walk through a gate, into the possibility of forgiveness. The threshold need not be a place of fear…
Perhaps it can be a place of healing.
This is how I choose, this morning, to believe what the LORD needs from me.
What does the LORD need from you?