A Holy Week Reflection. Part 1 of 3. –by Jan Coates

Last updated on: April 8, 2017 at 12:47 am by Michael Hardin

A Holy Week Reflection. Part 1 of 3. –by Jan Coates 2017-04-08T00:47:43-04:00 Michael Hardin

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This guest post is part one of a three part imaginative reflection on the meaning of Jesus’ last week.

Jan Coates is a married mother of two adult sons (and two cats). She lives in an outer suburb of Melbourne, Australia and is currently completing a Master of Arts (Theology) and beginning a Master of Theological Studies at Whitley College in Melbourne. She considers herself to be a Universalist with Baptist leanings. Jan adores animals, supports animal rescue organizations, and works part time for Blue Cross Animals Shelter in Melbourne.

A Holy Week Reflection. Part 1 of 3.

It was a Sunday, or so they say. With all the changes to calendars since then, who could really know for sure? But, it’s celebrated on a Sunday, so maybe it did happen then.

It was meant to be a parade fit for a king. Well, he was a king, wasn’t he? Well, they said he was anyway. Who? I don’t know. Someone said it.

It was supposed to be the triumphal entry of the Messiah into the chosen city of God. But was he really the Messiah, the one we were all waiting for? Didn’t look much like a son of the great King David – but then what did David look like, anyway?

There was a probably a lot of shouting, a lot of people running around. They tell us people were throwing their cloaks down on the road; others pulling palm fronds off the trees and throwing them down too.

Poor donkey must have been scared to death. Oh, forgot to mention that, didn’t I? He was supposedly riding a donkey. Not even a full grown one, but a colt. Poor little thing: I feel sorry for it, even now. I worried about it slipping and sliding on the material and the leaves.

People were pleased that he’d returned to Jerusalem. His apostles were a bit worried, because he was heading back to a place where he’d been threatened. I mean, how dumb do you have to be to realize that your life is on the line in a place, yet still want to go back there? You don’t go where you aren’t wanted. You stay away from people who don’t want to know you. You don’t taunt them by fronting up in their territory, telling them you know more than they do, reinterpreting their laws and expect to be welcomed with open arms.

Yet, that’s what supposedly happened. The people in the city were so glad to see him. Well, at least some of them were, anyway. The ones whose toes he really hadn’t stepped on. The ones who saw in him freedom from the oppression they were under. The ones who sensed something about him that was different, unreal compared to your average man in the street. The ones who saw his miracles and believed what was said about him being the Son of God. Maybe they thought he’d pull the Pharisees and Sadducees into line, make them behave and stop being so hypocritical. Maybe he’d lead the revolt against the Romans after all, and lead the people to freedom and autonomy again. Well, that’s what some of them thought.

But look at him – no armaments, no troops, not even a decent horse under him. He doesn’t look like a fighter. If anything, he looks like he’d be blown over in the next decent sandstorm. Definitely doesn’t bring the great King David to mind. He’d win the psychological war, I suppose, but definitely not the physical one. And the war against oppression is pretty much a physical one.

He doesn’t look all that happy. Yes, he’s smiling and waving. Touching the hands held out to him. Patting the heads of the children as they run around the colt. But there’s something in his eyes, or rather not there, that bothers me.

The colt seems so – docile? No, that’s not the right word; totally unperturbed, calm, confident, and something else. Proud? Yes, that’s it – proud to be bearing this burden, even though it looks dangerously like the poor thing is going to collapse. Happy to be bringing someone so important to the people who want to see him. Glad to be of service, no matter how little attention is being paid to the beast. Bet no one even thinks to give it a drink and a rub down after all this. Hope someone looks after it.

But it’s not about the colt, is it? It’s about the people, all of them, including the rider. It’s about the joy, the love, the freedom of expression. Things that have been forced into hiding under the servitude to the occupational forces. Things that the Pharisees don’t seem to like. Things that the Romans would frown on. Things that make the Romans unsettled, anxious. Things that the Romans would ban.

Will they wait and see if the whole thing blows over? It could easily be a flash in the pan – an overnight sensation that wanes in the light of day. After all, the guy’s only been around a few years. Although in that time, he’s gained quite a reputation for what he’s been teaching and doing. Feeding multitudes with a couple of fish and a half dozen loaves is a pretty good effort, I’ll admit. Healing people, raising the dead: not things most people do on a daily basis. The crowd seems to love him.

He’s not all there though, not really paying attention to what’s going on around him. It’s odd, he looks – distracted. As if he’s seeing something far away. Something that is coming, but only he knows about it. Something that doesn’t reflect the way people are behaving today. He’s – sad? No, more sorrowful. As if this is the last bit of enjoyment he will see in his life. As if all he has done to help people will be dismissed out of hand. Trodden into the dust, like the palm fronds and the cloaks. Left dirtied, sullied, impure, worthless – just bits, pieces of what once was something magnificent, now ruined by over-enthusiasm, by thoughtlessness.

But it’s not all bad. People are happy, at least for a little while. He’s taken their minds off their troubles for a bit, and that’s good medicine in anyone’s books. He’s given them a little glimpse of heaven, and that’s a wonderful thing to do.

And that seems to be the danger, here. Look over there – that bunch of blokes outside that house over there. I recognise them from the temple. They’re some of the leadership group, aren’t they – Pharisees perhaps? They don’t exactly look thrilled to bits about this. I reckon they are some of the ones that this guy took on and thrashed that time when they were talking about the laws – boy didn’t he make them look like a sad bunch that day? They keep muttering and mumbling amongst themselves. No, they are not happy chappies at all! Wonder what they’ll make of all this?

Remember, a while back, when I saw him in the synagogue at Nazareth? How I wondered about the local boy who made good? How I wasn’t quite sure what to make of him? I said I’d decided to follow him and see what he was up to, didn’t I? Well, I’m still here. Not part of his inner circle by any stretch of the imagination, but hanging around on the fringes. I’m sometimes not sure why I’ve stuck it out. It’s not been easy. But it feels like something is going to happen soon. I have a sense of foreboding about it, though. He knows it’s not going to be pretty, too. I caught his eye a moment ago, and there was a barely perceptible nod as he looked at me. It’s a form of communication between us – one that needs no words to know we are thinking the same thoughts – that sometimes happens.

— Jan Coates

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Religious Microcephaly and Bible Belt Assassins. -- by Jonathan Sauder

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