A blessing of discomfort
We so often try to separate the spiritual from the physical. We dream of finding a place of rest, at peace in God’s presence—no anxiety, no fear, no conflict, none of the messiness that actual human life brings with it. Sometimes people tell me that’s precisely why they come to church. To get away from the hard stuff, to rest and recover.
It’s true that we can sometimes find that sort of peace within these walls. But if Palm Sunday and the days that follow teach us anything it’s that, whether we like it or not, a life of faith is about a lot more than seeking wholeness and peace. Following Jesus means following the way of the cross. And that doesn’t just happen in church on Sunday morning.
Today, Jesus enters Jerusalem in triumph. He rides a colt with cloaks as a saddle. If you try to imagine it, you can almost feel the rough wool of the cloaks and feel the colt’s wiry hair between your fingers. The crowd surrounding Jesus walks with him along a stony road. It’s springtime, so maybe not too hot, but there’s no shade to be found on the road that connects the Mount of Olives to Jerusalem.
Jesus’s followers shout out in joy: “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!” Many of them hope that Jesus will be the kind of king they’ve known before—maybe even an heir to King David who will drive out the hated Roman occupiers. It’s a parade of triumph, I said. But it’s an odd sort of triumph for a king. No silks and satins. No crowns or swords. No company of soldiers. Just a ragged crowd and a man on an unimpressive horse.
On Thursday night, Jesus will break bread and share a cup of wine, saying “this is my body” and “this is my blood.” He’ll wash the feet of his friends. He’ll pray in agony in a garden. His most loyal followers will betray and abandon him. On Friday, he’ll face ridicule and trial and torture and death.
Almost everything we know about Jesus’s last week is visceral, human, real. Burning sun, sweat, dirty feet, water, fragrant oil, bread and wine.
A member of St. Paul’s sent me the text of a blessing that fits well with this week, a good melding of the physical and the spiritual. A good reminder that the road to Easter is a hard road. Here’s how it goes:
“May God bless us with discomfort — discomfort at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, so that we may live deep within our hearts. May God bless us with anger — anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that we may work for justice, freedom, and peace. May God bless us with tears — tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, hunger, and war, so that we may reach out our hands to comfort them and turn their pain into joy. And may God bless us with foolishness — enough foolishness to believe that we can make a difference in this world, so that we can do what others claim cannot be done.”
In this week we call holy, may we follow Jesus as he walks the way of the cross. May we pay attention to the human story of Jesus’s last days—to Jesus’s story and the stories of those who followed him and of those who fought against him.
As we walk through these days, may we listen for God’s call in our own lives.
And, yes, as we walk through these days, may God bless us with discomfort. With anger. With tears. And with foolishness. For that too is the way of the cross.