Leave Something in the Marketplace

Palm Sunday; Yr. C, March 24, 2013

Isaiah 50:4-9a; Psalm 31:9-16; Philippians 2:5-11; Luke 22:14-23:56

Sermon preached at St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church

Sometimes it can happen to these cheeks

When a poem visits my mind for the first time

And begins to look around.

They can wonder why rain is falling on them,

And causing my nose to run too.

O boy, what a mess love makes of me.  But

There is nothing else right now I would rather

be doing … than reaping something from a

field in another dimension

and leaving it in the marketplace for any who

might happen by.

Leave something in the marketplace for us

Before you leave this world.[1]

            As I read through the story of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem and his passion in preparation for this morning, I thought about those on the side of the road who watched as their hope walked the road to death, as tears fell like rain on their cheeks.  What a mess love makes of things.  God sent Jesus to be human out of love.  Jesus walked to his death out of love.  We retell his passion today out of love … and tears fall like rain if we spend too much time with it. 

            If love hadn't been at the heart of these events, I think it might have been a lot less messy. 
Jesus wouldn't have cared about God, or God's plan for creation.  The disciples wouldn't have cared as much for Jesus.  Perhaps they wouldn't have even followed him to the cross, or taken him to the tomb, or gone to it in the morning.  Without love, the whole thing would have ended like the story of so many other prophets executed by the Roman government.  Death, but no witnesses to the real miracle of love.  

            I thought about those, like Luke, who wrote the story down in love.  They loved him enough to remember that life for us, a life we would never know about unless we had been told.  It was a life lived two thousand years ago that we could never have participated in, unless someone was willing to tell the story, to put it into words, to keep it alive.  Jesus would have faded into history without love.  Love was required to withstand the horror of that death. 

Jesus was one of those people who left something in the marketplace for us.  He left behind more than a legacy.  He left behind followers, seekers, believers, witnesses, story tellers.  He left us witnesses with something to chew on.  They were the first to grapple with the idea that God loves us beyond measure, and to realize that that love has the power to bring healing to any situation … even death.  Jesus left us with the knowledge that the world is ever so gradually be transformed into God’s kingdom, one heart at a time.  We can buy that basket of hope, or pass it by.  The people of his day knew that.  Many of them bought it lock, stock and barrel, and they shared it with those around them.  They share it with us every time we read this story.  Every time we hear it, every time rain falls on our cheeks as we listen to it, every time love makes a mess of us.  We can’t help but become part of that story.  Our lives become woven into the larger narrative.

We are the living, breathing Body of Christ in the world, in this city.  Grace is working in us at this very moment, just as it worked in Jesus those many years ago.  Jesus gave his life in love for what he believed.  Love allows us to give our lives as well … and physical death does not need to be the ultimate cost for us in our world.  The real choice for us is whether or not we will live into the story, to live in love for others, more than living principally for ourselves.  Are we willing to advocate for policies that benefit the good of the community, and not just our own special interests?  Are we willing to spend as much money on peace as we do on war?  Are we willing to pay as much for universal healthcare, or education, or energy independence as we spend on sports, glamour and entertainment?   Are we willing to value everyone’s labor to the point where we insist on a living wage for all those who work?  What will love write in us?  What will we write with our lives?  

What will we leave in the marketplace?   The story of Jesus’ passion and death is not over.  It lives in us.  If we listen, and look closely at one another and at the world we’ll see it.   So I will end the way I began, with another poem, this one by George Bernard Shaw called, A Splendid Torch.

This is the true joy of life, the being used up for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances, complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.

I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the community, and as long as I live, it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the more I live. Life is no 'brief candle' to me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for a moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.

           

Amen. 

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[1]           A Year With Hafiz: Daily Contemplations, translated by Daniel Ladinsky.  Penguin Books, New York, NY, 2010. p. 88.