#32: Saturday, 28 March, 2020
**Saturday, 28 March — The Messiah Claims His Kingdom on Earth. Matthew 21:1–17**
So, now at last, it begins! You will notice the change in heading at the top of this reflection: *The Messiah Claims His Kingdom on Earth*. When we pray: *Your kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven*, we are praying that the work that Jesus commenced *on this day of his entry into Jerusalem* will be brought to completion.
The sense of majesty pervading these first eleven verses is electrifying. They contain the words that we have selected as our overall theme of Matthew's Gospel: ***Behold! Your King is Coming!*** (v5). This was the revelation that Handel perceived when he wrote his *Messiah* oratorio.
Remember that we have just met two blind men who wanted desperately to see. Well, they saw, all right! And what sights they saw, in those first few tremulous weeks of seeing! Still today, there are those who are still too blind to see those things that happened in this week of Christ's Passion. Unless the Messiah opens the eyes of the blind, how can they see truly?
*The first shall be last, and the last first.* So said the Master, just a few days ago to his angry, jealous disciples. *That's the way it works in my Kingdom. Get used to it*. Well, right now, Jesus is certainly First; he is honoured and feted. But by week's end, he will be well and truly Last, as a similar crowd will be shouting *Crucify Him! Crucify Him!*
We find it hard to understand *first* and *last* in the terms of Christ's Kingdom. They are such human terms. We spend our lives trying to win first prize in races we think are important – but they are really only the equivalent of a children's egg-and-spoon race. *First* and *last* lose all that worldly meaning and adopt new meanings in Jesus' Kingdom. Kingdom politics are never anything like human politics – and we forget this at our peril.
But then, everything in this opening scene of the *King Claiming his Kingdom on Earth* seems upside down. I sometimes read this chapter and wonder if I'm not reading a fairy tale or a story like *Alice in Wonderland*.
Right from the beginning, there is a sense of a looming 'unreality'. It is as though we are approaching a 'thin place' where we suddenly find ourselves stepping into a parallel universe where things don't work quite as we are used to them working.
There is a mysterious instruction to the disciples to go and find two donkeys tied up (why *two*?). They are to take them without the owner's permission. If they are questioned, they are to say, in lowered voices, glances over the shoulder, and a conspiratorial wink like French underground *saboteurs* fighting *LeBoche* in the Second World War, *Ze Leedair must 'av zem*. The listener will somehow understand this mysterious code and send them on their way with a prayer for the success of their secret mission. *Vive La Resistance!*
Vast numbers of people come out on the streets in an inexplicable popular movement. Somehow they know – without being told – that the King has arrived to take up his Kingdom. They create an impromptu avenue from tree branches and their best overcoats. They all sing in unison an ancient song: *This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it! ... Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. ... He has made his Light shine upon us. With boughs in hand, join in the festal procession...* (Ps. 118:24–27)
I said above that these verses contain *a sense of looming 'unreality'*. But that is not quite right. It is actually *a new reality*. The new Kingdom is now claimed by the rightful King. All the current-world values have been tipped upside down. The King comes into his own Temple and he tosses out the moneychangers and merchants. No need for them anymore. It doesn't cost anything to have your sins forgiven now!
The blind and lame come to the King ***inside*** the Temple – where, according to the Law they are actually not even allowed to enter because of their physical blemishes – and the King heals them instantly. Instead of the religious leaders leading the people in praise and singing, it's the children who take the lead, and the religious leaders get angry about it.
Do you see what I mean? This is like Alice's Tea-Party. This is the New Deal, the New Order. All of the past methods and systems and rules have been toppled. The new King is in town. He is tossing out the miscreants, the thieves, the deceivers, the pretenders. He is setting up his new system, and it doesn't look anything like the old one.
I often wonder whether the meek and mild Jesus whom I hear about and am asked to sing about in church is the same one as I read about in this passage. Why do I never hear about a radical revolutionary who takes on the big end of town and the established hierarchies and gives them notice that their time is up? They are to pack their bags and leave. Why do I have to sing about Jesus as my lover, rather than my Shining, Powerful, White Knight?
Did you ever wonder why there are so few men in church, and so few boys involved in youth ministry and as worship band singers? The Jesus that lives in this chapter could never fail to engage boys and men who play footy and knock each other about for fun. They would flock to him. But so much of our contemporary Christianity appeals only to those who are kind and gentle and non-judgemental. We ask young people to hold hands in cute circles and sing daffy songs. Girls lap it up. Boys yawn.
If you think that's too sexist, I'm sorry, but I strongly suggest that it is the real world. Just tune into Netflix. Anyone keen to support a footy team called 'The Servants'? Yes, I know Jesus talked about servant leadership and washed the feet of his disciples. But the whole point of that was the extreme shock value! If he had not been such a powerful, no-holds-barred, out-in-front, iconoclastic, street-tough leader, the foot-washing would not have been so thoroughly shocking. It only worked because it was so *opposite* to how they had all seen him behave up to this point.
Prayer
Lord Jesus Christ, I love to imagine this day of your staking of claim. I love the audacity, the risk-taking, the table-tossing, commandeering Lord. You have made us noble creatures who adore bravery and derring-do. We could never have followed a wimp. Amen.