I Will Punch you in your Clown Nose...

I mentioned to a friend once that I was going to a parade and they replied that they ‘hated those things.’  In shock I immediately assumed that my friend was a communist, socialist, Marxist – some kind of ‘ist’ – because all red-blooded Americans love parades.  You have to.  It’s in the constitution, or bill or rights, or something.  It’s what we do.  To commemorate important events in our country’s history we do two things: blow stuff up and have parades.

So I called the department of immigration and homeland security to give an anonymous tip.  Turns out I may be mistaken on the constitutional civil duty part…

All this did cause me to stop and think, however.  Parades ARE kinda strange.  It all seems normal in the moment because when you go to a parade you’re in parade mode and you have parade expectations.  The thing that’s happening in front of you seems to fit and is entirely NOT out of place.  Imagine for a minute, however, that elements of a parade randomly appeared throughout your day and week. 

What would you do if one day you’re headed to work in the morning and you find yourself stuck behind a gang of very slowly moving, engine revving motorcycles taking up both lanes of traffic.  It would be odd to say the least. 

If I were walking in the park when suddenly a tiny herd of Shriners zipped past me and started to spin in circles while their fezzes blow in the breeze I would assume they had a whiskey still hidden somewhere nearby.

If some strange man wearing crazy makeup and floppy shoes offered my kids candy while at the mall I’d Chuck Norris his Adam’s apple.

And yet we line the streets and wait for these bizarre spectacles to file past us every summer without a second thought.  Why?  Because we have a notion of something bigger going on.  There is a reason for the insanity.  There is a cause for all this that is important, or was important, or something.  Usually we don’t appreciate the true importance of the parade – we just know that we need to line the streets and get assaulted by tootsie rolls, politicians and bad high-school bands because of it.  The real reason fades away as we all hope to be in the right place at the right time when the cop’s horse lifts its tail…

You know you cheer for it.

When individually and objectively scrutinized the elements of a parade are indeed strange.  The ability of our mind to interpret the bizarre as normal based upon our expectations is amazing.  It really makes no difference what the reality is, we’ll adjust it and suspend our judgment of events in order to satisfy those expectations.

That’s the case of Palm Sunday – which we celebrate in only a few days.  That original day was one of great oddity when you think about it.  The whole city turned out for a grand entrance.  Youths were shouting and screaming in the streets as if the Jonas Brothers were coming to town (Nick and Joe, not Kevin – I mean, come on, now that he’s married it’s so like, whatever).  They were pulling down tree branches, laying coats out on the road, the authorities (Pharisees) were trying to work crowd control…

And here comes a guy riding a donkey?  That’s what everyone lined up for?

They had expectations of a king.  They believed Jesus to be the one who would change their world, the whole world.  They expected him to lead, to rule, to overthrow to be a champion, warlord and king.  It didn’t matter that he was arriving in a manner that resembled the mayor of chumptown riding in a Geo Metro during the Fourth of July parade – their expectations usurped reality and they hailed him king.  They had the wrong idea of who Jesus really was, but they weren’t about to stop this parade and find out for certain.

Hosanna, Hosanna – hundreds and thousands of Christians will sing together ‘Hosanna in the Highest’ this Sunday like they did so many years ago.  But I wonder if any will stop and think about how bizarre this all really is.  More important, I wonder if we will pause to examine our expectations of the arrival of Jesus into our city, our church and our heart. 

What are we anticipating?  That he will lead a rebellion?  That he will resolve our disputes?  That he will give us the meaning of life or a self-help seminar?  Why are we having this parade?  Our expectations might just be as off as those who first gathered.  Because this only looks like a parade.

It’s actually a funeral march.

Hosanna.  Hosanna.  Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord – to be our sacrificial lamb.  To give his life. 

That’s the last odd thing about a parade – and what makes Palm Sunday anything but.  We never see a parade’s destination, it just drifts in front of us on out of sight.  Come see on Good Friday the destination of this event.  Come see what all this is really about.  Come see what it is that we welcome into our city, churches and hearts.  Come to dark Gethsemane and see…