Readings

FIRST LESSON

The first lesson is from Tuesdays with Morrie: an Old Man, a Young Man and Life's Greatest Lesson by Mitch Albom

"Mitch," he said, "there is no point in keeping vengeance or stubbornness. These things," he sighed, "these things I so regret in my life. Pride. Vanity. Why do we do the things we do?" I had asked about forgiveness. I saw movies where the patriarch is dying and calls for his son so he can make peace before he goes. I wondered if Morrie had any of that inside him, a sudden need to say "I'm sorry" before he died?

Morrie nodded, "Do you see that sculpture? That's me. A friend of mine sculpted that maybe thirty years ago. His name was Norman. We used to spend so much time together. We went swimming. We took rides to New York. He had me over to his house in Cambridge.

"Here's the sad part," Morrie said. "Norman and his wife moved away to Chicago. Later, my wife Charlotte, had a serious operation. Norman and his wife never got in touch with us. I know they knew about it. We were very hurt because they never called to see how she was. So we dropped the relationship. Over the years, I met Norman a few times and he always tried to reconcile, but I didn't accept it. I wasn't satisfied with his explanation. I was prideful. I shrugged him off."

His voice choked. "A few years ago, he died of cancer. I feel so sad. I never got to see him. I never got to forgive. It pains me now so much . . ." He was crying again, a soft, quiet cry, and because his head was back, the tears rolled off his face before they reached his lips.

"Tears are okay." I continued. He wept for a few minutes, alone with his memories.

"It's not just others we need to forgive, Mitch," he finally whispered. "We need to forgive ourselves. For all the things we didn't do; all the things we should have done. You can't get stuck on the regrets of what should have happened. That doesn't help when you get to where I am. Make peace. Make peace with yourself and everyone around you. "Forgive yourself. Forgive others. Don't wait, Mitch. Not everyone gets the time I'm getting. Not everyone is as lucky."

SECOND LESSON

The second lesson is from the Gospel of Mark, Chapter 11, verses 1 through 11

When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethpage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples and said to them, 'Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. If anyone says to you, "Why are you doing this?" just say this, "The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately."' They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. As they were untying it, some of the bystanders said to them, 'What are you doing, untying the colt?' They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it. Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields.

Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting, 'Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of our God! Blessed is the coming realm of our ancestor David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!'

Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.

This Week's Sermon

Date: SUNDAY, April 5, 2009

Title: You're Either With Me or Against Me

Message Delivered By: Rev. Joe Mc Murray

I have some joyous news to share with all of you - something that I'm sure will make each one of us happy to know.

A college drama group recently presented a play in which, at a given point in the script, the lead character would stand on a trapdoor and announce, "I descend into hell!" Right at that moment, a stagehand below would then pull a rope, the trapdoor would open, and the character would plunge through. It was quite a stunning special effect, and the play was well received.

When the actor playing the leading role became ill, another actor who was quite a bit larger in size took his place. The play was going along quite smoothly, until it got to the climax. The new actor promptly pronounced, "I descend into hell!"

And right on cue, the stagehand pulled the rope, and the actor began to plunge through the hole-until he stopped-because he became hopelessly stuck.

The actor, now half-way through the trapdoor, repeated again, "I descend into hell!" As he wiggled to free himself, the stagehand was working below, pulling and tugging on his legs from underneath to try to help him descend. Still, no matter what sort of coaxing the stagehand tried, the larger actor would not fit through the hole.

After an embarrassing few minutes, one student in the balcony finally jumped up and yelled: "Hallelujah! Hell is full!"

It's gratifying to know we don't have to worry about that anymore.

Actually, I love Palm Sunday - there are so many interesting interpretations of it, and so many compelling stories that happen on or around this celebration.

One Palm Sunday, a 5-year-old named Johnny stayed home from church with a sitter because he had a sore throat.

When the family returned home, they were carrying several palm branches with them. Johnny asked what they were for, and his mother replied, "People held them over Jesus' head as he walked into the city."

"Wouldn't you know it?" Johnny fumed. "The one Sunday I don't go and Jesus finally shows up!"

Please pray with me:
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God, as we have traversed the long Lenten journey; we've been invited to examine our hearts and our relationships; we've had the opportunity to seek you in our hearts, to better understand what you mean to our lives, and to deepen our relationship with you. As we move through Holy Week, give us strength to courage to accompany Jesus on the path of suffering, death and to stay with him all the way to resurrection. And may my words and all of our thoughts be filled with honor and praise to you. Amen.
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Some of the most endearing memories of my childhood were the relationships I shared with our friends and neighbors. We were a group of families living in a subdivision that had been created by a local parish priest who was the pastor of the new Catholic church two blocks away.

His idea was to create this subdivision-adjoining parcels of land upon which homes would be built for and exclusively cater to this particular subset of inhabitants-Catholics with large families. The families, all Catholic at that time, would supply a good portion of the children that would occupy the school.

His plan actually worked out fairly well. On our side of the street, the neighbors two doors down had 14 or 15 children (I lost count over the years). Our next door neighbors to the left had 14 children.

My parents had six children, our neighbors to the right had seven, and so on. Among these 17 or 18 homes were approximately 112 children. Needless to say, we were usually never wanting for companionship.

For myself, I was part of a circle of about five boys who hung out a lot during the summer. Our imaginations were probably very typical for our age, in those days we played pirates on a ship in the form of an old tree trunk, we camped out at night, built tree forts, took hikes and got into trouble as most boys our age usually did together.

But among us, there was something that was almost as important as our friendship. It was our loyalty to one another. The rules were seldom spoken aloud, but there were certainly understood: you never turned on a friend; you never tattled on a friend; you could swear, you could complain, you could share deep dark secrets among friends, but you dared not tell anyone. For us it was very simple, you were either with us or against us.

Over time, however, the loyalty dwindled, as did the friendships. We grew apart and the distance between us became larger and larger. The promises we'd made so long ago no longer seemed to matter. We all went away to school and lost touch. Then slowly, our parents and families moved away from the neighborhood and nothing ever brought us together again.

I think back to those days and still wonder which was greater-the friendships or the desire to feel safe and secure in the knowledge that I could think independently from my parents and siblings, without being discovered. It was then that I realized that a good deal of me need to belong to this group of comrades was my fear of being alone. That is what kept me anchored to the group. That's what created with me that "you're either with me or against me" attitude.

You see, I knew I was different; I knew that at any moment my difference was going to show-I didn't know how or why or where or when-but I knew it would happen and that my confidences and my friendships would be lost. I was too young to realize that even at that age, if my friendships were real friendships, that they would last, and that I should have had no fear.

Today's account from Mark's gospel brings us to the brink of the great drama about to unfold in the life of Jesus, his family and disciples, and the city of Jerusalem. And we are given a glimpse of some of the relationships Jesus formed-with those who shouted "Hosanna" (which means, save us) in his name; with those he might have called his family of choice; and with his followers and those others who professed to follow him to the ends of the earth.
Yet, through it all, Jesus seemed to know how things would unfold. He knew what task the disciples were to fulfill even as he fulfilled his task to enter Jerusalem.

As Jesus mounted the colt and rode to the outskirts of the city, the crowds began to gather outside the walls of Jerusalem, the crowds of pilgrims and travelers arriving to celebrate the Passover. They greeted Jesus with honor and praise, proclaiming that he represented "the coming of the realm of our ancestor, David."

They cut palms and branches from the trees and waved them; they covered the rough and dusty pavement with their cloaks and clothing so that not even the smallest amount of dirt would come near him. They shouted, "Hosanna, blessed is the one who comes in God's name."

Jesus knew Jerusalem was a dangerous place for him to be. He had angered the leaders of the synagogue, and had wrought the ire of the Roman authorities. Those who shouted his praises may well have proclaimed him a messenger from God, some believing that from him would come great things. Yet there was no sense of safety or security, even among the well-wishers.

Not too much later in Mark's gospel, an angry Jesus cursed the fig tree and turned out the money-changers from the temple. Perhaps some of the same pilgrims who greeted him did not expect a rebellious and self-righteous rabble rouser. Had they not just given him the welcome of a royal person, honoring him as he entered the city in anticipation of the celebration and worship that was about to unfold?

Scholars disagree as to whether they cheering crowds were the same angry mob that turned on Jesus during his trial, demanding his death. Some have suggested these pilgrims stayed on the outskirts of the city - they were the simple folk, the uneducated and the poor who could not afford to lodge themselves inside the walls of the city - and that it was the people that lived in the city of Jerusalem who grew suspicious of Jesus and turned against him.

For us, the sharp contrast of these two energies and the quick turnaround from glory to agony probably discomforts us the most. How could so many be so with him one moment and others so against him the next? It's hard to comprehend how could this happen.

Mitch Albom, the author of Tuesdays with Morrie, is a sports columnist and commentator, but his story is a true account of his relationship with Morrie, a man nearing the end of his life, who happened to be his old college professor. His journey was documented on ABC's "Nightline" with Ted Koppel.

It would be easy to dismiss this account and say, "Well, Mitch was just being a good Samaritan. He was doing the right thing. He didn't want someone he had respected to die alone."

All of this is true, and more. Mitch chose not only to walk this horrific and difficult journey toward death with his friend. Eventually, he welcomed it. Yes, he faced it, sometimes with reluctance, deep sadness and even pity. But he also welcomed it as a way that he could remain connected to a life that had taught him much; a life that was worth celebrating; a life that was worth witnessing, even when the last flicker of light was about to fade.

Turning back to the scriptures for a moment, I ask myself how I would have responded during the events that unfolded in the life of Jesus. Would I have been faithful, loyal to the end? Or would I have distanced myself as the signs of the oncoming religious and political struggles became apparent?

Would I have risked my time, my energy, my security, emotional stability, my own sense of well-being? Or would I have run out of fear? Would I have cheered Jesus at the gates of the city, waving palm branches enthusiastically, shouting, "Save us - I believe you can will us - I will be with you, as you have promised always to be with me"? Or would I have stood passively by, stepping into the shadows for fear of being associated with him?

More importantly, as we learned what compassion and companionship in the face of death looked like between Mitch and Morrie, we also saw a compelling portrait of Jesus.

We saw in him a man who never demanded loyalty as a sign of love; a teacher who continued to welcome those trying to learn even when they didn't comprehend a first, second or third time; a man who could look with love even at those who had betrayed him, abandoned him, brutalized him, or had forsaken him.

The crowd was jubilant. Someone was finally going to take a stand, to speak out against injustice and speak for the people who had no voice. The one who would lead them from treachery and occupation was here at last.

But when things didn't turn out the way they expected, they failed to live up to their faithfulness. They rescinded their pledge of loyalty. They betrayed their promise of commitment.

Jesus forged ahead to Jerusalem, though his disciples warned him to be cautious. They were fearful and begged him to wait until things quieted down. What faced Jesus was daunting-religious and secular authorities had threatened his presence and his message.

But Jesus continued on with the promise of those who cheered him, the loyalty of those who had heard him speak and believed in him, and the love from his disciples, the ones who promised to stay with him, regardless of what they might face. Only later would he discover that they were weak, and unable to keep their promises.

Which path will we choose whenever we will be asked to stand and be counted? What role will we play when times become challenging and we may feel threatened by those who turn against us or our friends? Will we step up in faith or step aside and let others shoulder the burdens to that are ours to endure?

At this church, everyone is welcome. We mean that when we say it. We know people have had issues in their lives; most of us have. We know people struggle at one time or another, as we have struggled. We know their consciences will often choose, as our consciences have chosen, which road the heart will travel.

So let us be watchful and vigilant; let us accompany those who attempt to find the right path for themselves. And like Jesus, let us not demand that others move at our speed; or choose exactly what we would choose. Let us not insist that others believe exactly what we believe, or insist that they see life in the same ways as we do.
"You're either with me or against me" makes demands that others cannot live up to without sacrificing their own calling. Let us instead be open to the desires and dreams of others and invite them into our community, our church, our family-many voices, many ideas, many dreams, many desires- all joined together in love as one people-God's people.

May it be so. Amen.