Back in 2010, so about 15 years ago, my family had an opportunity to visit South Africa for an extended period of time. It offered us a chance to explore much of the country and visit numerous sites related to wildlife viewing, beautiful landscapes, stunning flora, and to learn much about the history of this troubled country. At one point we were staying in a small apartment, but it had an iconic view of Table Mountain and the ocean near Cape Town. Looking out on the water, not that far off the mainland we could see a small, tranquil looking island that easily caught our attention. It’s place and purpose historically was easily hidden from about seven kilometers away. But it held a violence and an ugliness that has stayed with the place, though tourists continue to seek time there to try to understand some of the darkness that human beings can carry.
And so we found ourselves on a small ferry heading out to Robben Island. If you did not know, this was the location where Nelson Mandela was jailed for some 18 years of his prison sentence. And to visit and hear the stories about how this prison was operated, it seems surprising that anyone could survive a few months let alone years. The cells were tiny, the food deplorable, the conditions disgusting, the violence disturbing, the physical labour outrageous. The kind of place that one can never forget; it has an eerie silence and a stillness that seems to carry some form of warning. And then to visit the prison cell of Nelson Mandela and to try to understand how human beings could treat other human beings in such as way belies comprehension.
But somehow he was able to recognize an opportunity for growth and development as a person. It feels almost perplexing, how one could suffer so much and yet grow into a great depth of purpose and possibility.
And just a few days ago I found myself reading a portion of a letter he wrote to his wife, Winnie, in 1975, 13 years after he was first imprisoned. This is a portion of what Nelson Mandela wrote: “[Y]ou may find that the (prison) cell is an ideal place to learn to know yourself, to search realistically and regularly the process of your own mind and feelings. In judging our progress as individuals we tend to concentrate on external factors such as one’s social position, influence and popularity, wealth and standard of education. These are, of course, important in measuring one’s success in material matters and it is perfectly understandable if many people exert themselves mainly to achieve all these. But internal factors may be even more crucial in assessing one’s development as a human being. Honesty, sincerity, simplicity, humility, pure generosity, absence of vanity, readiness to serve others — qualities which are within easy reach of every soul — are the foundation of one’s spiritual life.
Development in matters of this nature is inconceivable without serious introspection, without knowing yourself, your weaknesses and mistakes. At least, if for nothing else, the cell gives you the opportunity to look daily into your entire conduct, to overcome the bad and develop whatever is good in you. Regular meditation, say about 15 minutes a day before you turn in, can be very fruitful in this regard. You may find it difficult at first to pinpoint the negative features in your life, but the 10th attempt may yield rich rewards. Never forget that a saint is a sinner who keeps on trying. … No ax is sharp enough to cut the soul of a sinner who keeps on trying, one armed with the hope that they will rise and win in the end.”
When released in 1990, he was able to say: “For to be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.” The example and wisdom of Nelson Mandela seem awfully fitting on this day. For when I read the letter I thought about Jesus entering Jerusalem, the story we just heard. It seems that Jesus too was entering into a prison sentence, well actually something worse. He would soon be condemned and deeply hated. But I am getting ahead of myself.
Jesus was riding into Jerusalem on a colt. The crowds around him are cheering and chanting and celebrating. Cloaks and palm branches are scattered in front of him creating some form of red carpet to lead him forward. A conquering hero, a great leader, a great sovereign offering a wisdom that seems to push back the reckless ways of the political and even religious leaders of his day. A wisdom centred on recognizing the love of God in ourselves and all others around us. A wisdom that shattered the predominant thinking of that day and, if we are honest, shatters the predominant thinking of our day. This day, this Palm Sunday begins as a day of celebration and joy.
But most of us have peeked ahead and we know that the palm leaves that were waved would soon be weaved and formed and twisted and bent into the shape of a cross. We know this story and we know the story of our world. The fickleness of the crowd, the search for a cheap way out, the deception of what is most important, the lies and the falsehoods in order to get ahead. The willingness to sacrifice almost anything to try to find power or riches or control or putting ourselves first.
Nelson Mandela knew this well. He spent much of his life in prison because of it. Jesus knew this well, despite the cheers of the crowd on this particular day, for they were empty cheers, empty promises, empty compassion, easily swayed and changed into cheap alternatives to what God was and is calling this world to live into.
My understanding is that during Lent you have been studying about reimagining Biblical animals, donkeys being a central figure in this. The colt in our gospel passage from Luke for this Sunday, is primary in the scene. The colt was carrying Jesus into the centre, into the middle of the crowd, into the middle of Jerusalem, into the middle of trouble. The colt carried him into danger but seems symbolic of hope and groundedness in what is most central to life and living. The colt kept Jesus linked with the world, with nature, with creation, with compassion, with purpose and pushing back the temptations of this world. The colt is nothing like the great war-horse of the great Roman emperor, rather a poor imitation. And perhaps that was the point. It was not with great violence and battle-cries and a show of power with which Jesus entered into the great city. But with humility, trust, confidence in the gift of love, in a relationship with God the Creator, a hope that no matter what, no matter what God would win out.
A colt is different from a donkey but often the image of Jesus coming into Jerusalem is on a donkey and it is that image that I often hold for this scene. Andy Merrifield wrote a lovely book entitled The Wisdom of Donkeys and this quote is found nestled in its pages: “Time slows down amid donkeys. In their company things happen quietly and methodically. It’s hard to forget their innocent gaze. It’s a calm that instills calm. Your mind wanders, you dream, you go elsewhere, yet somehow you remain very present. …speed, the demon of speed, is often associated with forgetting, with avoidance, and slowness with memory, with confronting. We move slowly when we want to listen to ourselves, to others, and to the world around us.”[1] This makes sense in how Jesus was entering into Jerusalem, awaiting a fate that was part of linking heaven and earth, light in the darkness, hope in the wilderness.
The world can feel a little crazy at the moment. It can feel a little unraveled, a little unhinged, a little out of sync. There is an overwhelming emphasis on power and wealth and control and bravado. And it seems to have with it growing divisions and scapegoating and a failure to see what is most important. We need this Palm Sunday and this coming Holy Week an awful lot right now. We need to focus on Jesus coming into Jerusalem on the back of a colt, not emphasizing power and control but humility and listening for God’s voice and the voice of the other and the voice of the world around us. We need to hear this and know Jesus calling us into this as well.
For we are followers of the humble servant of God, the Word of God, the Son of God, the one who would reveal the depth of love that God has for us and all people. We need this message perhaps now more than ever. For in it we discover our own calling.
There is this beautiful phrase found at the end of the gospel passage: “If these were silent, the stones would shout out.” If these were silent, the stones would shout out. They speak to this day and this week. For we are called to shout out our hope in God’s call and God’s hope and God’s invitation to forgiveness and new life. We are called not to hoard that for ourselves but honour it in our lives and in the lives of others. We recognize that our hope is in God’s grace and God’s compassion for this world, and even the stones recognize this and shout out in hope that we would listen.
Thirty-five years ago, Nelson Mandela said, “For to be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.” That seems awfully fitting on this day as Jesus enters Jerusalem.