Matthew 21:1-11
When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, "Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, 'The Lord needs them.' And he will send them immediately. " This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, "Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey." The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, "Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!" When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, "Who is this?" The crowds were saying, "This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee."
Odd place to start Advent, isn’t it? One of my favorite prayers for this season comes from Frederick Buechner, in which he calls us to the edge of our seats to watch this most familiar story unfold, “leaning forward to hear what will happen, even though they already know what will happen and what will not happen”. We know about Mary and the angel Gabriel, sent by God. Shake the dust a bit and we remember Joseph and something about being unable to speak. But as we move into the days of Advent, the lectionary plays a trick, pointing us not to the familiar stories of the early chapters of Matthew and Luke, but to the story from the other end of Jesus’ life. It is, I believe, intended to push us into the mood of the Advent spiritual—to “wonder as we wander, out under the sky, why Jesus the Savior did come for to die…”
It is that odd sense of repetition that catches me when I listen to this story in the darkening days of Advent—how Jesus knew what would happen, and what would not happen. “If anyone asks you, just say this…” Matthew is scrupulous in his explanation. “This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet.” But you have to believe the two disciples would have been a little slower to complete their assignment if they could have seen even around the corner of this week that would be, maybe setting that colt facing Bethany and giving it a good swift swat to send it running away. So you think one of the things those two disciples muttered to each other over their goblets on wine on Saturday night was, “If only we had known!”
Advent is a queer season of knowing and unknowing, of being surprised by exactly what you knew was going to be. It’s a beginning, of course, but an ending as well. Once that child’s cry pierced the night on Christmas Eve, nothing could ever be the same, not even the telling of how it all came to be.
Buechner’s prayer cuts right to the heart of the matter. Even if we DID know exactly what was happening, and what was not happening, it wouldn’t matter all that much. This season is not about recounting events. It is about meanings. Our meanings. And it is about hearing, only faintly at first, the beating of unseen wings.
At least for this year, if we walk beside the lectionary, the parade to Bethlehem starts at the Mount of Olives, beginning with the end in mind. For poor, ornery people like you and like me. I wonder, as I wander….
There is a time when it begins, and therefore a time before it begins, when it is coming but not yet here, and this is the time that Mary was in when Gabriel came to her. It is Advent: the time just before the adventure begins, when everybody is leaning forward to hear what will happen, even though they already know what will happen and what will not happen, when they listen for meaning, their meaning, and begin to hear, only faintly at first, the beating of unseen wings - Frederick Buechner
When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, "Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, 'The Lord needs them.' And he will send them immediately. " This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, "Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey." The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, "Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!" When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, "Who is this?" The crowds were saying, "This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee."
Odd place to start Advent, isn’t it? One of my favorite prayers for this season comes from Frederick Buechner, in which he calls us to the edge of our seats to watch this most familiar story unfold, “leaning forward to hear what will happen, even though they already know what will happen and what will not happen”. We know about Mary and the angel Gabriel, sent by God. Shake the dust a bit and we remember Joseph and something about being unable to speak. But as we move into the days of Advent, the lectionary plays a trick, pointing us not to the familiar stories of the early chapters of Matthew and Luke, but to the story from the other end of Jesus’ life. It is, I believe, intended to push us into the mood of the Advent spiritual—to “wonder as we wander, out under the sky, why Jesus the Savior did come for to die…”
It is that odd sense of repetition that catches me when I listen to this story in the darkening days of Advent—how Jesus knew what would happen, and what would not happen. “If anyone asks you, just say this…” Matthew is scrupulous in his explanation. “This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet.” But you have to believe the two disciples would have been a little slower to complete their assignment if they could have seen even around the corner of this week that would be, maybe setting that colt facing Bethany and giving it a good swift swat to send it running away. So you think one of the things those two disciples muttered to each other over their goblets on wine on Saturday night was, “If only we had known!”
Advent is a queer season of knowing and unknowing, of being surprised by exactly what you knew was going to be. It’s a beginning, of course, but an ending as well. Once that child’s cry pierced the night on Christmas Eve, nothing could ever be the same, not even the telling of how it all came to be.
Buechner’s prayer cuts right to the heart of the matter. Even if we DID know exactly what was happening, and what was not happening, it wouldn’t matter all that much. This season is not about recounting events. It is about meanings. Our meanings. And it is about hearing, only faintly at first, the beating of unseen wings.
At least for this year, if we walk beside the lectionary, the parade to Bethlehem starts at the Mount of Olives, beginning with the end in mind. For poor, ornery people like you and like me. I wonder, as I wander….
There is a time when it begins, and therefore a time before it begins, when it is coming but not yet here, and this is the time that Mary was in when Gabriel came to her. It is Advent: the time just before the adventure begins, when everybody is leaning forward to hear what will happen, even though they already know what will happen and what will not happen, when they listen for meaning, their meaning, and begin to hear, only faintly at first, the beating of unseen wings - Frederick Buechner
2 comments:
The Buechner quote at the end of your post has become one of my favorite Advent meditations. It always gives me something new to think about. Thanks for posting it!
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