Play and passion
22nd March 2024
I wonder if you have any particular memories of Palm Sunday…?
One of my memories is from when I was vicar of a group of rural churches in Lincolnshire. We met at one of the Village Halls and gathered around a lovely donkey called Sally. I handed out branches of bamboo to take the place of palms. Then we set off along the road to the church, with me playing the guitar, singing ‘We have a king who rides a donkey’ to the tune of ‘What shall we do with the drunken sailor’. We parked Sally outside at the church and went in for the Palm Sunday Service.
We all enjoyed the difference and daftness of it – I think! – and there were lots of smiles and some very excited children. I wonder how it was for Jesus and the crowd, as he rode down from the Mount of Olives, and into Jerusalem? It sounds like there was lots of shouting and singing, and people really got into the spirit of it – making a ‘red carpet’ with their coats, and – in other versions – climbing trees to pull down palm branches to wave.
I wonder whether Jesus laughed as the children ran amok, and as he saw his fishermen friends cheering and waving, for once able to let off steam. He certainly didn’t seem to appreciate it when the stern-faced Pharisees tried to close the whole thing down.
We know that Jesus was well aware that he was heading into conflict and darkness and eventually death. He had already warned the disciples, although they didn’t understand. But on this morning maybe he was able to have a few hours of playful lightness, despite what was to come.
In our Busy Person’s Retreat we’ve been thinking about play, and how being playful can open up a different dimension in our relationship with God. And I think that for some people, deliberately making time for some sort of play has brought a little relief from some of the more challenging things that they are facing – a space to breathe, and step back, and see things differently.
Our palm crosses remind us that what followed that joyful and chaotic march into Jerusalem was much darker. As we walk with Jesus through Holy Week we will see him angrily confronting the traders in the temple, and then the opposition to him sharpening, as Judas offers to betray him. We will see him anointed by Mary, for his burial, he says.
We will witness the bittersweet Passover gathering in the upper room, and then the heartbreaking hours of prayer in Gethsemane.
Then will come the arrest – the mock trial – the abuse and humiliation and violence – and finally the nailing and putting up of the cross, and the last agonising hours. None of this is light, or playful. It ends in the black heaviness of death.
Our invitation, each year, is to find a way of engaging with the pain and depth of this story. Feeling the stark contrast with the joy of Palm Sunday. Resisting the temptation to skip straight on to Easter Day. Because what comes then is only made possible by what Jesus went through first – his refusal to give up on truth and love – his offering of himself, so that we can share a new lightness and a new hope, because in the end God refuses to give up on him.
There’s a poem by Charles Causley called ‘The Ballad of the Bread Man’. It’s quite playful – it sees Jesus almost like a clown figure – a holy fool – someone, maybe, who would have taught circus skills. This is the last part…
He went round to all the people
A paper crown on his head.
Here is some bread from my father.
Take, eat, he said.
Nobody seemed very hungry.
Nobody seemed to care.
Nobody saw the God in himself
Quietly standing there.
He finished up in the papers.
He came to a very bad end.
He was charged with bringing the living to life.
No man was that prisoner’s friend.
There’s only one kind of punishment
To fit that kind of crime.
They rigged a trial and shot him dead.
They were only just in time.
They lifted the young man by the leg,
Thy lifted him by the arm,
They locked him in a cathedral
In case he came to harm.
They stored him safe as water
Under seven rocks.
One Sunday morning he burst out
Like a jack-in-the-box.
Through the town he went walking.
He showed them the holes in his head.
Now do you want any loaves? He cried.
‘Not today’ they said.
Easter brings an invitation for us to join Jesus in this new way of living – lighter and more playful – not ignoring the darkness of the world, but challenging it – dancing through it, when we can. Learning to follow the call that Julian of Norwich heard: ‘Live gladly, live gaily, because of my love.’
Think of those times when we have been able to be playful, to enjoy the lightness of life.
Lord, as we remember, and smile, we offer you our thanks…
Think of those people or situations – and maybe of your own life – where there is an overwhelming sense of heaviness at the moment…
Lord of compassion – you are with us in the darkness and you never leave – may your love bring hope and new life.
We think of the invitation offered to us as we walk with Jesus.
Lord, may we be Easter people, singing hosanna and alleluia with our lives…