Loring McAllister
Palm Sunday, 2002
The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the ass and the colt, and put their garments on them, and he sat thereon. Most of the crowd spread their garments on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. and the crowds that went before him and that followed him shouted, "Hosanna to the son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the lord! Hosanna in the highest!” (Matt 21:6-9)
It seemed to some that Jesus was too easy a rider, sitting there in the back of that donkey. He took the people’s praise too lightly; he accepted their hysterical applause. They praised him in the utmost terms, hosanna in the highest, a level of praise usually reserved for kings, like Herod. But, later, when the bystanders, the Pharisees, remonstrated with him, he told them that if the people did not shout, even the stones would call out the truth.
I see some similarities as well as contrasts between the donkey rider of Jerusalem and the Harley rider of a very popular movie I saw back in the early 1970s—a movie that was a quintessential representation of the pop culture of the 1960s and 70s. The movie’s title was Easy Rider, and it starred Peter Fonda in the role of Captain America. Both Jesus and Captain America in his red, white and blue motorcycle helmet were killed by the hate, prejudice, fear of difference and innate violence of those with whom they came into contact.
The Captain America of that film, now over 30 years old, was then and—I’m afraid—continues to be a remarkable symbol of our selfish, self-seeking, footloose, personal-experience oriented culture. He is “modern man,” indeed, “postmodern man," man “come of age,” without commitments, not bound by any “ink blots dried upon some line” or by any significant personal relationships. At the end of the film he is blotted out of existence, not by God, but by others who are, essentially, just like him—outwardly different perhaps in their red-necked personas, but inwardly striving only for themselves and their own advantage.
What a contrast with Jesus of Nazareth! Jesus, too, sat loose in the saddle, but it was because he understood the meaning in the world. He could love the world—and all those in it—because he knew there was more to life than just the world. You see, it is when we try to squeeze all the meaning out of our few days and our small place on earth, that we treat as ultimate and final those things that are but temporary and transient. We worship what is not worthy of worship, what is here today and gone tomorrow, what provides no lasting meaning for life.
In short, Captain America lost his life by trying to save it. Jesus of Nazareth was resurrected to new life by being willing to lose his life. Captain America died alone—for self. Jesus opted to live and die for love.
Two Basic Questions
Let us look inward on ourselves and put a hard and basic pair of questions. The first is this: to what have I given my life—the love for which Jesus gave himself, or have I given my life only to myself? Have I just been seeking to save my own life? The second is this: to what do I want to give myself from now on? Think about these for a moment.
We humans are free in the world of nature in a way that sets us apart from every other species. a dog lives a dog’s life, a horse a horse’s life. From start to finish the mode of their existence is determined. Not so with people. Beyond the basic physical necessities of life, we are at liberty to establish any kind of social system, any code of honor or lack thereof, any variety of sexual or economic behavior we want. There are, however, two necessities within this freedom. First, we are social beings. We cannot exist without relationships. The structure of those relationships is open to almost infinite variety, but whatever their form, we must have them. Secondly, we cannot live without meaning for life, which is the same thing as hope. We can suffer deprivations, endless misery, utter poverty so long as there is meaning—hope for life beyond the immediate experience.
Our meaning for life comes only in relationships, because we have no identity apart from relationships. You know yourself only as a child of your parents, a brother, a sister, a husband or wife, a partner, a father, or mother, a friend of this person, a foe of that one.
So there is no real meaning if we are isolated from the creation of which we are a part. Like Captain America on his two-wheeled escape machine, we can ride so easy that we are never involved. We can search cross-country, as he did, for meaning—in drugs, in booze, in casual contacts with men or women, in fleeting rather than deepening relationships. Then finally, at the end of the ride, have to admit, we blew it.
Real meaning for life comes only when we stand in right relationship to God, to others and to the world. This helps to explain Jesus’ statement that we should be perfect as our Father in heaven is perfect. God is perfect not because he is morally perfect, or intellectually perfect. Those are irrelevant concepts in relation to God. Whatever God is, is moral or knowledgeable, because God himself is the definition of morality and knowledge.
No, God is perfect because he is always God. He never steps outside his role. He can be counted on in relationship.
So, too, our life has meaning when we are perfect in our role of humanness, when we are in right relationships. Life is disrupted when we try to play God or when we sink to the level of the non-human animal or when our contacts with other humans are destructive.
How, then, do we know what our right role is, what our right relationships are? The Christian claim is that we find the answer to these questions in Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ.
In terms of our relationship with God, this means that we let God be God, as Jesus did. H e knew that God is the creator, the sustainer, and the source of wholeness. Jesus thus rode easy, because he knew he did not have to justify his existence; he did not have to save his own life.
The story is told of a youngster who inquired of his mother about his point of origin. “Why, the stork brought you,” his mother replied. “Well, where did you come from?” he persisted. he received the same answer. “And grandma?” “The stork brought her too,” said his mother. Finally, the child gasped, with understandable frustration, “Do you mean to tell me there hasn’t been a natural birth in our family for three generations?”
We do not create ourselves, current popular assertions to the contrary notwithstanding. Our world is “open,” in that our moves in it are not predetermined and programmed for us. But that does not mean that we shall achieve the same meaning regardless of how we live. If we are constantly trying to make meaning for ourselves, we shall be forced either into isolation or into playing God for others. If, however, we realize that God has provided a context of purpose and wholeness for us, that we are supported by love regardless of what may come, then we can sit loose, letting God be God, knowing that he created life, freeing ourselves for the human roles that are our rightful province.
Look at any of the gospels, and three major concerns of Jesus jump out and grasp us and refuse to let go. Jesus was concerned for wholeness—of individuals, of society, and of the entire meaningful universe. Time after time, he healed a single person, regardless of his or her affliction. He was concerned about the way we treat one another in society, and spoke about divorce, the distribution of wealth, the oppressed. And he was concerned that people be related to God, the universal, the transcendent, where our finite beings find their infinite purposes.
Saved from the Tyranny of Self
Our right relationships to one another, then, consist in being channels of individual, social and universal wholeness. Our right relationship with God, which saves us from the tyranny of self, from the necessity of creating ourselves out of nothing, releases us for right relationship with our fellows. We are free to live for others since we know that Christ is living for us. We can ride easy to our desires and needs, for we know that our greatest need—meaning—is supplied by accepting the love of God into our own lives, by letting it flow through us to others.
What is our right relationship to the world then? It is not the loose fit of a quick motorcycle tour, where we never touch down. Neither is it an absolute absorption into the idea of a better world in some future time, or the complete merger of ourselves with what is only here and now. We are real creatures of flesh and blood. Consequently, if we ever receive any meaning for our lives, it comes to us in the world. That is at least part of the meaning of God’s incarnation in a real person, in actual history. But our meaning does not come from the world. That is why Jesus rode easy on his way into Jerusalem. If he had taken those palm branches and hosannas too seriously, within a week all he was would have been but one more story of here today and gone tomorrow. But he knew his meaning came not from earthly power or pomp. His meaning came in the world. The suffering on that cross was very real. But his meaning did not come from the world.
Many preached; many taught; many loved; many were crucified. Meaning did not come, though, just because of those external events. The significance was in the relationships to God and man that were carried out in those experiences. The right relationship to the world is that of an easy rider, who takes the world with utmost seriousness—as the stage where the drama of relationships is played—but who knows that it is only part of a greater drama. We both take the world seriously and sit loose in it because we are committed to the total universe of God’s love.
Dr. Loring McAllister is a retired deacon of the Episcopal Church, a psychologist, and a member of St. Mary's. He teaches, preaches and assists liturgically regularly at St. Mary's.
