I could be wrong, but here’s how I feel. For Black folx, the reason that the last few weeks, months, years, generati— you get the point — has been emotionally compounded, and chronically traumatic, is because we’re reconciling what it means for our heroes to be our villains, our deepest loves to have been our greatest traumas, all while navigating the residue of white supremacy. The known villains won’t stop, and now the integrity of our safest places are up for question. Also, we have 50-11 panels, seminars, conversations, etc. around the fact that we need to heal, but 1 out 7 of those actually does healing work. We’re also still navigating personal stuff. We’re collectively, and individually, exhausted. All of this going on though, and the question remains. WHEN HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ABLE TO STOP A BLACK IMPROMPTU TURN UP?
Today’s story can be found at all of the beautiful intersections of marginalized life, in impoverished communities, under dangerous conditions. In this scene, we find Jesus who is about to make this triumphant entry into the place where he is coming to disrupt the world around you, where he will first commit all kinds of politically challenging acts of moral resistance, and soon be publicly executed by the empire in front of the family. Also, at this moment, no one knows this is coming, but him. Jesus instructs his discipleships to essentially steal a donkey, and tells them that if someone asks them why they’re doing this, tell them “the Lord has need of it”. Jesus didn’t tell them to grab a horse, or a camel. He sent them for a donkey.
Pilot, the king in name, had recently had a triumphant entry, befitting that of a king. It was filled with horses and chariots, and pomp and circumstance in the most regal ways. And while Pilot was the tyrant in the tyrannous empire, Pilot certainly was no Jesus. See the most recent memory of Jesus here was a Jesus who raised Lazurus, and fed people, and clothed people, and had been with the people. Pilot was for the office, but Jesus was for the people. So when word was sent that Jesus was coming into Jerusalem, on a stolen donkey no less, the people did what the people do.
First of all, they cloaked the donkey. Now the way the donkey was acquired might’ve been good and illegal, but it was done now. And yes, this would be the equivalent of basically stealing a hoopty without much pizzaz, but in the hands of the people, it’ll outdo a chariot any day. And isn’t that a part of the gift of community? An awareness that the community will take what seems to be the cheapest resource on the lowest end of the totem pole, and turn it into something sacred, holy, and divine. In this case, it was a ride befitting a savior, who the people expected to save them. Economically speaking, our resources may be limited and cheap, but together, we specialize in making a way out of no way, and making it beautiful. Today, virtually and otherwise, folks sang songs such as Ride On King Jesus, about a man who rode in on a pimped out donkey. The community, the people, did that. Never underestimate the power of the people. Jesus surely didn’t.
Secondly, our parties are NEVER just parties. In this context, the party and parade, joy, chants, are straight up protest and resistance, because to have any intentional moments of joy in an oppressive empire that has arguably stripped you of every reason to have it, is resistance at its finest. Can’t you hear the people? “We might not have bronze, and gold, and frankincense, and myrrh, but we got these palms out back…” What kind of love is to know we might not have all of the resources, but what we have is enough. Here we are reminded, when you ride for the people, the people ride for you. I know we are yet in a panini, and there’s no quantifiable words, nor is there a rubric for how to survive in this. This pythagorean theorem has been enough to take all of us out, and yet, I do so believe that somehow, someway we will see, have seen, moments and slivers of joy.
We’ve turned our televisions and cars and computers into speakers, our living rooms into sanctuary and dance floor, our kitchen into labs, and found joy. I’m not sure what your party or parade may look like, but what I do know, is that apparently when joy is in the room, in our faith and Christian tradition, we take it as a sign that “Jesus will stop by.” I also hold in tension, that while the text never tells us, there’s no real way to know if everybody made it to this triumphant entry. It’s possible that some folx didn’t have it to be out there. Maybe it was the weight co of so much loss, unjustly and in health decay. Maybe it was some family drama. Maybe they were struggling to parent. Maybe they were living with undiagnosed depression and anxiety that no one explored or knew how to aid because it goes against cultural nuance to acknowledge mental and emotional disparity *sips tea*.
Or, maybe all these things communically, systematically, economically, and personally compounded were as heavy as living through a paragon. What I do know, is that even if they weren’t able to make it out, that didn’t stop Jesus from coming in. Even at our lowest, as hard as it is, my faith tradition suggests that Jesus will still stop by.
Final thing that comes to mind is we’re good for a chant/song that binds us together. We find strength in chanting these things over and over again. It’s almost an answer to the unspoken question. “Who is this guy? Who does he think he is? Who is he supposed to be?” The people let it be known: “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” Then they said it again. Then they say it again. I wonder if they “found their help” communally, and individually, repeating their radical truth together. Through celebration, and lament: “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” Through the crevices of surviving a popcorn: “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” One thing’s for sure, and two things for certain. The people let you know who he is to them, and the people let you know their truth, and use what we often do, song and and chant. And that chant, those lyrics, were the words that painted time and history, that got the savior, the man of the people, here triumphantly, with palms laid at his feet, on his tricked out donkey. Power from the saviour, and power to the people.
Whether you find yourself resonating with the people outside, the people inside, the disciples who risked their lives to stilla “hooptie”, or Jesus himself, be kind and gentle with yourselves this week. May joy find you ami lament. May even on your lowest days, you remember, that Jesus will stop by. May you color history and these moments with whatever lyrics you need to speak your radical truth. May the genius of the resources around, be enough. And may we make room for many things to be true at once, joy and pain, celebration and lament, praise, parties, protest, and pangea, and a celebration accompanied by preparation for death. For it is only Sunday, and Calvary soon come.
Born and raised in Galveston, TX, curated at Howard University, journeying to Detroit, and now Columbus, OH, Valerie has spent her life through the lens of preaching, educating, poetry, and activism. Today is no different. Her love for her God, family, community, both locally and global fuels her passion for all that she does. A liturgical enthusiast, her favorite scripture is Psalm 119:34 and her favorite quote is “when life gives you lemons make apple juice, and leave people wondering how it happened.”
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