Can You Fix a Furnace?

As they approached Jerusalem and came to Bethphage and Bethany at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two of his disciples, saying to them, “Go to the village ahead of you, and just as you enter it, you will find a colt tied there, which no one has ever ridden. Untie it and bring it here …” [Mark 11:1-2, NIV].

For virtually all of us here in Durham, there will be no procession into our church sanctuaries this Sunday. There will be no communal waving of palm branches. Our congregations won’t join together in “All Glory, Laud, and Honor,” although I’ve bookmarked a splendid 2013 Youtube performance by the choir of King’s College, Cambridge. I can send you the link if you like.

To be sure, this Sunday, we are allowed to seek “worthless idols” [Psalm 31:6, a verse from one of the designated Psalter readings for Palm/Passion Sunday, RCL, Year B] at any number of local retail establishments. We can gather, at least in small numbers, to share a meal at some local restaurants. And yet, of course, it’s been more than a year since most of us have shared in the Eucharist.

Jane and I hope that, beginning April 18, we can worship with others in a truly congregational setting, albeit with significant safeguards in place. But to state the obvious, this will be the second Palm/Passion Sunday in a row that we’ve spent at home worshipping remotely. Like virtually all of you, we’ll also spend our Easter Sunday looking at a computer screen instead of gazing into the smiling faces of friends and loved ones. Alas, at least we don’t face abandonment by our friends one week from tomorrow. We won’t face a rigged trial in the middle of the night. We won’t be beaten or spit on. Nor will we be nailed to a cross Friday week.

The Gospel lesson appointed for this year’s Palm Sunday [Year B] is the familiar Mark 11:1-11 passage. Much of Jesus’ preaching and healing had heretofore taken place in the countryside—in “the sticks.” But Jesus, sensing that his “hour” has come, takes his ragtag flock of disciples and others up to Jerusalem for Passover. It’s a pilgrimage of sorts for Jesus and his followers along the Way.

Although they aren’t part of Jesus’ traveling group, all sorts of diasporic Jews are also on the road to Jerusalem. It was the goal of all pious Jews, no matter where they lived, to celebrate at least one Passover in Jerusalem. We’ll soon meet one of them—Simon of Cyrene—who will be forced on Good Friday to carry Jesus’ cross for part of the way along the Via Dolorosa [Mark 15:21-22]. It was often an emotional time for these pilgrims, since many of them recognized that they’d never see Jerusalem again. They had that in common with our Lord.

In what was the first Uber/Lyft ride share arrangement, Jesus tells two of his disciples to fetch him the colt of a donkey. These two, thinking of making a grand entrance into Jerusalem with their Lord, are tasked with a menial, dirty task. Mark doesn’t identify which two disciples were given the assignment.

In a stirring 2006 Palm Sunday meditation written for Christian Century, the Rev. Dr. Tom Long wonders if the two might have been James and John. They are the two who had presumptuously asked Jesus if, when He came into his glory, one of them could sit at his right and the other on his left. Tom goes on to say that it really doesn’t matter, since all 12 had been jockeying for their own advantage, arguing about who among them was the greatest. Tom quips:

So it is deliciously ironic that on this very public and glorious day of Jesus’ ministry, a day when he will be welcomed into Jerusalem with joyous hosannas, they find themselves engaged in a most unromantic form of ministry, mucking around a stable, looking suspiciously like horse thieves, and trying to wrestle an untamed and no doubt balky animal toward the olive groves. For this they left their fishing nets?

One is left to wonder why the Gospel writer takes such pains to provide us with the details of this less than earth-shattering “transaction.” Perhaps he had seminary students in mind. May I explain?

While it has been more than 30 years since I matriculated at Duke Divinity School, I still vividly recall a host of conversations and encounters within those hallowed halls. And, of course, in these ensuing years—prior to COVID-19—I often spent time either in Duke Chapel or in the “Div” School, talking with friends, listening to lectures, and, as one of my Alabama pastor friends would say, “just a wallerin’ in” the history and scholarship of the outstanding theological library at Duke.

Particularly during my years as a student, I’d often hear fellow students talk about “their ministry.” One might be in a spiritual formation seminar and someone would allow that “in my ministry, I’ve seen this or that, I’ve heard this or that, I’ve done this or that”—you get my picture. While I don’t like to admit it, during those years, I myself likely also used the term “my ministry” on more than one occasion.

One day during what I think was my second year at Duke, a number of friends and I were engaged in a small group setting with retired Bishop Ken Goodson, for whom the Divinity School would posthumously name its beautiful chapel. One of us—thank Goodness it wasn’t me—said something like, “I hope my ministry, Bishop Goodson, is even half as fruitful as yours.”

The Bishop chuckled and, calling the student by name, said, “Well, the first thing you’ll need to do is get rid of any notion that it’s your ministry. It’s Christ’s ministry; you’re just along for the ride.” Bishop Goodson went on to say that many of us want “powerful ministries,” to be appointed (if one was a Methodist) to a fine and prosperous congregation, or to receive an exciting “call” (if, for example, one was instead a Presbyterian). According to our beloved Bishop, however, someone has to accept the appointment to the four-point charge in Murphy (for non-Methodists, that appointment is to four small, but separate, churches who share a minister).

The Bishop wistfully reminded us that much of our work within the church would be spent folding bulletins and visiting a sweet little lady in a nursing home when she has no idea who you are or why you’ve come to see her. He added that instead of spending at least an hour prior to worship in prayer and deep spiritual contemplation, we’d likely be down in the church basement tapping on the furnace with a wrench, trying to coax out some heat on a cold Sunday morning. He warned that on all too many Sundays, instead of delivering a carefully prepared and rehearsed sermon to broad acclaim, we’d have to do our best with a brief outline and a few notes scratched out on a yellow pad since, between our duties at our homes and our need to be with the mass of broken folks around us, there just weren’t enough weeks in a day.

Lest we feel sorry for ourselves, the Bishop reminded us that it was the same or worse for the church members. Someone had to check the air pressure and tire tread on the church van, since it was to be used the following weekend to take a number of our treasured youth to a retreat. Someone had to be chair of the Administrative Council. Someone had to teach Sunday School to high schoolers who’d rather be anywhere but church. Someone had to arrange for the Communion bread and “fruit of the vine.” Someone had to prepare supper for the Smith family, since Myrtle had serious surgery last week. We all can’t ride glorious steeds, defending Christendom; most of us spend years doing humble, routine—but necessary—tasks for our Lord.

And that’s, of course, how it all started 2,000 years ago. Someone had to secure the colt in order that Jesus could enter Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. Someone had to rent the Upper Room and see to the procurement and preparation of the Passover Seder. And someone else—the One who is in charge—had to die on a cross for you and me. That was and is His ministry.

Can you fix a furnace? In these trying days, as we slowly make our way back to church, as we take small steps toward a full communion with friends, family, and those countless others whom we don’t know, but whom the Lord is intent upon sending our way, may we be mindful of the privilege that is ours to be part of His glorious ministry. Thanks be to God!