Okay, how many of you are having a good time this morning?  How many of you waved our palms during the processional?  How many of you sang “All, Glory, Laud and Honor” when you were invited to?  And why did you do all that stuff, especially if you were feeling acutely uncomfortable with all the weird falderol, and glad that we don’t do this very often?

            I suspect, if we knew the truth of the matter, that that first Palm Sunday crowd, waving their palms,             and throwing their cloaks on the ground, may not have been all that different in their answers to those questions.  A bunch of them probably were having a good time that morning – after all, there weren’t all that many recreational activities in the city of Jerusalem, especially on a Sunday morning.  And a bunch of them were probably waving their palms, and hurling their clothes on the ground because everyone else was.  And some of them were probably even feeling kind of foolish and silly, and not sure why they were there at all.

            Yes, many of us have heard this story a zillion times, and we all just assume that they were all there, waving and throwing, and shouting “Hosanna!” because they knew who Jesus was, and what he was doing there, and were really happy about it.  But did they?

            I had never noticed until I was working on this text for this sermon the question they ask at the end of the story.  After all the “Hosannas!” and “Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lords” comes a question that I think we can also resonate with:  “Who is this?”  “Who is this?”  They wave, and cheer, and stomp their feet, and do pretty much what their neighbors are doing, but then they get serious and ask, “Who is this?”

“Who is this fellow Jesus?”  Is he just another guy off the street who thinks he’s the Messiah?  Is he just another itinerant preacher, offering his own contemporary spin on traditional theology?  Is he just another prophet – one in a very long line, none of whom has ever made any difference to our lives?  Or … is he something more?

            And I suspect their answers to those questions – as well as our answers – depend at least in part on what filmmakers call “point of view.”  To help explain this, I want to tell you a little about a new movie called “Vantage Point,” that stars Forest Whitaker, Dennis Quaid, and William Hurt, and uses this notion of “point of view” as the plot premise.

The movie is about an assassination attempt on the President of the United States – as it is seen from the perspectives (the point of view) of five different people involved in the story.  Not surprisingly, the film reveals that the particular point of view each person holds shapes his or her knowledge about and understanding of what is happening, and it is only when all five points of view are taken together that the real truth emerges.

            I thought it would be interesting for us to take that same approach to the story of the first Palm Sunday, which most of us have heard so many times we may feel like we have nothing more to learn from it, and see what it might reveal, as we explore the question of “Who is this?”

            We’ll begin with the point of view of the powerless in this story.  With the point of view of the crowds, since they’re the ones we think we’re the most familiar with.  And yet, those people gathered along that roadway that morning were not, my friends, just like you and me.

            Most of them were living in abject poverty, brought on by the oppression of the Romans who lived in, and controlled their country.  Those who had once been landowners had long ago lost their family farms to the politically powerful and wealthy.  Skilled tradespeople – like carpenters, potters, weavers – could barely scrape out a living for their families.  Ordinary citizens had no say in how they were governed, no influence on political or economic policies.  The very practice of their religion was under the indirect control of the Romans, who had developed a system in which the Jewish religious authorities had to be complicit with the Romans in order to ensure their own survival.  Life was desperately hard for most ordinary citizens of Jerusalem.

            And so those people, gathered that morning alongside Jesus’ parade route, were desperate to hear a particular answer to their question of:  Who is he?  They needed him – yearned with every fiber of their beings for him – to be the Messiah, the One sent from God who would overthrow the Romans, make things the way they used to be, make everything right and good again.  And when, on this shining morning, it looks like that might be about to happen, of course they gather to cheer, and shout, and wave their palms, and throw their garments down, shouting “Hosanna!  Hosanna!  Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord!”

            Of course, only four days later, they’re shouting something quite different.  Not “Hosanna!” any more, but “Crucify him!”  Because this one on whom they had set their hopes has let them all down.  Instead of standing up to the Romans, instead of overturning them and everything vile they represent, he’s let himself be arrested … beaten … tortured … brought to a mock trial … instead of standing up and fighting for his own people like a good Messiah would, he’s going to let himself be killed!  And so the crowd, feeling more powerless than ever, turn their backs on him, ready to throw him to the wolves with all the rest.

            And haven’t we – you and I – done that too?  Haven’t we had our hearts set on someone being a particular way and when they disappoint us, we turn our backs on them?  We don’t have to look much farther than last week’s news to say “of course we have.”

            A year and a half ago, millions of citizens of the State of New York had their hopes and dreams pinned on newly-elected Governor Eliot Spitzer.  He was going to end corruption in the state, and bring about a new era of moral, ethical government.  And now – this week – because of his own unethical, immoral behavior – he has become the former governor of the State of New York, and is also facing serious criminal charges.

            My guess is that we’ve all had political leaders – Senators, Governors, U.S. Presidents – or business leaders – or educational leaders – or religious leaders – who we’ve pinned our hopes on, and when they didn’t turn out to be quite who we thought they were – or should be – we turned our backs on them as well.  Yes, we know what those powerless crowds were like, when Jesus didn’t turn out to be quite who they had thought he should be.

            And what about the point of view of the powerful in this story?  They don’t make it into any of the Gospel accounts (at least not in the Palm Sunday story), but they do make it into the history books.  And those history books tells us that at the very same time Jesus was riding his donkey through a gate on one side of the city of Jerusalem, on the opposite side of the city a very different kind of procession was occurring.

            Through the main gate on the other side of the city, the Roman governor – Pontius Pilate – and his legions were arriving.  Unlike the rag-tag crowd of poor people who had come out to see Jesus, one ordinary man in a dirty robe riding on a small dusty donkey, this procession was hugely-attended, by the rich and the famous who had turned out to see the brilliant show that was being put on.  Pilate’s parade was a deliberately massive display of imperial power – cavalrymen mounted on splendid, huge, war-horses, sweating and snorting and frightening the crowd, armor buffed to a sheen in the sun, snapping, colored silken banners with the Emperor’s emblem on them, spear-points and sword-blades winking and flashing in the sun.

            Pilate and his legions had come to Jerusalem because it was Passover time, and during Passover, the population of Jerusalem grew from about 40,000 people to about 200,000 people, and among those people were almost always some political reactionaries who used the big crowds to work up a frenzy for their cause, and usually ended up leading riots through the streets, that did untold damage to Roman property.  So Pilate had brought his troops – a real show of force – to try to contain the holiday crowds, and remind them of who was in charge.

            And when Pilate stops the processional for a photo op, a messenger comes up and tells him urgently that there’s some traveling rabbi named Jesus over on the other side of Jerusalem staging a political rally.  Now when you stop to think about it – and Biblical historical scholars like Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan have – that’s a pretty sensible analysis.  The Gospel stories make it clear – Jesus had a plan.  He didn’t just stroll into town, and let what would happen, happen.  He had organized transportation ahead of time.  He knew exactly where the donkeys were kept, and had clearly made an arrangement with their owner.  The Gospel-writers don’t tell us, but maybe he’d even lined up a few people to start strewing clothing to encourage others to do that too.

            So from Pilate’s point of view, what is the answer to the question “Who is this?”  It’s “he’s a troublemaker … a rabble-rouser … an incendiary … and someone who needs to be dealt with right now so he doesn’t cause even more problems than we normally have during this time of year.”

            And haven’t we been where Pilate was as well?  Haven’t we had some plan in mind – maybe in terms of our career, or in terms of our personal relationships, or in terms of our church – and someone we perceive as a troublemaker shows up and tries to get in the way of it happening?  Haven’t we had some faith-plan in mind – say, some idea of how our church should be, or how God should be – and the Holy Spirit dances, and nothing works out the way we think it should?  And when those things happen, isn’t our response just like Pilate’s?  Let’s do whatever we have to to get this person out of the way, so our power or our decision-making or our wants are not threatened, and we can do what we want to do.  Yes, we can understand the feelings and actions of the powerful ones in this story too.

            And then we have the disciples.  Those men and women who have followed Jesus for at least three years, who have shared meals and hardships on the roads with him, heard him preach, seen him heal, supported his ministry with their money and with their care.  And what is their answer to the question, “Who is he?”

            Well, if you read the Gospel stories that precede this one, you’ll find that their answers are all over the place.  Some of them see him as rabbi – their teacher.  Others see him as a prophet.  Still others proclaim him as the Messiah.  And for an awful lot of others, they just don’t have a clue.  And in fact, it’s their very cluelessness that gives Jesus some of his best teaching opportunities!

            On this morning, this parade morning, we can imagine them feeling rather relieved.  After all, Jesus has been warning them that they are going up to Jerusalem where he will be put to death … and they haven’t wanted to believe him.  They know that things have been getting pretty rocky lately – there have been lots more soldiers surrounding the areas where he’s been preaching, lots more catcalls from the crowds, lots more criticisms from the religious authorities who are growing more and more concerned about Jesus’ rabble-rousing – all in all, plenty of signs that Jesus and his message were becoming less and less popular.

            And so on this morning, it’s wonderful to be surrounded by such a huge group of supporters, instead of detractors, and to hear the cheers, and cries of “Hosanna,” instead of catcalls, and to feel like they have made the right choice in following this man whom so many obviously admire on this day.  Maybe … just maybe, they think … Jesus was wrong about that whole going-to-be-put-to-death thing.  Maybe this was going to turn out all right after all.

            And we probably understand the experiences of those disciples too.  We can probably remember some time in our life when someone we believed in – or some cause we supported – was popular, and well-received, and admired, and we knew we’d chosen the right team to play on.  Some time when it seemed like everything was going right, and nothing could possibly go wrong.  When that happens, we’re on top of the world!

            And so we can also understand what happens to those disciples in the week to come … when things don’t turn out all right … when the powerful exert their power, threatening not just Jesus, but everyone who has followed him.  If we really put ourselves in their shoes, we can understand how one of those followers could betray Jesus to the authorities … how one of them could deny even knowing Jesus … how all of them could abandon him when he needed them the most.  Because they were afraid.  Because they had come to feel powerless.  And because their answers to the question, “Who is he?” have become, “We’re not sure.”

            As we move into this week called “Holy,” I encourage you to come to our Maundy Thursday service, and to our Good Friday meditation time.  They’ll deepen your appreciation of the whole faith story, and of Easter, when it arrives.

I also encourage each of you to grab a Bible, and to choose one character who is part of this story of Holy Week, and walk with him or her through the week.  What do we know about this person?  What is uppermost in her or his mind or heart?  How do you identify with this person?  And how does that help you to grow more richly in your faith?

            And finally, I offer back to you the question of the crowd that morning, and urge you to think, and pray, and wrestle with your answer to it:  “Who is he?”  Who is this Jesus?  Who is he?  Amen.