There are several accounts in the New Testament of Jesus triumphal entry into Jerusalem. This morning. I read to you From Luke, chapter 19, verses 29 through 40, which differs in some ways from some of the other accounts and is the same in some ways. But please hear these words.

When Jesus had come near Bethphage in Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples saying, go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, why are you untying it? Just say, the Lord needs it. So those who were sent departed and found it just as he told them.

As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, why are you untying the colt? They said, the Lord needs it. Then they brought it to Jesus. And after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road.

Now, as he was approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of disciples began to praise God joyfully. With a loud Voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying, blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord, Peace in heaven and glory in the highest heaven.

Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Jesus, teacher, order your disciples to stop.

He answered, I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out, this is the word of God for us, the people of God.

Mark Twain, the author, famously said one time, it’s not the parts of the Bible that I don’t understand that bother me. It’s the parts that I do understand that trouble me the most. Now, I’m not here to agree or disagree with what someone from a couple centuries might have said. However, I can say that I think living a life close to the one who makes the words of the Bible come alive often puts us in very uncomfortable places. Okay?

Living close to Jesus often puts us in uncomfortable places, even when we read the words about him. On this Palm Sunday, when we’re looking at everything between shouting and silence, I want to offer at least a couple of questions that easily, easily this passage leaves hanging around for us in life.

First of all, how did they know to shout praise and honor to a king?

How did they know? How did they know that this was what they were supposed to do? Was it the miracles? Was it the feeding of the five thousand and all the leftovers? Was it the people who were.

Who were blind that he made see again?

Was it the miracles? Was it those who had demons that were cast out from them?

Was it the miracles that made them shout? I don’t know if it was the miracles or not, but that question does kind of linger. How did they know to shout at this one, to throw down their cloaks for this colt to ride upon?

Was it the teaching, maybe the parables? The. The Good Samaritan, the lost sheep, the lost coin, the lost son, that stubborn fig tree who wouldn’t produce figs?

Was it the parables?

Was it the other teachings, the Sermon on the Mount or the Sermon on the level place, depending on where you read about it? Was it the big turnaround in that little guy named Zacchaeus?

Was it the teaching of the man named Jesus that made them shout and welcome a king? I mean, it was risky to do this kind of thing. You realize that, don’t you? I mean, standing where they were at that time, they were surrounded by an occupying army. An occupying kingdom watched over them, and they shouted out for their king.

This was risky stuff. It wasn’t as if they had to prove that they were citizens of this country and take risks or anything. They lived there, but they were in danger because they shouted out.

It was risky to welcome a king into the kind of life they were living. Risky indeed. So my first question is, how? How did they know to shout for the king?

And then there’s the second question. Maybe I was just in a kind of questioning mood this week or whatever. I don’t know. A question that I admit when you first hear it, sounds almost absurd as the first. But I’ve lived now in a world divided long enough.

I’ve lived in a world of haves and have nots. A world of people accepted and of people rejected. A world where some rule and some are the ruled. I’ve lived in this world long enough to come to my second question with a lot of honesty, and that’s this one. What if the Pharisees.

There was a few Pharisees, not all of them, but a few of them were told here. What if those few Pharisees who spoke out and said, everyone should be quieted here, what if they were actually right?

What if the crowd really did need to be silenced before something bad happened?

And yes, terrible things may have happened, may well have happened sometimes, you know, sometimes a crowd can bring out the worst of those who are supposed to be keeping order among people.

And those who are keeping order have to react or the crowd gets out of hand. In those days, it might have been with shields and spears and swords.

In our day, maybe it’s tear gas or water hoses or dogs or rubber bullets.

How can we be absolutely certain that that group of Pharisees were not just looking out for the good of the whole people, all their people? They weren’t just trying. They were just trying to protect folks.

What if they were right?

I’ve seen it happen.

I’ve had it happen.

I’ve said one thing in a sermon or message or in something I’ve written or said one thing in public.

Some in the crowd walk away from their church, and then I hear it.

You should have kept quiet, preacher.

You shouldn’t talk about that ever again. Pastor.

Don’t shout that out anymore.

There have been times in my life and in my ministry where I’ve heard the words of those who say, you better get it quieted down.

And I do. I do.

Because how do I know this telling me to be quiet might be right in between shouting and silence, in between those times when people feel compelled by the moment and the spirit to cry out, and the times when people are not certain enough to know if what is happening won’t just make matters somehow worse.

In between those two extremes is. Well, at least in this story we read today. In between those two extremes is the man God, Jesus riding on a colt. Yes, Jesus is silent.

He’s not crying out. And yes, Jesus is complicit. He doesn’t quiet the crowd either.

He just sits there and lets all the wrestling and the wrangling about what’s the right thing to do here and what’s the wrong thing to do. All the shouting and the silence making.

He just lets it all go on around him.

See, I had those questions about this passage, but there’s one thing I do not question at all, and that is why Jesus did not participate in the shouting or in the silencing.

That’s because Jesus knew the way of the cross was looming before him. He knew he was getting ready to die for shouters and silencers alike.

He knew Jesus. He knew he would bear the weight of all of their. Of all of my.

Of all of your struggles to know the right way to go. Is it shouting or is it silence?

My siblings. I’ve taken moments of silence as a pastor held back after hearing warnings that to speak might cause trouble.

I’ve also shouted for justice, more than my fair share, I think, and prayed for God’s presence to reign in a messy world often devoid of the love that is abundant in Jesus Christ, my Lord. And I know you wrestle with when to do these two things too, don’t you? Don’t you?

But every time, there’s only one thing I cling to.

I cling to the cross of Christ, where I know there is someone who knows both my passionate heart that must shout at times.

And where I’m also known as the one who can be silent, not really because of warnings or fear, but because I truly believe that that one on the cross in his silent state can sometimes shout louder than I’m ever able to shout if I just give him the chance.

How did they know?

And what if they were right?

Just two questions that kind of lived there in between shouting and silence.

But they also live with each who wonders.

There also lives with each who wonders a cross of redemption. A king filled with love. An abundance of grace for all of us. For all of us who shout.

For all of us who are silent. For all of us who struggle with everything in between.

Amen.