When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was shaken, saying. “Who is this?”—Matthew 21:10
All: We called him by many names.
First Voice: Spring rains blew in from the Great Sea. The hills of Judah traded drab winter browns for green—in some places, lush and deep, in others, bright and glowing. The sheep lambed. Little ones nursed greedily with wagging tails from weary ewes. East of the city, the wilderness bloomed. Delicate blossoms danced fleetingly above rocky, red soil. Wadis, that by mid-summer would be dry as dust, filled with water. The Jordan was swollen with snowmelt rushing down from the slopes of Mt. Hermon. From marshy riversides, clouds of storks rose to whirl across the sky, their long legs trailing and harsh voices calling as they journeyed from Cush to the lands beyond the sea. At night, our breath hung in clouds, so we drew close to the fire and pulled our cloaks snug to guard against the cold. During the day, the sun shone bright in a deep blue sky, tempered by fine white clouds.
All: We called him by many names.
Second Voice: The Passover was near. We turned our hearts and feet to Jerusalem. Once we were slaves in Egypt. We groaned hopeless beneath Pharaoh’s iron yoke; yet, God heard our cries and called Moses to lead us to freedom, a task that proved easier said than done. God sent nine waves of plague and pestilence to soften Pharaoh’s hard heart: blood and frogs, gnats and flies, disease and boils, hail, locusts, and darkness. Just when we thought that Pharaoh would never relent, God sent the tenth and most terrible plague. To shield us, the Lord told us to slaughter a lamb and paint the door posts of our dwellings red with blood. That night, while we roasted the lamb and dressed for travel in silence, the night was filled with screams as the angel of death passed over our homes but took the lives of the firstborn of all Egypt. The next morning, while Pharaoh wept, we made our exodus, bound for a land that flowed with milk, honey, and freedom. Every year as the Passover drew near, we remembered what God had done for us, and we dreamed of what God might do next.
All: We called him by many names.
Third Voice: Passover pilgrims filled the roads and flowed up to the Holy City. From the East, merchants to the Gentiles sailed home across the Great Sea and walked the Roman Road from Caesarea, alongside centurions sent to Jerusalem to keep the Pax Romana. From the South, caravans converged in Beersheba, bringing beautiful, dark-skinned cousins from the source of the Nile and the jungles of Ethiopia. From the West, fierce nomads with camels and veiled women traded their desert camps for pilgrim paths. From the North, farmers left the soft hills of Galilee, followed the Jordan south to Jericho, and climbed up through the Valley of the Shadow of Death—4,000 feet in fifteen miles.
All: We called him by many names.
First Voice: Atop the Mount of Olives we paused, looking out across the Kidron Valley. Our breath caught and hearts raced to see that most precious and sacred of sights: the Temple crowning Jerusalem in the morning light. In the midst of our multitude, one pilgrim rode a donkey colt, like the Prince of Peace, promised long ago by the Prophet Zechariah. We waved palms and surrounded him with our songs.
All: We called him by many names.
Second Voice: We called him teacher. He taught with parables and proverbs, drawing sacred truth from everyday life: lilies of the field, birds of the air, a sower planting seed, a woman making bread. To hear his bold teaching, listeners filled the synagogues of Galilee to overflowing. When they became too numerous, he taught on the lakeshore, speaking from a boat moored in the shallows. He taught on the mountainside to vast crowds who feasted on his words and then feasted on miraculous meals of fish and loaves. As he read from the scroll of the Prophet Isaiah, we saw him as the fulfillment of ancient promises to bring sight to the blind, mobility to the lame, and freedom to the prisoner. So, we called him Teacher and followed on his heels, eager to hear the words he spoke.
All: We called him by many names.
Third Voice: We called him king. His father was a Bethlehem boy of the line of David. Hadn’t God promised to send a king like David to restore the fortunes of Israel? That morning, on the pilgrim way down the Mount of Olives, he looked like a peasant king. He looked like Judas Maccabeus, who, two centuries before, had led a grassroots revolution to rid the land of the Greeks and purify the Temple. Between the distant memory of Passover and the near history of the Maccabees, we dared to hope for change. So, we welcomed him with the Hallel Psalms[1] of pilgrims. We called him king and spread our cloaks upon the road as a sign of our allegiance.
All: We called him by many names.
First Voice: We called him Lord. He called us away from our fishing nets, plows, and tax booths with an authority that made us see that he was special. Then, as we followed him throughout the Galilee, we saw things that had first made us question our sanity, and then made us rethink God’s plan for the salvation of our people. With a power that could only come from God, he cleansed lepers, cast out demons, stilled storms, and walked on water. We began to wonder where he ended and God began—or if God could somehow have been in the man from the very beginning. So, we called him Lord to let him know that we alone knew who he truly was.
All: We called him by many names
Second Voice: We called him a heretic, a teacher of lies. We noticed he was less than scrupulous in observing the Torah. He ate with sinners and healed on the Sabbath day. He welcomed tax collectors and taught women. He called our scribes and Pharisees white-washed tombs and blind guides. How could such a man be holy as God is holy? We saw that he was a threat to tradition and a danger to the people, and so we challenged him in the Temple. With our word games and rhetorical tricks, we sought to shame him and condemn him for blasphemy. When this failed, we plotted to bring about his death. We justified our lust for his blood, claiming that the death of the one man was a small price to pay to safeguard the holiness and peace of the many.
All: We called him by many names.
Third Voice: We called him a criminal and said he was no king at all. He had no taste for violence. He exhorted his followers to put down their weapons, saying that to live by the sword was to die by the sword. He lacked the will and the political ambition for regime change. He was less a king like David, ready to wage war and seize power, and more a Passover lamb, fit only for the slaughter. By Friday morning, we traded the song of “Blessed is the king” for the cry of “Crucify him.” Then, with mixed contempt and indifference, we watched a very different parade. Beaten, bloody, and broken, he dragged his cross through the city streets to the place we called The Skull.
All: We called him by many names.
First Voice: We called him a stranger. The mood turned murderously dark in the Holy City, and the adoration that had prompted us to call him, “Lord,” turned to fear, terrible fear. It was the kind of fear that makes you look over your shoulder, robs you of sleep, and loosens your bowels. It was the kind of fear that makes you weep like a lost child or a cuckolded husband. It was a fear that overwhelmed and unmanned us. While he prayed with bitter tears of anguish, we slept. When the betrayer came with the Temple guards to arrest him, we ran. While he was tried before the Council, we denied him. As he suffered on the cross, we left the women to bear witness. When they laid him in the tomb, we hid.
All: We called him by many names.
Second Voice: Teacher.
Third Voice: King.
First Voice: Lord.
Second Voice: Heretic.
Third Voice: Criminal.
All: Stranger.
[1] Psalms 113—118 are known as the Hallel Psalms, or simply the Hallel (Hallel means praise in Hebrew). While many psalms praise God, this set of psalms became associated with Passover, due the mention of the deliverance from Egypt in Psalm 114.
Joann White 