The Blessed Knot Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29, Matthew 21:1-11

As the story goes, the kingdom of Phyrigia in what is now Turkey
was languishing without a king.
The citizens went to the oracle of the great father-god Sabazios for help
and were told by the oracle to crown as their king
the next man to drive an ox-cart through the city gate.
It just so happened that a Phrygian farmer named Gordius,
on his way into town for haircut and a good meal,
drove his oxcart into through the gate just as the oracle finished speaking.
Anxious to get the Phrygian economy back on track,
the Chamber of Commerce seized the opportunity,
planned an immediate coronation,
and Gordius, a simple farmer, ascended the Phrygian throne.

As a silent witness to his good fortune,
Gordius took that old oxcart for which he no longer had any need,
and tied it to a pole in the temple courtyard with a rope made of bark
using a very complex knot, known thereafter as the Gordian Knot.
A legend grew up around this tangled mass of rope
saying that anyone who wanted to conquer Asia must first untie the knot.

Though many tried, no one was able to untie the knot
until one day in 333 BC, the young Greek general Alexander came to Phrygia.
Alexander had an army and a powerful desire to make a name for himself,
so he was taken straightaway to the famous Gordian knot by some of the locals
no doubt eager to watch the cocky young general get humbled.
Legend has it that Alexander had but glanced at the famous knot,
when he pulled out his sword
and with a swift downward chop sliced the knot in two
effectively releasing the oxcart from Its pole.

Alexander the Great and his army did, indeed, go on to conquer Asia
bringing Greek culture and language even into the heart of Judea,
even into the ancient city of Jerusalem into which Jesus rode that day.
Alexander’s mighty sword was sufficient to achieve the result he was after
and he wasn’t about to let anyone’s knot bog him down or get in his way
no matter how complex it might be.

I imagine Jesus’ disciples anticipated nothing very complex
when they came to outskirts of Bethphage, a little village just outside of Jerusalem,
at the end of a long day of walking.
By Matthew’s account, they had started in Jericho that morning
and walked about 15 miles through the day climbing about 3400 feet in elevation.
At Bethphage, Jerusalem was in sight and they could already taste
the warm bread and falafel waiting for them.

Certainly the disciples must have been a bit tense
about being with Jesus so close to the center of Jewish and Roman power
when for months Jesus had done all he could, it seems,
to antagonize the authorities in the region.
And since it was the week before Passover and Jerusalem was swollen with pilgrims
they were probably anticipating an even larger crowd on this last leg of the journey
than they’d already seen.
But they were used to walking, the crowd was in a festive mood,
and it wouldn’t take them twenty minutes to travel the distance on foot.
But then Jesus put a kink in things.
“Go into the village,” he said, “And you will find a donkey and her colt tied up there.
Untie them and bring them to me.
If anyone objects just tell them the Lord needs them.”
Huh? They’d come all this way on foot and now suddenly Jesus wanted to ride?

The symbolism of what Jesus asked was lost on no one,
not the disciples and not the religiously minded crowd making their way to the city.
Though in his enthusiasm, Matthew makes it sound like Jesus straddled both animals
for his ride into town,
No one could have missed the connotation of Jesus’ performance art.
He was a well known rabbi, some said a prophet,
some said the Messiah they’d all been waiting for.
In a very deliberate and conscious way,
with the simple gesture of mounting a donkey for his ride into town,
Jesus became for them a living embodiment of an ancient prophetic hope.
He tapped into a reservoir of longing
that welled up in the heart of every old man who felt cut off from his memories;
and every mother’s child who felt crushed under an oppressor’s thumb.

Maybe it began as a lark, like fans in a football stadium doing the “wave.”
Somebody started the undulating motion
and others joined in just for fun,
a crowd acting as crowds do, responding to contagious emotions
and going along just to feel a part of something bigger than themselves.
“Hosanna!” someone shouted.
“Hosanna!” someone else joined in.
“Hosanna, hosanna, hosanna, hosanna.”
“Hosanna to the Son of David!”
“Blessed,” someone continued.
“Blessed,” someone else called out.
“Blessed, blessed, blessed, blessed!”
“Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!”

You know, fun as it was, I wonder if it made the disciples nervous
this impromptu parade?
I wonder if it got a little out of hand?
Sure, it started in fun - started with a kind of holiday festivity,
but I wonder if it then got serious,
if someone got a little overwrought,
if a woman with a child tried to push the baby into Jesus’ arms
or a man with a crutch might have lost his balance,
as enthusiasm turned to jostling and jostling to desperation.
“Save us!” they were crying. That’s what “hosanna” means.
“Save us!” “Save us!” “Save us!”

And remember, as they make their way down from Bethphage,
they were coming downhill on a winding path from the Mount of Olives,
across the Kidron valley,
and then back up a fairly steep slope and into the city through the Golden Gate.
All this – Jesus on the donkey, the crowds shouting “Save us!” palms being waved –
all this was taking place in plain view of the Antonia Fortress,
the headquarters of the Roman garrison rising up over the city wall;
the place where Governor Pontius Pilate stayed when he was in town.
What were the Roman guards thinking as they watched this spectacle?
What if Pilate was out on his terrace reading the paper when all this commotion erupted?
In less than an hour, what was going to be a simple afternoon stroll into the city
got very complicated.
What could have been just a few Passover pilgrims
traveling anonymously into Jerusalem with hundreds of other Passover pilgrims
had suddenly become, in Jesus’ hands, a political and religious stink bomb
tossed into the living rooms of the Roman and Jewish elite.
His was an intentional act of provocation and he achieved his desired result.
By the time Jesus and his followers entered the city gate
Matthew says “the whole city was in turmoil asking, ‘Who is this?’”

Down through the years the church has called this event the “Triumphal Entry”
and the week that follows “Holy Week.”
The more familiar we have become with the story the less complicated it seems
but if we could look at it with fresh eyes,
or, better yet, if we had been in that original Passover crowd
or among that small band of disciples
think how confusing it would have been.
During this last week of his life Jesus managed to tie up everyone around him in a knot of Gordian proportions.

First of all, Jesus deliberately adopts the pose of the messianic king
riding into town on a donkey.
The crowd plays along waving palm branches and shouting “Save us!”
Immediately upon entering the city,
Jesus goes to the tables where moneychangers are and flips them over
blasting the temple rulers for making his Father’s house a den of thieves
After healing some folk, he then LEAVES the city, presumably the same way he came in,
and walks two miles to Bethany where he spends the night.
Then It goes from bad to worse.
Through the ensuing week Jesus returns to Jerusalem each day.
He teaches in confusing parables,
debates the temple elite,
curses a fig tree and foretells the destruction of the temple.
He reduces the six hundred thirteen commandments of the Jewish law to just two
ignores the growing tension and threats against him
eats a meal with his disciples where he refers to their food as his body and blood.
He doesn’t resist when they come to arrest him,
doesn’t make a defense for himself when Pilate questions him
doesn’t spit back at the Roman soldiers who spit on him
and finally, allows himself to be crucified with forgiveness on his lips.

Unlike Alexander the Great, Jesus does not seem to see complexity as a road block.
In fact, he seems to revel in it.
With the exception of that table flipping incident,
Jesus does not find his strength in impetuous actions and aggressive shows of force.
Instead, he is most often seen practicing patience and forbearance.
Jesus does not seem at all intimidated by the knottiness of life,
rather, he seems to welcome it, embrace it.

We’ve been studying Celtic Christianity in Sunday school during Lent
and characteristic of Celtic faith are the intricate designs called “knots.”
You have an example of such a knot on your bulletin.
The original meaning of the Celtic knot is lost to history, but scholars are confident
that whatever else it may represent, it at least symbolizes the eternal nature of life,
the interconnectedness of all things, and the complexity of the spiritual path.
The Celtic knot reminds us that, If nothing else, the lesson of Holy Week is that
• our faith, though simple in it’s focus on God’s love as it is shown through Jesus,
has a way of making our lives more complicated as we put it into practice.
• the path to God is not something we can forecast or plan,
but has a way of presenting itself to us at the last moment
as we step forward in faith.

• and the twists and turns of our life are not reasons to panic,
but, if followed in faith, have a way of creating, in the end, a beautiful design.

As we enter this holy week may our prayer be
that God will help us see the potential blessings that come with
the knots in our lives; blessings that become opportunities for growth in patience and in faith.
And may we find the confidence to believe that though being a disciple is sometimes hard
God is true to God’s promise and will incorporate even our most exhausting struggles and our deepest doubts
into a breathtaking tapestry that will, one day, be revealed.