March 28, 2021
John 12:1-19
Again & Again: We Draw on Courage
Charles Albert Tindley was born in Berlin, MD in 1851. His father was enslaved; his mother was a free person. After the Civil War, he moved to Philadelphia where he and family attended what was then called Bainbridge Street Methodist Episcopal Church and he became the church janitor. From there he discerned a call to ordained ministry and as an itinerant Methodist pastor he served a number of churches in the Philadelphia area before being sent back to Bainbridge Street to pastor there. Starting around 1901, Rev. Tindley also began publishing hymns that he wrote, five of which are in our United Methodist hymnal. I learned these hymns, and this history, during the two years that I lived in Philadelphia and happened to find what is now called Tindley Temple United Methodist Church. I found them with a phone and a GPS; I was looking for a church home near my apartment. Tindley was the only church that answered the phone when I called, so that’s where I went and that’s where I stayed and worshiped for those two years. I had no idea when I first walked in the doors that it was a historic Black church. One of the Tindley hymns that I learned that is not in our hymnal is called “The Storm Is Passing Over”:
“Courage, my soul, and let us journey on,
Tho’ the night is dark it won’t be very long.
Thanks be to God, the morning light appears,
And the storm is passing over, Hallelujah!
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! The storm is passing over, Hallelujah!”
Today is a Palm Sunday for courage. Even more so than previous Palm Sundays. We have been on a journey. The night has been dark and feels long. A year long, to be more precise. Lent has felt short this year, the past 40 days. I think, in part, because we have been in a season of Lent for over 365 days, going on 375 days. We have been in a storm. Verse 2 of the hymn says,
“Billows rolling high, and thunder shakes the ground,
Lightning's flash and tempest all around,
Jesus walks the sea and calms the angry waves,
And the storm is passing over, Hallelujah!”
Jesus has been with us in the midst of this storm and knows about courage for journeying on. He did it when he walked on water in the middle of the storm and he did it on Palm Sunday, facing his journey to the cross. Jesus knew what was coming, and still went through with this parade, anyway. He knew the cross was coming and he had tried to prepare his disciples for it. John’s Gospel tells us, “His disciples did not understand these things at first; but when Jesus was glorified, then they remembered that these things had been written of him and had been done to him.” The disciples understood in hindsight; they understood after the fact. Jesus, however, knew as it was happening. It takes courage to participate in the joy when you know that sadness is coming. It takes courage to hold both emotions at the same time, happy and sad, and to be okay with that.
It always reminds me of a “Dr. Who” TV Christmas special from a few years ago.[1] In this particular episode, Dr. Who travels to World War II London and befriends a family whose dad is away fighting in the war. The mom has just received notice that he was killed in the line of duty, but she does not want to tell her kids yet because she doesn’t want them to associate this memory with Christmas. Dr. Who talks with her about her inner turmoil as to whether or not to tell the kids yet. And he says, “…every time you see them happy, you remember how sad they’re going to be, and it breaks your heart. Because what’s the point in them being happy now if they’re going to be sad later? …The answer is, of course, because they are going to be sad later.” This is the same thing Jesus knows. Happy now. Sad later. Then happy again, because death does not have the last word. It takes courage to celebrate now and at the same time to grieve what’s coming.
“Courage” derives from the Latin word “cor,” which means “heart.” When we consider the full Palm Sunday picture, these are frightful times. So much is happening that is both hopeful and terrifying. Tensions and tears are plentiful. And just as we’re talking about that first Palm Sunday, it feels like we could be talking about today: pandemics, mass shootings, vaccines, looking for hope wherever we can find it, looking for that morning light to appear that signals the end of the storm, the end of the night. Yet through it all, the Word reminds us to “take heart.” Again and again, we take heart amid the drama. The script is unsettling, because Holy Week is supposed to be unsettling, because we have not yet reached “The End.”[2] Because God has the last word, just as God had the first word. The third verse of Tindley’s hymn says,
“The stars have disappeared, and distant lights are dim,
My soul is filled with fears, the seas are breaking in.
I hear the Master cry, "Be not afraid, ’tis I,"
And the storm will soon be over, Hallelujah!”
If you haven’t heard Jesus say, “Be not afraid, ‘tis I,” or, in modern English, “Have courage. It’s me. I’m here. Don’t be afraid,” then my prayer for you this week is that you hear those words. Now, don’t be afraid. Jesus is with you. Usually, you hear those words in the middle of a storm. But take heart. Jesus has overcome the storm and it will be over soon. So, again and again, tell your soul “courage!” and let us journey on. Holy Week has only just begun.
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