Commandeered--March 24, 2021

Commandeered--March 24, 2021

When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples and said to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. If anyone says to you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.’” They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. As they were untying it, some of the bystanders said to them, “What are you doing, untying the colt?” They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it. [Mark 11:1-6]

Be careful. This story is more dangerous to read than it first appears.

Chances are, we all know the story of Palm Sunday—the triumphal entry into Jerusalem that Jesus made a week before the crucifixion, where the crowds waved palm branches in the air as Jesus rode into the city on a colt. And whether or not familiarity breeds contempt, it surely has a way of breeding numbness. If you have heard this story every year in the spring for all your life, you may have developed the ability to let the words go in one ear and out the other.

Or, just as detrimental, we may have developed the reflex-like response of, “But this story doesn’t have anything to do with me…” And of course, in some sense, that is true. At least, this story does not give you the right to steal other people’s things and get away with it if you offer the excuse, “The Lord needs it.” Fair enough—that part of the story does not give you and me license to take things that belong to others and put a religious justification on it. In that sense, it’s not about me. Or you.

Trouble is, we Christians who have heard this story before can start tuning the story out then because of its familiarity. We know that these verses don’t give us the right to go stealing people’s stuff, so as a result, we might just stop listening to these verses altogether. Or maybe we think they are just a record of something that happened a long time ago in a story we remember from flannelboard Sunday School lessons from childhood. We try and hamstring the power of these verses, hiding behind the fact that we have heard them before and know that they don’t give us permission to commit larceny in the name of Jesus.

But what if we don’t see ourselves as the disciples sent to borrow a colt, but as the owners of the colt who let it be taken? Could we dare to hear these verses as a reminder that Jesus has the right to commandeer our lives, our time, our possessions, and our best-laid plans?

In the movies, detectives on the police force or agents for the FBI and CIA are allowed to take possession of someone’s vehicle if they are chasing the bad guy. They are commandeering your vehicle, and they are allowed to do so because they are authorized to do so. They have the authority to do things like that—or at least they do in the movies and on TV—because our society recognizes the police, FBI, etc., as people who have a responsibility and power to defend the peace. They are permitted, then, to make a claim on your “stuff”—at least your car—in the pursuit of stopping a dangerous suspect, preserving justice, or protecting the innocent. So, at least in theory, you would let detectives on the police force commandeer your car because you recognize that they have the authority to claim it for their purposes for the moment.

Hmmm… I wonder if we really could dare to think of Jesus in the same way. If Jesus stepped up to you and said, “I need your time…” would you let him commandeer it? If Jesus called you up and said, “I have a claim on your money,” would you recognize it? If Jesus appeared in your life and said, “I am going to use your life…” could you acknowledge his authority to do it?

Now, change all of those “ifs” in that last paragraph to “when.” Because he does come into our lives, and he does assert a claim on our priorities, our time, our resources, and our energy. If we are going to be people who recognize Jesus as Lord of our lives, that means recognizing he has the authority to commandeer the car and steer us in his direction, even if we cannot see where we are going, what our destination will be, or how the trip will go along the way. Dare we let him get behind the driver’s seat?

Well, all of a sudden, this scene from Mark has gotten a lot more risky to read. If we take it seriously, we cannot hear it just as a quaint story that happened to other people about a fun little parade with some palm branches. We will recognize that Jesus has a way of regularly showing up in our lives and making a claim on our time, our talents, and our treasures? Will we recognize Jesus authority in our lives? And can we let ourselves hear a voice say to you and me, “The Lord has need of… you!”?

Lord Jesus, we name you as you are: our Lord—we offer ourselves to you as well as we know how. Come into our midst and use us as you will.