History is full of marches. Marches for rights. Marches in protest. Some marches have culminated in victory and freedom. Some have disintegrated in violence and oppression. But underlying them all is a pressing need, a problem so deeply felt that it propels limbs and souls into motion.
Sunday morning I awoke with a similar urgency. A march had been organized in our town that I just had to be a part of. Unlike most political or social marches, this one included a large number of children, and the banners we carried were a bit unconventional. As we marched down the old, sleepy streets of St. Andrews, we sang our slogans rather than shout them. But our message was no less pointed.
“We have a King…”
May God arise, may his enemies be scattered; may his foes flee before him…. But may the righteous be glad and rejoice before God; may they be happy and joyful.
What at face value must have looked like an odd assortment of Sunday-school children and their overly enthusiastic chaperones was really a continuation of the longest running march in the world. In a way, this march goes back as far as human oppression has been present on our earth. It represents the long trains of sufferers who, for whatever reason, have felt their need for a deliverer and have cried out to God to send one.
Sing to God, sing praise to his name, extol him who rides on the clouds… A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families, he leads forth the prisoners with singing; but the rebellious live in a sun-scorched land. When you went out before your people, O God, when you marched through the wasteland, … You gave abundant showers, O God; you refreshed your weary inheritance. Your people settled in it, and from your bounty, O God, you provided for the poor.
The children of Israel participated in this march as they left Egypt. Shuffling along in slave rags with their few earthly possessions in tow, their company hardly had the feel of a triumphal procession. And yet its strength lay in the One riding the clouds at the front of their line. He would lead them right through the midst of raging oppressors and surging seas, tenderly providing for their needs and safely guiding them to a safe haven they could call their own.
…the Lord [has come] from Sinai into his sanctuary. When you ascended on high, you led captives in your train; you received gifts from men, even from the rebellious– that you, O LORD God, might dwell there. Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens.
Generations later, their descendants would find themselves straggling along on a similar march. Once again the subjects of political abuse and international displacement, they would trickle out of exile in Babylon and limp towards home in Zion. But what had become of their king? Who would defend them from greedy power pariahs and opportunistic land sharks? Who would organize their economy, oversee their defense, and ensure their rights? Even with Nehemiah’s wall and Zerubbabel’s temple, they needed a king.
Your procession has come into view, O God, the procession of my God and King into the sanctuary…. There is the little tribe of Benjamin, leading them, there the great throng of Judah’s princes, and there the princes of Zebulun and of Naphtali. Summon your power, O God; show us your strength, O God, as you have done before…. Sing to God, O kingdoms of the earth, sing praise to the Lord, to him who rides the ancient skies above, who thunders with mighty voice.
Psalm 68:24, 27-29, 32-33
So centuries later when a rag-tag group of beggars, cripples, and kids started picking up palm branches and laying down clothes, an age-old need was finally being filled. Their impromptu march was a culmination of the ages, a fulfillment of what generations of oppression-weary souls had been sighing for. Finally, the King had come. Only this time He came riding a donkey instead of clouds, wrapped in homespun rather than light, and heralded by children rather than angels.
Jesus entered the temple area and drove out all who were buying and selling there. … “It is written,” he said to them, ” ‘My house will be called a house of prayer,’ but you are making it a ‘den of robbers.’ ” The blind and the lame came to him at the temple, and he healed them.
But this King’s gentle, approachable appearance in no way belied His power to accomplish what His people needed of Him. Jesus took immediate action in responding to their “Hosannas” by scattering their oppressors and gathering the weak. With the money barons cleared out and the broken-bodied brought in to the temple, He set to work doing the job of a Liberator: making wrong things right.
Of course we know where that landed Him. But in the grand scheme of things, Jesus’ death on the cross was a blip on the screen, a seeming setback that ultimately cinched His victory over all the powers that oppress His people. Sickness and spirits, sin and shame, tears and tyrants would all be put to flight under His reign of righteousness and peace. And this reign is still in the process of expanding out to the four corners of the earth through the ongoing march of God’s people.
Jesus’ reign is expanding to the four corners of the earth through the ongoing march of His people.
This is the victory procession I got to be a part of enacting in my little town this past Sunday morning. I marched for my brother whose heart is broken with grief. I marched for my sister whose body is broken with cancer. I marched for people in the Middle East and Nigeria who are oppressed by evil terrorist regimes. I marched for others around the world who are tormented by evil spiritual forces.
But unlike most emotionally-charged demonstrations, our march was marked with gentleness, not anger; with celebration, not fear. We walked through the streets of our town singing of the reign of our loving, liberating King. We proclaimed Him as the solution to our problems in this time and place just as He has been through all of history.
“We have a King who rides a donkey, and His name is Jesus.”