Matthew 21, 1-9

The Nature of Hope
Sermon for the 1st Advent (December 1, 2002)

Text: Matthew 21, 1-9
When they had approached Jerusalem and had come to Bethphage, at the Mount
of Olives, then Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, „Go into
the village opposite you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied
there and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to Me. „If anyone
says anything to you, you shall say, ‚The Lord has need of them,‘ and
immediately he will send them.“

This took place to fulfill what was spoken through the prophet: „SAY
TO THE DAUGHTER OF ZION, ‚BEHOLD YOUR KING IS COMING TO YOU, GENTLE, AND
MOUNTED ON A DONKEY, EVEN ON A COLT, THE FOAL OF A BEAST OF BURDEN.'“

The disciples went and did just as Jesus had instructed them, and brought
the donkey and the colt, and laid their coats on them; and He sat on the
coats.

Most of the crowd spread their coats in the road, and others were cutting
branches from the trees and spreading them in the road.

The crowds going ahead of Him, and those who followed, were shouting,
„Hosanna to the Son of David; BLESSED IS HE WHO COMES IN THE NAME
OF THE LORD; Hosanna in the highest!“

Dear parishioners!
We have been waiting for such a long time! Through the sad November, through
recessions and records of insolvencies, through the „Pisa shock“-and
all that in a time of economic depression and various other depressions.
And now that the first candel of the advent wreath is lit we hope. In
the declining daylight, this warm and comforting light tells us how new
life will spring in this forgotten place. But that’s another story.
These days are about hope. This is no simple thing. Hope has in part to
do with promises that lie ahead. This makes hope a delicate thing. Indeed,
so much has been said in the last fall about a new spring conjuncture.
But flourishing hope can quickly turn into to burning anger-this is also
one aspect of our sermon.
It is worth questioning whether hope has to do only with promises lying
in the future. To a certain extend, it is probably true. People who arouse
hope will at some point have to make them true.
The story of our sermon is about this. Jesus marches in Jerusalem for
the jubilating crowd. However, we witness a dramatic shift in the second
part of the story. The mood of the masses has a complicated structure.
In the end, we read about the cross on which the once welcome guest will
soon be crucified to. But, that too is another story.

However, a question remains: will the time we spend waiting and hoping
be robbed of its value through the possible turn of events? If the answer
is to be „no,“ we will have to find some reasons.

In the fall of 1989 a few people, then a few hundreds, and finally a
huge crowd of people fled to the ambassy of the Federal Republic of Germany
in Prague. The hope and expectations they had when leaving the GDR were
probably different and manifold. Why should we put barriers to our hopes
if we want to blow up borders?
At that time, Hans Dietrich Genscher, the then foreign minister, came
to the Czech capital. He wanted to inform the public on the stand of the
diplomatic negotiations. In the evening of September 30, he stepped on
the balcony of the Lobkovicz palace. People remained quiet as he began
to speak: „I came today“, he said, „to tell you“-complete
silence-„that your departure has today been…“. He could not
finish his sentence. The people waiting had understood. They didn’t need
any more information. For this one moment there were no more borders.
We can meanwhile get the pictures of the following days and weeks at the
Goethe-Institut or on Spiegel-TV. We can see the special trains, which
brought people from Prague to the West via Dresden; we see tears, tears
of joy, hands greeting from packed trains.
All this was thirteen years ago. Those who then left the GDR and the Czech
capital have long reached their destination. Have they reached the destination
they had hoped for? Who knows?
One thing is sure, they arrived somewhere. Through sad November days,
insolvencies, economic depression and various other depressions, they
are also somehow still on the way.
A monument dedicated to the desire for freedom was errected in the garden
of the Lobkovicz palace. The Czech artist David Cerny placed a Trabi on
stilts. The monument stands there as a reminder that fences can be climbed
over and gates opened.
A board play entitled „escape into the German ambassy in Prague“
was also placed on the marketplace. The pieces are made of small plastic
trabis. With the help of those pieces, the players must overcome the traps
placed by the policemen and cross the borders. Instead of the usual „six,“
the players can see Genscher’s face on the dice. The face enables to get
directly to the last square named „freedom.“
We cannot deny that hope doesn’t always matches reality. But that’s another
story. However, I would categorically deny that the moments in which there
were no more borders have no more value.
The text of our sermon tells the story of the moment when there are no
more borders, nothing but the moment when all the stories end. But it
also tells about the moment when hope becomes true. The Prophet Zacharia
proclaimed „Daughter of Zion, be rejoice!“ The essence of this
hope was exposed to all possible objections for over five hundred years.
This moment when border disappear comes with the entry of Jesus in Jerusalem.
He is there.
The story of the nativity which takes place in what seems to be a forgotten
place is announced in the verses of the advent. Although this is not today’s
story, it shares something with the one that concerns us today. From his
entry in Jerusalem Jesus eventually reaches Golgatha. Although this is
not today’s story, today’s story leads to this one.
Where stories continue, they lead to sad November days, economic depression
and various other depressions. All this becomes real in one moment, in
the moment of hope. At the same time, this moment is beyond the outcome
of the story. We thus believe that the story cannot end in Golgatha.

Johann Sebastian Bach expressed this in the choral music of his Christmas
oratorio. He set the beginning with drums and trumpets. The music that
accompanied the entry of Jesus in Jerusalem must have sound liked that.
Bach’s choir then sing: “ how shall I receive thee“–not in
a triumphal way, but on the melody of „“O Sacred Head, Now Wounded.“
There are many stories that have to do with the text of our sermon: the
story of the nativity and the story of the Passion. And it leads us-just
as people’s stories do-to sadness and pain. But in the end it would be
wrong to remain silent about the warm, conforting light of the advent
that brighten up all other stories so well.

Therefore: Fling wide the portals of your heart / make it a temple, set
apart / from earthly use for heaven’s employ / adorned with prayer and
love and joy.

Amen

Ulrich Braun
Pastor in Göttingen-Nikolausberg
eMail: ulrich.braun@nikolausberg.de

Translated by
Prof. Dr. Barbara Thériault
barbara.theriault@epost.de