Jerusalem is a place that I have yet to visit, though it has long been on the list of places I would like to one day see. I have thought about the city a lot. It figures in the stories of our people in so many different ways. The establishment of Jerusalem as the capital city by King David so long ago was the culmination of generations of dreaming and a symbol that the days of slavery were over. The great temple, built by Solomon, turned out to be a problem for the people. What we thought we wanted - centralization of power and eduction and wealth in one place - became its own form of enslavement to a production-based economy that was not sustainable. The second temple, built after a period of exile and scattering and intermarriage that changed the nature of our people, was somewhat more modest. It never became quite the symbol of power or prominence on the world stage that the first temple had occupied, albeit for a short amount of time.

In a way, Jerusalem, has always been a dream that exceeded the reality. The name, itself, “City of peace,” contains the word Shalom. Shalom is more than just an absence of violence. It is complete well-being and wholeness for all of the people. We have a sense of what that might involve, but it remains beyond the grasp of human society.

One of the reasons I have never been to Jerusalem is that there are too many “schemes” for pastors to travel to that place. I receive regular offers to be a “tour leader” for a “free” trip to Jerusalem, which essentially are offers to become a salesperson for a travel agency where the reward for selling enough trips to members of my congregation is a trip for myself. I don’t see my congregation as a group of people to be exploited for the profit of a travel agency, and I don’t see myself as a salesman who works on commission. I respectfully decline such offers.

In a way, not having visited Jerusalem allows me to mix fantasy with reality. The modern news cycle makes it impossible for me to ignore the reality of Jerusalem, but like those who thought of the yet-to-be-established city as they wandered in the desert so long ago, I can continue to imagine it as a place dedicated to religious faithfulness and the pursuit of peace for all of the people of the world. It might be better to imagine myself walking through the streets and visiting the sites of the Bible story than to find myself on a crowded tour bus with the crush of crowds preventing me from seeing the things I came to view.

I guess that I have imagined Jerusalem for much of my life. Although going to church has been part of my Palm Sunday routine since i was an infant, I don’t have memory of too many early Palm Sundays. I guess that I was in Sunday School before the story of Jesus and the triumphal entry into Jerusalem began to seep into my consciousness and become one of those stories we always tell.

I’m pretty sure that our way of thinking about Jesus coming into the city is a mixture of fantasy and reality, just as my image of the city is a mixed-up combination of perceptions. Somehow I suspect that it wasn’t a parade with thousands of spectators, but a more modest procession with a handful of disciples and a crowd of curious onlookers who thought they might have a chance to witness a miraculous healing or perhaps even an encounter between Jesus and the religious authorities. If the latter was their hope, they didn’t have long to wait, but the day that Jesus came into Jerusalem on his las visit was not particularly marked by conflict. Luke’s gospel reports an interchange between a temple authority worried about the noise of the crowd and Jesus’ answer, “I tell you that, if these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out.” Some emotions cannot be repressed. Some expressions of faith are beyond human control.

Jesus’ arrival on a donkey colt is a clear indication of the nature of the parade. He didn’t answer power with power. He didn’t come into the city, which was occupied by Roman legionnaires and had a Roman occupational government riding a white stallion as would be the case for a high-ranking Roman official. I grew up with donkeys in our pasture. A donkey colt isn’t big enough to carry a grown man and it is barely tall enough to keep your feet from dragging. The colt would have tired out before Jesus got a quarter of a mile. If the animal was more mature and more adult-sized, the ride is hardly luxury conveyance. There are a few steep trails, like those descending into the Grand Canyon, where riding a donkey can be a bit easier than walking, but those are the exception. On a city street, it is probably easier to walk than to ride a donkey. There is a kind of statement in that mode of conveyance. Perhaps Jesus, who had a pretty good sense of what was coming, had mixed feelings about this particular trip to Jerusalem.

The city and the temple are a disappointment to Jesus. The money-changers, the lack of understanding of the core values of the covenant, the seeking of comfort instead of justice are all features against which he is compelled to preach. The fickleness of the crowds and the desertion of even his closest friends must have been a painful pill to swallow.

Were I to visit Jerusalem, I think that the bit of the wall that remains from the temple would be interesting enough to visit, but it wouldn’t be the heart of my pilgrimage. What attracts me is the Garden of Gethsemane. That was the place of Jesus’ deep communication with God. It is a place worthy of a visit for a spiritual pilgrim.

I shall go there in my imagination this week.

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