Palm Sunday Sermon, March 23, 1997

 By the Reverend J. Clifford Davis, Jr.

 It was a large auditorium, and it was nearly filled.  People were coming in and going out.  Some looked upbeat, and others looked rather downcast.  They were trying to find seats, but it was a dimly-lit auditorium.  Everyone carried a pack on their back.  Some of these backpacks were small, and some were large.  They all hung . . . gripped on people’s backs.  And the people would sit in the chairs in this auditorium and shift back and forth because these backpacks were so uncomfortable.  They just couldn’t get comfortable with these backpacks on.  But they couldn’t get them off.  In fact, that seemed to be why they were there.  They were there to hear the message, which they had been told would help them ease the burden of those backpacks.

 The message that day was titled:  101 Meanings of the Crucifixion.  The people in the auditorium wanted meaning in their life.  They hoped there was some meaning to the Crucifixion.  They thought, and they murmured, “One of those 101 meanings must apply to me somewhere.”

 The speaker on the platform at the front of the auditorium was listing the meanings, and I don’t know that he meant to, but it seemed as if he just droned on and on.  “Meaning No. 17 is:  the Crucifixion helps us to see that love sometimes drives people to make a sacrifice for others.”  The people in the auditorium were trying to listen.  They wanted meaning in life.  But those backpacks made it so uncomfortable. They just couldn’t get comfortable.

 At about this time a man appeared in a corner up front.  He was silhouetted by a light.  It wasn’t the spotlight because the spotlight was shining on the speaker.  It was a different kind of light that shone on this man.  The man seemed to be going to all of the people sitting in the auditorium.  He would go up to them and say, “Would you let me take care of that backpack for you?”

 Some of the people shook their heads, “No.”  Others were more polite, and they said, “No.  I think the lecturer will help me.  I think after the lecture I’ll find one meaning in life.  I’ll find something to do with my backpack.”  Others asked, “Well, why would you want to take my backpack?”  Some people gave him their backpacks.  They did so kind of reservedly, but they gave him their backpacks.  And others said, “Please take it from me.”  They were so uncomfortable.

 The man took each backpack.  They were awkward.  There were strings attached which made them clumsy.  Still he would strap them on his belt, around his waist, over his arm.  He even attached more to those he had strapped on already.  He had all of these clumsy backpacks with all those strings attached to them, and when he had as much as he could carry, he’d walk to the back of the auditorium and out the door.

 Those sitting there could hear a ker-plunk when he dropped all the backpacks.  There was some kind of construction noise going on out there.  Something was being built, but nobody knew what.  And then he’d come back through the door and go back to collecting more backpacks.

 The speaker wasn’t really bothered at first, but as this went on, he began to get irritated.  He called Security.  Security came and ushered the man out.  But he wasn’t out very long before he came back in and started anew collecting backpacks.  Some people were very protective of their backpacks.  One lady grabbed her backpack, swung it around to her chest, clutched it, got up and ran out the door shouting, “No! No, I can’t let it go.  It hurts too deeply.  I’ll never forgive him.”  And away she went.  Several gave their backpacks to him, “Yes, go ahead and take it.”  But when he started taking it away from them, they reached up and grabbed it back to themselves.  Some of them even played mean tricks on him.  One man gave him the backpack, “Sure, go ahead and take it,” he said.  His strings were heavy, and they were long.  The man taking the backpacks already had a full load by this time, and he just added this backpack on to his wrist and started to walk up the stairs.  As he was going up the stairs toward the back of the auditorium, the man stood up, grabbed hold of those strings that seemed to come out of his vest pocket, or maybe deeper than that . . . he grabbed hold of those strings and gave a vicious yank backwards.  And the man holding all those backpacks came tumbling head over heels.  Backpacks flew all over the place.  People got up, and they laughed and jeered and pointed at the man . . . people who wouldn’t give him their backpacks.  One man even picked up a backpack and kicked it in the air.  It landed on the stage next to the speaker.

 The speaker at this time was just finishing with Point No. 38:  “Meaning No. 38,” he said, “The Crucifixion teaches us we live in an unjust world where the innocent are sometimes punished right along next to the guilty.  The good man Jesus in between two thieves.”  The backpack landed there, and he called Security again.

 This time as Security ushered the man out, it was quite noticeable that the auditorium attendance was shrinking.  Those who had given him their backpacks had begun to lose interest in the lecture.  They began to lose interest in the speaker’s message.  Some got up and wandered about the auditorium.  Others huddled together in the corners and talked quietly. Some of those who had given up their backpacks stayed with those who hadn’t:  their lovers, friends or family members.  They stayed with them, but they weren’t interested in what the speaker had to say any more.  But most of those who had given away their backpacks left the auditorium.  And the look on their faces showed that they had a new meaning in life.  That they had finally found purpose.  You could hear them talking. One woman said to the man with her, “I always thought I had to learn more to be free of that backpack.  I never realized I could just give it away.”  Another man walked by with tears rolling down his cheeks, and he was sobbing with smiles of joy on his face.  He said, “I feel so real.  I feel so free, so alive.  All that backpack did was make me uncomfortable.  Sometimes it outright hurt.  I tried to pull it off.  I’ve tried to cut it off.  I’ve tried to get rid of it.  I’ve tried therapy.  I’ve tried medication.  But he took it so easily and with all those strings too.  I’m a new man!”

 Soon the backpack collector was back.  But this time he wasn’t just somewhere in the auditorium.  He stood right in front of me.  Yes, I was there too.  I was in that auditorium that day.  I was looking for relief from my backpack.  It was so uncomfortable, wasn’t it?  I know some of you were there, too.  I saw you.  Wasn’t it you I saw walk by leaning on the person next to you, sobbing for joy and saying something about being clean inside now that all that heavy stuff in your backpack was taken away?  And wasn’t it you who I heard tell the person behind you that you were sure God could never love you because you’ve been such a bad person all your life, and your backpack was full of all the reasons that God could never love you?  But now you felt God’s love.  And wasn’t it you who was whispering to yourself as you walked by me that you now could forgive that person who had hurt you so deeply because your backpack was gone, and you felt able to forgive?  And wasn’t it you . . . or was it you . . . who looked toward heaven and said, “Thank you . . . thank you.  Thank you for setting me free.  I just want to live for you now.  Use me if you can in any way you can.” I saw you there.  I know the feeling.

 There he stood in front of me.  In the background at first I could hear the lecturer.  “Reason No. 52 is that the Romans used crucifixion as a means of intimidating their occupied subjects into subservience.”  But soon, as I looked into the man’s face, the speaker’s voice faded.  Everything faded.  I saw this man up close.  His face was streaked with sweat and backpack dust.  I never knew how dirty those backpacks were for him. He looked tired but eager to carry away all those packs.  Eager to carry away my pack.  For the first time I could make out the peculiar hat he had on.  It was a woven vine with barbs in it.  Some had pierced his head, and blood trickled down and with the sweat and dust mixed and caked in his hair.  When my eyes met his, I felt sick inside at first, like I’d just been caught in the act of committing a big crime.  And I felt my backpack squirm and squirm.  Didn’t it?  Didn’t yours squirm too?  That uncomfortable backpack . . . it wanted to get away from this man.  It tried to hide further down.  It wanted to go deep down inside of me.  But I soon realized that there was no place for this backpack to hide.

 It took just a moment for him to look deep down inside of me, deep inside of that backpack.  He saw everything that was in it.  He saw my anger at the world.  He saw my frustration with how my life was going.  He saw my hatred toward other people.  He saw my memories of people I had hurt.  He even brought up a few that I had forgotten.  He saw the broken promises I’d made.  He saw the promises I made toward God in my youth, and he saw now how distant I was from God . . . how far away from God I felt.  Here were my distorted values.  He saw my life’s ambitions.  My life’s ambitions were in that backpack.  Everything I wanted to be in life he saw.  And he looked at all that that backpack held.  And he looked at the strings that went from it to my heart.  How it defined who I was.  How it gave me all the meaning I had in life.  As uncomfortable as it was, it was all I had to let others know who I was.  And he looked at it, and he looked at me. And as the sweat continued to drip, and the blood and dust continued to cake on his face, he said to me, “Would you let me take care of that backpack for you?”

 I want you to know that everything inside of that backpack screamed, “No, don’t let us go.  You need us to define who you are!”  And in my head there was a swirling feeling.  Much of my reasoning was saying, “No.  Don’t give up your backpack.  You’ll have to begin life all over again.  You’ll have to build yourself anew. Think of it.  There’s too much to give up.  You spent years becoming who you are.  It will all work out eventually.  Do it on your own.  Don’t change horses in mid-stream.  Don’t go off and give up all your life has come to be.”  And though these voices within me tugged and tugged and were loud and forceful, “Do not give him my backpack.”  Still I heard my mouth say, “Yes.  Please take it from me for it is so uncomfortable.”

 As he reached around and grabbed hold and pulled it away from me, I felt those strings begin to snap.  They snapped from deep inside my heart.  Each one gave a feeling of pain, and yet some kind of freedom at the same time.  As he strapped my backpack on to his arm, he moved on.  I got up to follow him.  He led me outside to a big pile of backpacks that he had collected.  There was a large base supporting a cross that was also made out of backpacks.  He had put the last few packs on the top of the cross.  I could see mine, right near the top.  Man, it was the ugliest of them all.  Once he put all those backpacks up there, he called Security.  Security came, and they nailed him to that cross.

 And as the hearts of all the people gathered ‘round there pounded with the pain - his pain - the pain of seeing him nailed to that cross . . . he died.  Blood dripped from his outstretched arms, his outstretched hands, his feet, and the wounds on his head.  And each time a drop of blood fell on one of those packs, it would sizzle, and then it would shake a little bit, and then just melt away.  One by one, those packs vanished as each one was splashed with a drop of his blood.

 I saw the look in your eyes when your backpack melted away.  You said, “I’m free!  Hallelujah! I’m free!”

 As he bled and died, each backpack melted away.  Finally there were none left.  And yet he hung there.  No packs were holding him up.  He just hung there suspended in mid-air.  One of the Security guys came along and asked, “There’s nothing holding him up, what’s holding him up there?”  And all of us standing around there together looked at him and said, “Love.”  And taking off his Security jacket, he revealed that he had a pack of his own clinging to his back. He said, “Do you think that there is still time for me?  Do you think that it’s too late?  Could he wash away my pack as well?  It is so uncomfortable.”  And we all looked at him and said, “Go and let his blood drip upon it.”  And as that Security guard stood under that outstretched hand, and the blood from that man hanging on that cross dripped onto his pack, it sizzled and shook, and then it melted away.  With tears of joy in his eyes, he turned and looked at us all and said, “Look!  It’s gone!”  And then he turned and looked at the man hanging on the cross and said, “He died for me.”  And then we all said, “Amen.  He died for me.”

 And there’s more good news. I know some of you were there that day.  But some of you maybe did not have a chance to stand under the outstretched arms of the man on that cross and let the blood drip on your backpack.  That cross of love is still there.  It’s not too late.  You can stand there now.  The blood is still available to wash the “backpack” of sin out of your life.  Isn’t it uncomfortable?  Don’t you want to be free from it?  What’s in your backpack anyway?  Is there unforgiveness toward someone?  Is there fear in there?  Anxiety about what’s going on in your life?  Uncertainty about what the future holds?  Are there haunting memories for you in that backpack of bad things people have done to you in your past?  Is there hatred in that backpack?  Is there frustration with life in there?  Is there a feeling of distance between you and God?  You want to be close to God, and you just don’t know how?  Is that in the backpack too?  Maybe you feel God can’t love you as bad as you’ve been.   But he can, and he does.  Maybe your life’s ambitions are in that backpack.  They’re all there packed together in that backpack. It doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t matter what’s in that pack.  If you want to stand under the outstretched arm of Jesus and let his blood wash away your sins, then you come.  You come and meet him right down here this morning.  Just get up and come.  Your backpack may be screaming, “No.  No . . . don’t give me up.”  And your reasoning may be saying, “You can do it yourself.”  And your pride is certainly saying, “What?  go up front with all these people watching?”  But your heart is ready.  Your heart is ready to be free from the discomfort of that pack.  It’s held you in bondage for so long.  So you get up.  Come down front, and we’ll pray together as you say “yes” to Jesus.  Maybe you never have made a public confession before.  It’s time to do it now.  Maybe you’ve made a public confession before, and now you realize, “I’ve taken that pack back, and I’ve loaded it up, Lord, with many more sins.  I want to give it to you, Jesus.”  Come on.   Come on down front under the outstretched hands of Jesus, and let his blood splash away your sins and wash you clean.