Hymn of the Week: March 22, 2024
Tell Me the Stories of Jesus
Text: William H. Parker 1885
Tell me the stories of Jesus
I love to hear;
Things I would ask him to tell me
If He were here:
Scenes by the wayside,
Tales of the sea,
Stories of Jesus,
Tell them to me.
First let me hear how the children
Stood round his knee,
And I shall fancy his blessing
Resting on me;
Words full of kindness,
Deeds full of grace,
All in the love-light
Of Jesus' face.
Into the city I'd follow
The children's band,
Waving a branch of the palm tree
High in my hand;
One of his heralds,
Yes, I would sing
Loudest hosannas,
"Jesus is King!"
The Stories of Jesus
Our uncertainty about what to do with Palm Sunday mirrors the confusion of the eyewitnesses when Jesus rode the donkey into Jerusalem. We make it cute and cheerful, with children waving palm leaves as we sing chipper songs like “Tell Me the Stories of Jesus.”
The crowd back then was seized with joy and excitement, apparently not understanding who Jesus was, all he was about, why he was coming into Jerusalem in this way, or the ominous fate that awaited him. The rock opera Jesus Christ, Superstar captures this paradox. The frenzied crowd sings “Hey, J.C., J.C., won’t you smile at me?” and then “Won’t you fight for me?” and then “Won’t you die for me?” while Caiaphas begins his plot to silence them and J.C.
We earnestly ask, “Tell me the Stories of Jesus” – the stories that Jesus told and the stories that were told about him. He was a spellbinding storyteller. But the stories of Jesus are so much more than mere entertainment. Clarence Jordan compared Jesus’ parables to the Trojan horse. It looks good. You let it in and then – Bam!
Why was anyone shocked when Jesus stormed back into Jerusalem the day after Palm Sunday and upset the order of the temple? The stories Jesus told should have prepared everyone for this; upsetting order is exactly what they do. A Samaritan is the hero and the holy people are hard-hearted. A farmer is eager to waste seed. A party is thrown for a ne’er-do-well son who squandered his father’s hard-earned living. Day laborers who worked one hour were paid the same as those who toiled all day. He blessed the meek and narrated how to love your enemies. He disrespected Herod, Caesar, and the high priests.
Tell me the stories about Jesus. In a contest with the devil, he didn’t assume power. He touched the untouchables and hung out with unclean and despised, including nasty tax collectors and tawdry prostitutes. He defended his friends when they had blatantly violated the sabbath. He spoke words of woe on the nice, pious people. His table manners were atrocious; he upbraided his hosts for inviting the wrong people and he let a woman of questionable reputation give his feet an oil massage. He claimed that he was literally God come down to earth. What could be more laughable, offensive, and downright dangerous? He even disrespected his mother.
“Tell Me the Stories of Jesus I love to hear.” I do love them, but they make my head spin, and I begin to understand why the authorities were lying in wait for him, why their dragnet was beginning to close, and why they could not let him continue. The Pharisees with unwitting irony, huddled up and declared, “If we let him go on thus, everyone will believe in him.” Caiaphas chimed in, “It is expedient for you that one man should die for the people, and that the whole nation should not perish” (John 11:48-50, RSV).
Knowing that bloodthirsty men were waiting to attack him in the city, Jesus left the relative safety of the Mount of Olives, descending right past a garden called Gethsemane where he would return to pray (and get himself arrested) just four days later. He passed through the Kidron Valley and then up the hill into the teeth of violent men who hated him. What courage he had.
This seems like a moment that children should be shielded from. And yet, maybe the children were the ones who got it, or at least knew that he was the One. He had always welcomed them, in an era when children were supposed to stay quiet and out of sight. He had always said you have to become like them if you’re going to be deployed in God’s kingdom. So “into the city, I’d follow the children’s band.” We follow the lead, always. At my church, the kids love handing out the palm leaves. They wave them with joy and gusto, while the grown-ups clutch theirs and wave them tentatively, if at all.
What does Hosanna mean? We think of it as a churchy way of saying “Yay!” But the Hebrew is more desperate; it means “Save us!” or “Lord, help!” It is fascinating that a single word can imply both a dark cry for a miracle and also an expression of joy. Is it in anticipation of the joy that will come when the help has arrived? Is it a dream, even a lovely declaration of certain hope? The one who elicited those shouts - then and now – has a similar name, Jesus, yeshu’a, means “Lord, help!” God in Jesus became one with the cry of humanity through the ages for divine aid. He is that cry, and he is the answer to that cry. So, from the depths of our being, having heard the stories of Jesus, we cry, “Hosanna! Jesus! Hosanna!” He answered on Good Friday!
Hear a lovely elegant rendering of this old hymn from the Mormon Tabernacle Choir
