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A young man entered the theater and announced something was wrong with the equipment and they may or may not be able to fix it in time for the end of the movie. He apologized and, in an interesting turn confessed, "I know this is a special weekend and that makes this harder to accept. We really are DEEPLY sorry. We'll keep trying."
Was I a bit miffed? You bet. Was I already formulating my argument with the theater manager for future passes? Why, certainly!
As it turns out we, the audience, watched the final 15 minutes of the season finale we had all been building to for 7 ¾ episodes in complete silence. We were being cheated out critical dialogue and the disappointment in me was growing.
Jesus was given his donkey, and He placed the antique bit in the beast’s mouth Himself. He lay a blanket over its back and then he climbed aboard the animal and surveyed the sloping, downward trail ahead—the entrance to Jerusalem.
Meantime, natives in the marketplace below hearing of their promised King’s impending arrival were buying and selling palm fronds to wave in exaltation when He would arrive. The excitement was palpable. And we in the audience were following the action, if not the dialogue, as best we could.
Jesus, prodded the donkey, and began the long, slow descent into Jerusalem. Gentle fade to black.
The movie crowd began filing out. They were unusually quiet. Then the young man spoke up, again sounding nervous and as sorry as one could be. He announced to us the sound had been beyond the theater’s current ability to fix and that they would be issuing passes for us to come see The Chosen or another feature of our choosing. Darned right! I guess my concerns to management made their telepathic point!
The young man reiterated his sincere apology to each person individually. I think he’d been through equipment malfunctions like this before and was afraid we were going to tear him limb from limb. Sally took two passes from him, and I took a moment to shake his hand and tell him we understood that this mishap wasn’t his fault. "Stuff happens," I philosophised. He seemed genuinely relieved.
It wasn’t until we were outside, meeting the balance of the afternoon, that I realize something important. And maybe even profound.
“You know,” I mused to Sally, “I didn’t hear one peep of anger in there. There were maybe 150 people and nobody swore. Nobody yelled. Nobody mocked the poor kid who made the announcement. We just accepted the sad truth and employed our best detective and lipreading skills to follow the scenes as best we could."
I could only imagine the year being 1977 and the sound failing for the last 15 minutes on Opening Day of Star Wars. Or today for the final scenes of the latest Marvel blockbuster. I have no doubt there would have been riots.
Instead, the 150 or so present were kind to each other and understanding to the kid handing out the passes. And isn’t that how Jesus would have wanted us to react? As a group, I believe with most of us being followers of Christ, we chose to respond in a way that was antithetical to a learned sense of entitlement.
We chose love. Against our self-centered natures—we chose love. As a group, without complaint or thought of retribution, we chose instead to follow our Savior down the dusty road He had once traveled and into the Jerusalem of our fathers. Tomorrow would be Resurrection Sunday.
And He would be risen indeed!
“We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making His appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: Be reconciled to God.” –2 Corinthians 5:20
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