"Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him,"Teacher, order your disciples to stop." He answered, "I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out." Luke 19:39-40

 In Christian churches around the world, this Sunday is Palm Sunday, the last Sunday of Lent and the one before the celebration of Easter. It marks Jesus' entry into Jerusalem and the spiraling events that we have come to call Holy Week. In most churches it is a fairly joyous Sunday. There are processions of palm fronds being waved by children and more upbeat hymns than the minor keyed ones of the Lenten season. At our church we often find it is a Sunday with higher attendance as families bring children to be part of this palm waving procession. Personally, I am never sure if it is the palm waving that brings people or the ever increasing temperatures outside that simply make it easier to get small children up and out the door at an early hour. Whatever the cause, it makes for a rich and joyous Sunday.

The scripture that will be read is always the same story: Jesus friends are told to go find a donkey that has never been ridden before and tell the owner that their teacher needs it. For some reason, in the scriptures, there is not an argument with the owner, he just hands it over. Then Jesus begins this journey into Jerusalem where his ministry becomes very public, very quickly. As he becomes a part of a parade in which he is recognized as the one who has done miracles, who has healed the sick and welcomed the marginalized, excitement(and trouble) brews. The Pharisees warn the disciples to keep it down, to curb their enthusiasm. And then comes one of my favorite, somewhat obscure statements attributed to Jesus: "I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out." 

Shouting stones. The idea gives a person pause, doesn't it? I love the idea that if the human ones kept quiet about the movement of God in their lives, the stones would use their voices to speak. What might the voice of a stone sound like? To be honest, I think I've actually heard them. When I walk the beaches of the North Shore of Lake Superior, there are times when those flat black stones seem to speak to me of the awe and wonder of the magnificence around me. If I am too busy or too tightly wound with the stresses of my small life to notice, those stones will click together under my feet saying, "Wake up! Look around you! You are not the center of the Universe!" 

I would venture a guess that there are places in the world where the stones are shouting out their pain at the ways of war, of human greed and wanton killing. I would also bet there are places where the stones are speaking gentleness to soothe the tears of those who are lost in some personal wilderness, much like the heated stones my massage therapist uses to calm the tense muscles in my back. And then there are the stones piled into cairns, small monuments stacked with care by human hands, to mark places where a holy moment has happened and the human voice has no words to name the sacredness. These little altars can be found along highways, walking paths and on mountain tops. Those stones continue to speak to a time of holiness not gone unnoticed.

This scripture also speaks to me of an earthy, earthly Jesus connected to the soil and place where he found himself living a full and complicated life. Grounded in the dusty, dirty roads of the small radius of country where he lived out his short, yet profound life, he loved the people and trusted the One who had breathed all of Creation into being. The people, the fig trees, the wells of water, the rivers of baptism, the mountains, the deserts, even the stones. All these had, indeed have, the gift of speaking truth to power if we have the ears to hear. 

Today might be a good day to spend some time listening, really listening, to the rich voices that make up the day. We all might be surprised what we hear.