Who Dreamed of the Tragedy…

Who dreamed of the tragedy soon to befall?
Who dreamed that the Savior would perish through hate?
Palm Sunday—the multitude gathered in joy,
Strewing palm fronds before Him at Jerusalem’s gate.
How few in that music could detect the sad note
Of approaching disaster that human destiny wrote.

– Swami Kriyananda, Oratorio

Jerusalem is a problematic city in the mental geography of the Western psyche. At Christmastime it often represents the symbol of maya, cosmic delusion: the court of a cruel, vengeful king who has embraced the false idea that lasting glory can be found in the world. About thirty years later, Jesus decries the city’s resistance to the divine love he offers, saying:

O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones God’s messengers! How often I have wanted to gather your children together as a hen protects her chicks beneath her wings, but you would not let me. Matthew 23:37

Golden Gate in Jerusalem

In the above lyric from Swami’s oratorio, Jesus enters the city’s gates to fulfill his mission through sacrifice.

Cities are, by nature, mixed. The joys they offer are short-lived pleasures more often than not, and spirituality tends to flee them in search of satsang and solitude. Yet cities are also places of hidden corners and secret niches, where unexpected pearls may be found. Jesus intimates this when he says that he has disciples there “that you know not of.” He demonstrates it when he sends his disciples to find a place for the Last Supper. To John and Peter he says:

As you enter the city, a man carrying a jar of water will meet you. Follow him to the house he enters and say to the owner of the house, “The Teacher asks: Where is the guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?” He will show you a large upper room, all furnished. Make preparations there.
They left and found things just as Jesus had told them, and so they prepared the Passover. Luke 22:10

Both the man carrying the jar of water and the householder must have been his disciples—and both were city dwellers.

In reflecting on cities, the words of the great master Babaji come to mind, spoken in response to Sri Yukteswar’s criticism of the many charlatans present at the Kumbha Mela, the spiritual marketplace where they gather:

Everything on earth is of mixed character, like a mingling of sand and sugar. Be like the wise ant, which seizes only the sugar and leaves the sand untouched.

These words also offer priceless advice for meditators. Jerusalem—and any great city—can be likened to the complexity of our own mind. In meditation we are advised to ignore the subconscious debris and focus instead on thoughts and feelings of lasting value.

Jesus, however, does not merely do this. He pushes the existing polarization to a non-negotiable breaking point. A difficult choice becomes inevitable: either the city dwellers focus on transcending the duality of life and death—and with it, the fear of death—or they identify with the material mediocrity of the world and remain trapped in its karmic web.

In Yogananda’s words, Jesus enters Jerusalem as a Prince of Peace. No outward pomp, only a simple mount; no army, but a small band of fishermen—his disciples. And yet, multitudes welcome him as the Son of David, as one who comes in the name of God. Might Jesus have been mistaken in decrying the very city where he taught in the Temple at the age of twelve?

Wisdom is often felt more deeply in questions than in answers. Who truly has answers to the deepest mysteries of life, death, and human nature? Better to ask prayerfully—and then listen in silence.

Swami’s lyric begins with two tearful, deeply felt questions, the second sharpening the first:

Who dreamed of the tragedy soon to befall?
Who dreamed that the Savior would perish through hate?

The third and fourth lines describe the joyful chapter of the story, soon to give way to the tragedy of Christ’s arrest and crucifixion:

Palm Sunday, the multitude gathered in joy,
Strewing palm fronds before Him at Jerusalem’s gate.

Jerusalem

Yes, there was joy. Yes, Jesus was honored. But we are in the city, and it is the tumultuous mixture of sand and sugar that does the welcoming and the honoring. What can the multitudes truly perceive? They feel something, certainly, and Jesus’ fame as a healer has preceded him. But how much intimacy does their emotion allow? Does it promote their perception of Christ-consciousness both in the crowded streets and courts of Jerusalem and in the quiet solitude of their own souls?

Fame expropriates inspiration: it makes inspiration common property and, by adapting it to the mediocrity of the masses, often signals its end.

This lyric highlights the polarization intrinsic to the created universe. As one pole strengthens, contrasts grow sharper and more violent. From this karmic point of view, it was Jesus’ spiritual glory—entering the materialistic vibration of the city—that stirred the violent reaction culminating in his crucifixion.

How few in that music could detect the sad note
Of approaching disaster human destiny wrote.

Could even his closest disciples have suspected what was to come? They, too, were emotionally bound to this man who had lifted them from the quicksand of mediocrity into a life of courage, love, and joy beyond anything the world could offer. Why should such a perfect relationship end in disaster? How could three years of incomparable joy be so abruptly cut short by the harsh realities of hatred, politics, and bigotry?

Yes, the resurrection still awaits them, and Jesus will keep his promise by sending the Comforter fifty days later. But for now, there is only trauma.

Yet we have poetry, we have music. The raw material of our deepest pain should never have the final word. In this lyric, grief finds language and begins to sing. And where grief is given voice, wisdom enters; and with wisdom, healing begins.