The Palm Processional Reading (Luke 19:28-40).
After
Jesus had said this,
he
went on ahead,
going
up to Jerusalem.
When
he had come near Bethphage and Bethany,
at
the place called the Mount of Olives,
he
sent two of the disciples, saying,
“Go
into the village ahead of you,
and
as you enter it you will find tied there a
colt
that
has never been ridden.
Untie
it and bring it here.
If
anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’
just
say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’”
So
those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them.
As
they were untying the colt,
its
owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?”
They
said, “The Lord needs it.”
Then
they brought it to Jesus;
and
after throwing their cloaks on the colt,
they set Jesus on it.
As
he rode along,
people
kept spreading their cloaks on the road.
As
he was now approaching the path
down from the Mount of Olives,
the
whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God
joyfully
with a loud voice
for
all the deeds of power that they had seen,
saying,
“Blessed is the king
who
comes in the name of the Lord!
Peace in heaven, and glory in the
highest heaven!”
Some
of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him,
“Teacher,
order your disciples to stop.”
He
answered,
“I
tell you, if these were silenced,
the stones would shout out.”
The first reading was Isaiah 50:4-9.
The gospel was Luke 22:14-23:56.
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Today we began early with marching and palm branches. We join the multitude of Jesus’
disciples throughout time and space in the absurd procession. It is what we might today call street
theatre.
To prepare for the Passover, Jesus and Pilate are both
coming to Jerusalem. Pilate will
process in, probably at about the same time, from the other end of the
city. Pilate will come with
infantry—legions of soldiers, mounted on the finest and strongest horses. Pilate comes to enforce the Pax
Romana—Roman peace that is less peace and more military suppression of any
dissent. So Pilate comes, mighty
and powerful, from the West.
And from the East Jesus moseys along on a young colt, an
animal lacking any military prowess whatsoever, and the multitude of disciples
lay their cloaks at the feet of the colt, and sing praises. While this is all in mockery of Pilate’s
military parade, the shouts echo back even to Jesus’ birth, and we are reminded
that Jesus has come to bring a deeper peace than any war or military might
could temporarily secure. Jesus,
the Prince of Peace, was born for peace to rule on earth, as the angels
sang; and in heaven as those gathered now cry out. God’s glory will reign in peace.
…And yet, do the disciples really get what kind of peace
Jesus will bring? They praise
Jesus “for all the deeds of power that they had seen.” Praise for our Prince of Peace is
right, but they don’t quite get the “why” of it.
As the journey continues, we discover with the disciples,
that Jesus is not the king we thought he’d be—maybe not even the one we want
him to be.
Though Jesus can “sustain the weary with a word” as Isaiah
points out, Jesus has not come “for all the deeds of power that [the disciples]
had seen,” and Jesus has not come for a military overthrow of the oppressive
Roman Empire. Jesus has come: to
be with humanity, especially the oppressed, marginalized, and downtrodden of
humanity.
God chooses the limits caused by true humanness. God in Jesus chooses all of humanity
and as Jesus shares in the Last Supper, his body and blood nourish us for the
journey we take this week—the journey to the cross.
And before we know it, we are in the Mount of Olives and find
ourselves ready to strike with a sword in order to defend our God and our
faith, not even giving Jesus time to say no so that all he can do is limit the
violence done in his name, stopping the escalation and healing the physical
pain the violence inflicted.
Then,
in a stupor, we follow our arrested savior. Maybe hoping he will be the Messiah come to overthrow the
Roman occupation after all, or maybe we’re just too numb to think, and there is
Peter around the fire. And we are
with him, denying Jesus—perhaps through words or, more likely, through our
silence or inaction in the face of evil—hatred and fear.
But it doesn’t matter because as Jesus is tortured and
passed from the high priest to Pilate to Herod and back to Pilate, a few in the
crowd, the leaders we consider most powerful, begin
to stir up the crowd. They spew
hatred at Jesus for the threat they fear, for the difference in him. They provoke the crowd into a frenzied
fervor. It builds with the
hateful, vehement rhetoric—the fear of Jesus’ teachings, the spite for his
welcome for “sinners,” maybe even for the darkness of his skin and the texture of his hair—his Arab, Jewish
features that are not quite Roman enough.
As the hatred and fear-based rhetoric builds, Pilate comes
out and declares Jesus: not guilty. But it’s too late. The crowd has lost all its compassion,
all its love. It is riled up to
the point of operating as a mob as we shout “crucify, crucify him!”
Jesus may be the king we need, but he is definitely not the
one the crowd wants. They would
rather have Barabbas, the terrorist, a murderer leading a violent rebellion,
than the King of Compassion, the Prince of Peace. And so as they cry for crucifixion, “their voices prevail(ed).” Everyone turns towards the cross.
As the remaining journey to the cross proceeds, as we
witness Jesus’ crucifixion, his body hanged on a tree by an angry mob. As the final barrier between God and
humanity is torn in two with the veil of the temple and Jesus joins
humanity even in death, we are left with our ears still ringing, “crucify,
crucify him!” We are left
wondering how “their voices prevailed.”
How did hatred, fear, and violence prevail over the Prince of
Peace? Did my voice join in? Was I shouting in hatred? In fear? In pain?
Did I lose sight or sound of Jesus’ love and the compassion
that fills me with hope? Did I
harden my own heart against the love from God to others?
But we know: the end is not yet here. There is still time. Jesus is still being crucified. Every time we choose hatred, fear, or
violence over love and compassion, Jesus is crucified again and again. The story is still unfolding and we all get to choose this time. We don’t have to join the angry mob.
So, whose voice will prevail? Whose voice do you
follow? The Prince of Peace, full
of love and compassion? Or the voice of hatred and fear that calls for
crucifixion—exclusion, violence, and death? Whose voice will prevail today?
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