Sermon Archive

“Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit,” says the Lord of hosts. (Zechariah 4:6b)

It was the British historian Lord Acton who observed, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” (Letter to Bishop Mandell Creighton, April 5, 1887)

Certainly that was the case in the Roman Empire of old, in the days when Jesus was carrying out his ministry in Roman Palestine. At that time, the empire was ruled by Tiberius Caesar. Now, Tiberius had ceded effective control of the empire to the head of the Praetorian guard, Aelius Sejanus. And Sejanus had a particular dislike for Jews, so he had appointed as governor of the province of Judea a prefect loyal to his own style of brutal rule—a man by the name of Pontius Pilate.

Jewish sources dating to the first century report that Pilate often solicited bribes, executed prisoners without trial, responded to protesting crowds with utmost brutality, and showed utter disdain for the tenets of the Jewish religion. His invariable pattern was to act both unilaterally and preemptively. And, as a result of Pilate’s harsh and corrupt regime, relations between the Jewish people and the empire had never been worse.

There was also regularly recurring tension between Pilate and his subjects during the three annual festivals when pilgrims arrived in Jerusalem from throughout the empire to visit the Jewish Temple. The most volatile of these times was the festival of Passover, for the theme central to it was Moses’s “liberating” of the Jews from an earlier “evil empire,” that of the Egyptian Pharaoh. Well, this “liberation” theme could be counted upon to stir up sparks of revolt against the empire of the new Pharaoh, Tiberius Caesar, and his representative, Pontius Pilate.

To head off any possible insurrection at these festival seasons, Pilate counted heavily on the cooperation of his chief Jewish henchman—the high priest Caiaphas, whom, of course, Pilate could easily depose from power should Caiaphas ever dare to displease him.

Now, in my own imagining of the events of that first Palm Sunday, I picture this. Pilate mounts his snorting, prick-eared stallion and, with an armed escort, rides eastward from his Jerusalem residence to his military fortress, called the Antonia. For from the watchtower of the Antonia, he can keep an eye both on all the activity directly below, in the Temple forecourt, where Caiaphas is in charge, and also on all the happenings directly opposite, on the slope of the Mount of Olives, where such large throngs of pilgrims are so restlessly encamped.

And while Pilate is proceeding swiftly eastward on his stallion, a differently mounted figure is moving slowly westward, down the slope of the Mount of Olives, toward that same Antonia and Temple—on a donkey.

Many pilgrims in Jerusalem have been abuzz with speculation about the identity and intentions of this rider, named Jesus of Nazareth. Is he or isn’t he the descendant of glorious King David of old? And will he or won’t he prove to be the Messiah who reclaims kingship and ignites a popular uprising against Rome?

Aware of this “buzz,” Jesus chooses to approach Jerusalem in a way that will answer this question through a sign-drama. He chooses to enter Jerusalem riding a donkey, thereby enacting a prophecy found in the book of Zechariah—this morning’s First Lesson—a prophecy that speaks not of a warrior Messiah astride a stallion, but of a peaceful Messiah mounted on a donkey. For yes, Jesus is coming to Jerusalem in order to challenge the corrupt power of Rome and to establish on earth the reign of God’s love and justice. But he is coming to do all of this not by raising a sword but by proclaiming and embodying God’s word.

The crowds assembled around Jerusalem for this festival season are unprepared for the bizarre sight that now unfolds before them: Jesus, riding on a borrowed burro and being followed by quite a wildly exuberant mob of misfits, all of whom are chanting,

“Blessed is the king
who comes in the name of the Lord!
Peace in heaven,
and glory in the highest heaven!” (Luke 19:38)

But what kind of a king is this, anyway, who’s riding into town at the head of fisherfolk and tax collectors? Who is this sovereign who’s being followed by women and Samaritans, by the crippled and the blind, by demoniacs and harlots, by the poor and the destitute—these marginal folk carpeting the road before him not with cloaks fit for a king, woven of royal purple, but with such utterly tattered tunics and such dusty, sweat-stained shawls?

“Blessed is our Jesus, the sovereign of us sinners, the monarch of us outcasts, the king of us who are sick, and poor, and oppressed. Blessed is this one who has shared our hardships, who has come to relieve us of our suffering and to accept us even though others have not. Blessed is this one who offers also to us the gift of hope and the gift of God’s love.” Something like this is what these followers of Jesus are shouting out, so that the stones along the road have no need to!

As Jesus’s motley procession descends the Mount of Olives, he brings his donkey to a halt and pauses to survey the two imposing structures spread out fully before him—Pilate’s fortress and Caiaphas’s temple. Jesus stops, and looks, and weeps. Then he offers this lament: “If you, [O Jerusalem], had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes.” (Luke 19:42)

This moment when Jesus approaches Jerusalem is one of such fragile possibility. If only the people will see Jesus for who he truly is—a sovereign who can overthrow the corrupt power of Rome and its minions, but a sovereign who is intending to do this not instantly, by instigating strife and conflict, but over the long haul, by offering to the diseased, the dispossessed, and the disenfranchised the gift of love and the hope of well-being.

Yes, the dawning of God’s reign on earth through the life and ministry of Jesus offers the promise of good news for the poor, of a place at the table for outcasts, of restored sight for the blind, of an end to subjugation for women, of an egalitarian handling of wealth and property, of a reevaluation of just what constitutes holiness. But these will come about not by might, nor by power—but by letting the spirit of God blow freely through our world, transforming the hearts of all humankind.

As Jesus enters Jerusalem, two quite different ways are being posed to that city and the world—two ways for humanity to choose between: the way of harmony with God and peace among persons, as embodied by Jesus; or the way of alienation from God and destructive violence among persons, as embodied by those two agents of the empire, Pilate and Caiaphas. And, sadly, both Jerusalem and the world choose not Jesus’s way but Rome’s.

So come Friday, five days hence, Jesus—this sovereign of sinners, this monarch of outcasts, this king of the sick and the poor and the oppressed, Jesus—will be put to death.

Eventually, of course, the Roman Empire did fall of the weight of its own corruption. And fallen, too, are all subsequent empires built on warfare, economic oppression, and an imperious contempt for those who oppose its will—all empires up to, through, and including those of the 20th century.

Yet now, both around the world and in America itself, this question is being seriously asked: “Has a new empire emerged in the world—the American Empire, an empire of what our own government has called ‘full spectrum dominance’?” And these questions, too, are being asked: “Will America, this planet’s only true superpower, seek to impose our will on other nations unilaterally, standing aloof from broad alliances and binding treaties? Will America employ our armed might preemptively, at times and places of our own choosing, and not just as a last resort? Will America behave in ways that transform our image in the world from that of “a nation respected for our freedom and democracy” into that of “a nation feared for our militarism and economic imperialism”?

Also around the world and in America itself, other questions are being asked: “Does America now have a government in Washington that makes the claim—either implicitly, or perhaps even explicitly—the claim that it is imposing its will on the world in the name of Jesus, in the name of God and goodness? And if so, can that Jesus of whom the government is speaking really be the same Jesus found in today’s gospel lesson—a Messiah who in the face of imminent threat renounces the sword and instead offers to the marginalized and the oppressed of the world a non-violent embrace of inclusive love and impartial justice; a Messiah who chooses to ride to his destiny on a donkey, rather than to arrive with armored might?”

And certainly, beyond answering all of these questions, we Christians here in America need also to be asking ourselves this: “Have we come to a time in the life of our nation when the mantle of power has corrupted not only politics but also religion, to a time when we better be posting signs throughout our nation that can remind us of the message we need to be seeing and heeding: ‘Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit,’ says the Lord of hosts”? (Zech. 4:6b)

Jesus inaugurated on earth the reign of God’s love and justice. And what does this dawning reign of God look like? Does it look like the war in Iraq and its aftermath? Does it look like the tax policies that threaten the solvency of safety-net programs like Social Security and Medicare? Does it look like the corporations whose CEO is earning a thousand or even ten thousand times the salary of the lowest paid employees? Does it look like the corporation, founded by a Presbyterian, whose low wages force a number of its full-time employees to apply for food stamps? Does it look like a wealthy nation where hunger and homelessness and a lack of access to medical treatment are increasing, not decreasing? Does it look like a nation that refuses to impose strict limits on its emissions of greenhouse gases and pollutants because it places a higher value on maximizing corporate profits than on preserving the beauty and integrity of God’s creation? Does it look like any of these? I think not.

So to help us reflect on what the dawning reign of God would look like, let me suggest this update to today’s gospel lesson from Luke. Imagine Jesus riding his donkey into Washington accompanied by exuberant representatives of the most marginal groups in our society. He comes to this new seat of empire as the sovereign of sinners, the monarch of outcasts, the king of the sick, the poor, and the oppressed. He comes as one who has shared their hardships and undertaken to relieve their suffering. He comes as one who has offered them the gift of hope and the gift of God’s inclusive love and impartial justice.

And imagine that as Jesus’s motley procession crosses the Potomac, he brings his donkey to a halt, pauses to survey the White House and Capitol Hill, stretched out before him, and weeps, offering this lament: “If you, [O Washington], had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes.”

You see, I believe Palm Sunday continues to offer a moment of fragile possibility, for it’s a day that still sets before us a choice between two quite different ways—the way of Jesus or the way of empire. Today, will we Christians both here in America and around the world see Jesus for who he truly is—a sovereign who comes to confront the corrupting influence of imperial power not through the short-term strategy of instigating strife and conflict, but through a long-term program of offering to the diseased, the dispossessed, and the disenfranchised the hope of well-being and the embrace both of a love that is inclusive and of a justice that is impartial.

So what would the dawning of God’s reign in this nation look like? Well, I suggest it might look something like this. America has chosen to share our nation’s resources, including our life-saving medicines, with poor people all around the world. America has become a place where persons of all races, genders, classes, sexual orientations, and religions are treated equally. America has become a place where wealth and property are treated as resources to be deployed for the well-being of all. America has chosen to co-operate with other peoples and nations in resolving conflicts non-violently and in preserving and nurturing the beauty and integrity of God’s creation. The leaders of America have chosen to speak and work on behalf of the weak, the voiceless, and the victimized and to treat no person or nation as an “enemy.” And the President of the United States has chosen to ride around the country humbly, on a donkey, while those around her cheer with joy. Hosanna!

Let us pray: