As Mark tells it, it's once again Passover-time in Jerusalem, once again the festival season when people's longing for freedom swells into a pulsing hope. For way back when, in the days of Moses, God had intervened to free the Jews from their old-time tyrant, Ramses II, the Pharaoh of Egypt. And surely it couldn't be very long now until God would once again intervene to free them from their current tyrant, Tiberius, the Caesar of Rome.
So the Passover pilgrims streaming into Jerusalem from around the world are, as always, poised to welcome the Messiah whom God would at last be sending. They are, as always, filled with the hope that this year they'll be witnessing the fulfillment of those words spoken so long ago by the prophet Zechariah, who had promised: "On that day his feet shall stand on the Mount of Olives.... And the LORD will become king over all the earth..." (14:4a, 9a) Yes, these Passover pilgrims are, as always, ready to shout forth, with quite a new and current meaning, those ancient words from one of their traditional Passover psalms (Psalm 118), read as this morning's First Lesson—the words: Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the LORD! Welcome is the one who comes in our own time to establish, under God, a realm of sovereign freedom like the one founded by our glorious ancestor David!
Now, it's against this backdrop of a barely contained fervor for freedom and of Messianic expectation that we find Jesus and his disciples undertaking their own Passover pilgrimage, journeying by foot westward up the tortuous road from Jericho to Jerusalem. As they near the Mount of Olives spoken of by Zechariah, the last crest on this road before reaching Jerusalem, Jesus sends two of his disciples on ahead into the village of Bethany. There, he tells them, they will find a certain colt. They are to requisition it so that he can ride on it as he processes down the other side of the Mount of Olives and on into the city of Jerusalem. And here we see Jesus exercising the very same kind of authority that Roman officials do when they requisition animals or supplies from the local inhabitants—except the Romans would always say, "Caesar needs it," whereas Jesus's disciples say, "The Lord needs it."
As Mark tells this story, these two disciples are probably assuming that the colt they'll be finding in Bethany, tethered exactly as Jesus has foretold, will be a horse, a steed befitting a Messiah, befitting a king like David. So surely they're surprised to find tethered there instead a donkey. Still, they overcome whatever shock they may feel, and they lead back to Jesus this much humbler mount, saddling it for him as best they can, using their cloaks alone.
The scene that follows, with Jesus riding down the Mount of Olives, is one of the most electrifying in all of Mark's gospel. For upon seeing Jesus astride this donkey, many in the Passover crowd break into exultant cheers and chants. "Nice parade, Jesus!" they have to be thinking, as they fall in to join this procession both ahead of Jesus and behind him, having apparently decided that Jesus's appearance does indeed mark the coming of the hoped-for time, the fulfillment of Zechariah's prophetic vision. Yes, indeed, the time when "the LORD will become king over all the earth" must somehow, quite miraculously, be now!
These parading crowds have no throwaway Kodaks to flash and no videocams to record the event. But what they do have are the cloaks-off-their-backs and some leafy branches they've snapped from trees. And with these they both carpet the rocky, dusty road that stretches out before Jesus and hail their newfound king. Yes, they shout out: Hosanna! Save us now, O God. Blessed is the one who's now coming in Your name to reestablish the glory of Your people and to restore the throne of David, our ancient king!
Now, this story of Palm Sunday is certainly one of those that sticks with us from childhood. I mean, what more could we want? The sudden appearance of a superstar, the crowd-pleasing donkey, the excitement of a ragtag parade, the hoo-hah of hurrah-all of these contribute to this day's storybook quality. (Cf. Raewynne J. Whiteley, in The Abingdon Women's Preaching Annual, Series 2, Year A, ed. Leonora Tubbs Tisdale [Nashville: Abingdon, 2001], pp. 98-99)
Yet to comprehend what's really going on here in this narrative of Palm Sunday requires of us something far deeper than childlike enthusiasm. It requires of us quite a depth of maturity. For by riding down the Mount of Olives not on a stallion but on a donkey—by doing this, Jesus is actually offering up to that Passover crowd, and to us as well, quite a parody of how monarchs usually behave. And through this action, symbolic of his profound humility, Jesus is redefining for us all what it means to be a king, what it means to rule.
I believe that what Jesus wants us to understand about this event is something that, quite sadly, most of the first Palm-Sunday crowd seem not to have understood. I believe that Jesus wants us to understand that his is not at all a "nice" parade, but rather a tragically ironic one. For although Jesus truly is the Messiah, he chooses to parade before us not his might but rather his vulnerability, and he chooses to do this precisely because God has chosen to redeem humankind in an unexpectedly humble way—that is, through the vulnerability of a cross, rather than through the might of a sword. Yes, Jesus has come to deliver us, but not in the figure of a military conqueror but rather in the figure of a non-violent resister. And Jesus's way of being the Messiah has stood through all this intervening time as a direct and ultimate challenge to every empire's means of exercising power—every empire's means, from Rome's of old to America's today, a day when we've learned our government has developed a plan to bomb Iran.
Again, the irony in the Palm-Sunday scene lies precisely in this. The figure parading down that Mount of Olives comes not in the posture of a king, destined for a palace, but rather in the posture of "a dead man riding," destined for a cross. (See Brian Blount, in Preaching Mark in Two Voices [Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002], pp. 204, 206.) For as the story of this upcoming week unfolds, we will find that story moving from faithfulness to betrayal, from devotion to agony, from triumph to crucifixion. (See Susan Steinberg, in The Abingdon Women's Preaching Annual, Series 3, Year A, ed. Beverly Zink-Swayer [Nashville: Abingdon, 2004], p. 87)
What kind of a Savior would ever challenge the power of evil by mounting a donkey rather than a stallion, by strapping on a cross rather than a sword, by offering good news to the poor rather than the rich, by extending a place at the table to the outcasts rather than the righteous, and by bestowing insight on the simple rather than the learned? And yet these are precisely the choices that Jesus does make. The donkey, the cross, the inclusive deeds of justice—these are what characterize Jesus, who, as the Messiah from God, is truly revolutionary yet remains non-violent. And in the course of just four short days, by making choices like these, Jesus will lose the allegiance of most of that first Palm-Sunday crowd. Will he lose our allegiance as well?
You see, during Holy Week the church is asked to relive the events of Jesus's passion and death. "It is not a week in which we [are] simply [to] remind ourselves of what happened to Jesus and his disciples 'back then,' but is a week in which we [are to] become part of the story and [let] the story become[] part of us.... In Holy Week, the 'old' story [is to] become[] an ever-new story, as we experience once again what it means to be a community whose very life and identity derive from this week's journey to the cross." [Gail R. O'Day, in New Proclamation, Series A, 1998-99, Advent through Holy Week, p. 229]
So during this week, we will find that two ways are being set before the people in Jerusalem of old, and before us as well. And the two are these: the way of inclusive justice and non-violent resistance exemplified by Jesus, and the way of armed struggle and military might exemplified by the man named Barabbas. And when of old, at Jesus's trial, Pontius Pilate offered the people of Jerusalem that option, they chose Barabbas (Mark 15:6-15). Come this Friday, whom will we be choosing?
Will we have become so frustrated by the apparent weakness in this world of Jesus's kind of peacemaking and love, and by the apparent victory of violence and bloodshed in places like Iraq, and Sudan, and Afghanistan, and Israel, and Palestine, and by the apparent victory right here in the United States of those who define homeland security strictly in military or vote-getting terms—will we have become so frustrated by the apparent weakness of Jesus's kind of non-violent resistance that come Thursday we will be found among those who, like Judas, have become willing to betray Jesus, or among those who, like Peter, have become willing to deny that we ever knew him? And come Friday, will we be found among those who choose Barabbas and his way over Jesus and his?
Well, it is my prayer that come Friday, we will be among those—like Mary Magdalene, and like Mary the mother of James and Joses, and like Salome—among those who are still to be found standing watch at the cross, among those who are still to be found standing convinced of the power in Jesus's love. (Mark 15:40-41)
Yes, Palm Sunday is a day that's swept with strong eddies and crosscurrents of emotion, a day when celebrations swirl with foreboding, when our cheers echo back Friday's cries of "Crucify." (Mark 15:14)
For by Friday, Sunday's palms and leafy branches will have been replaced by thorns and a tree-trunk. (Mark 15: 17, 21) Yes, by Friday, Sunday's cloak-strewn road will have led right through Jerusalem and beyond it to Calvary, to Golgotha—to The Place of the Skull. (Mark 15:22)
And what part will we be playing as the rest of this week's drama unfolds? And what impact will we be allowing this week's drama to have on our lives?
Dear companions in Palm Sunday's "cheering, chanting, dizzy crowd" (to use words from our concluding hymn by Thomas Troeger), please do stay with Jesus all the way to Calvary and beyond. For in order truly to be prepared for Saturday evening's return of light amidst the darkness of this world and for next Sunday's full-throated cries of joy at rediscovering the empty tomb, please do join me here on Thursday evening at 7:00, as the "old story" of Jesus's last supper with his followers is made ever-new for us, and then again on Friday between noon and 2:30 so that together we may stand watch at the cross as we humbly and reverently pray that we, too, may somehow be empowered to fulfill Jesus's kind of love in our lives.
Let us pray:
O Jesus, Messiah of such an unexpected sort, may we be found continuing at Your side throughout this week. May we come to sup at Your table and there taste of Your grace. May we come to stand at Your cross and there behold the cost of Your love.
And in this way, may we be prepared, O God, for the surprise and the joy of Your raising of Jesus from the dead, so that we may come confidently to affirm that humility is indeed greater than power, that non-violence is indeed stronger than armaments, that good is indeed mightier than evil, and that life cannot be vanquished by death. In the name of Jesus, our Messiah, we pray this. Amen.