Palm Sunday, April 16, 2000
On Palm Sunday, Jesus did a very curious thing. He actually allowed a crowd to gather around him and praise him. It is uncharacteristic of Jesus. He didn't mind a crowd when he was teaching or preaching or healing, but he generally didn't allow praise. Recall the story of the young man who approached him and said, "Good teacher, what must I do to earn eternal life?" Rather than engaging in the question, Jesus asks, "Why do you call me good?" After Peter declares him to be the Messiah, Jesus says to Peter, "You are correct." But then he admonishes Peter to keep silent.
Whenever Jesus is around a crowd that wants to crown him as a political king, he quietly slips away. Today, Palm Sunday, is a radical departure from the Jesus that we know and love. What is different? It begins with fulfilling the prophetic tradition of Zachariah. He rides a donkey into Jerusalem as opposed to a horse. A horse would be reserved for a warrior, a donkey for a common person. Note that two animals carry him — not because he actually rode two simultaneously, but because a young colt would always follow an older animal, usually its mother. That is how people still train donkeys today.
Jesus calculated this move very carefully. He knew there would be a large population of Jews in Jerusalem gathered for the festival of Passover. He planned it so that he would have everyone's undivided attention, and he had it. So why does he do it? He knew he would encounter two types of people as he neared Jerusalem. The first are those who believed in God, but did not believe that God was acting in their lives. The second were people who were eager to bestow title and rain down presents on him because they thought they understood him, that they understood what he was to do: lead the revolution; kick the Romans out of Jerusalem; heal the sick; provide all the answers.
And yet, Jesus does not even claim that. What Palm Sunday does is test our conscience. Will we cry hosannah with the crowd on Sunday, or will we shout crucify him on Friday? Palm Sunday tells us that the answer is we will do both.
Why does Jesus ride into the city? What is his mission? What is he going to do during the next week? On Monday, he is going to start a riot in the temple. On Tuesday, he will curse the fig tree. On Wednesday, he will engage in controversy including the rightful use of the sabbath. On Thursday, he will celebrate his Last Supper. On Friday, he will be arrested, tried and crucified. All of it shocking when we consider the rest of Jesus' ministry. Beginning Monday in the temple, the Jesus we knew as a gentle man turns to rage. Why? Because he is upset that the temple has lost track; it doesn't care about anybody besides its own members. Everything he does this week confronts our own conscience. He reminds us that when we practice piety by ourselves or for ourselves alone, our faith crumbles. When we try to be nice to God on Sunday, by Friday we are ready to kill!
At the heart of all this, at the heart of Palm Sunday, is the issue of pain and what we do with it. Jesus does not try to avoid the pain; he does not try to anesthetize it; he shows us the way through it. Christianity is not unique in the world's religions for how to address pain. But, we do something that is different from everybody else.
In the Buddhist tradition, the young Buddha was sheltered by his father, never allowed to leave the comfortable palace in which he was born and raised. He never went hungry nor knew hungry and suffering people. Then one day, quite by accident, he sees a sick elderly man and asks his driver, "What is this I am seeing?" "You are seeing illness," said the driver. Later, on that same day, the young Buddha sees a dying man. The young Buddha asks, "What is this?" The driver replies, "Something we must all confront." At that point, the young Buddha had his awakening and it changed his life as the Buddha.
What Christianity does is take a step further past awareness into redemption of pain. Jesus knew that the shouts of acclamation would be short lived. The lavish praise would shift to condemnation quickly, but he demanded that we either accept him or reject him, and he does not stop. He continues to ride straight for Jerusalem. He rides into Jerusalem, the consummated ministry in ways we are not prepared to accept.
All he does is send two disciples ahead to prepare for his arrival and rides two animals (it would take two animals to get me into that town that week!), but he took the pain. He took the pain from the beginning of that week to the very end when he cried out, "It is finished!" He invites us to examine our pain and our Jesus. You can try to avoid it, you can try to ride around it, you can walk around it for a time, but we all know that when there is pain, all roads lead to Jerusalem.
When the pain won't go away, we can use the question that Jesus always asks when he heals someone — Do you want to be healed and are you willing to confront both aspects of yourself: the one that cries out hosanna, the part of you that you show to the rest of the world, the self-image we all portray; or the other part of you that says crucify him, the part of you that is self-doubting, even self-loathing, and few, we hope, if any, ever see it.
We all live with it. We all do. Are you willing to ride to Jerusalem? For Jesus, once he entered the city, the only way out was the way of the cross which we as Christians celebrate beginning today. Why? Only the way of the cross strips us of our pretensions, our false self-image, our prejudices, our perception of who we are, and enables us to see ourselves as God sees us. Only the way of the cross takes our hosannas and the praise that we lavish on each other or unto God, and turns them into deep, authentic joy that can't be taken away. Only the way of the cross takes our demands for crucifixion, usually ourselves, our own crucifixions, and redeems our pain. Note that the pain is not removed. Christianity is not an inoculation against pain, but a way through it. It is a way of being redeemed, of God riding with us to Jerusalem.
Jesus rides on one donkey. I guess that means the other is reserved for us. Jesus demands our decision. Will you shout crucify him, or her, or you, or me, or will you say hosanna in the highest, blessed is he, this Jesus, this redeemer of pain, this Son of God, blessed is this one who comes in the name of the Lord? What will your decision be?
The The Rev. Sean Cox
seancox@stmargarets.org
16 April 2000