Let us pray – Jesus, our true and
humble king, hailed by the crowd as Messiah: grant us the faith to know you and
to love you; that we may be found beside you on the way of the Cross, which is
the path of glory. Amen.
Today’s
celebration of Palm Sunday may seem different from what St. Luke’s is accustomed
to, and that is by design. I’ve long thought that this day is the most poorly
constructed day in our liturgical calendar. Typically, Palm Sunday lasts for
about 5 minutes, and then we transition into Passion Sunday for the remainder
of the service. I think that transition happens too quickly and something is
lost by only giving a cursory nod to the events of Palm Sunday.
Our
worship today is intended to focus on Palm Sunday – its proleptic sense of
triumph, its pageantry, its subversive Gospel messages. Instead of reading the
Passion at the Gospel, we instead heard the verses that immediately follow the
Palm Sunday reading in Luke. Instead of praising Jesus one minute and shouting “crucify
him” the next, the reading helps to fill in the story. Then at the end of the
service, we’ll hear the Passion read to honor the rubrics of the Prayer Book and to shift the tone as we
move deeper into Holy Week. So with that explanation, let’s turn to the day’s
readings.
That Palm
Sunday nearly 2,000 years ago in Jerusalem would have been a tense one. It happened
in the days leading up to the celebration of the Passover, which is the highest
of the holy days in Judaism. Each Passover, the Jews would gather at the Temple
to recall the events of Exodus: that victorious event where God led the Hebrew
people out of slavery in Egypt and into the Promised Land. You’ll recall that
Jerusalem was under Roman authority and oppression at this time. Scholars tell
us that Jerusalem usually had a population of around 40,000, but during
Passover it swelled to over 250,000. As the crowds filled the city, they had
salvation on their minds – salvation from Rome. And the people each year would
wonder “If God overthrew Egypt, why not Rome?” Messianic figures would pop up
from time to time, promising to lead that effort, but Rome always crushed them.
And so at the
beginning of each Passover, the Roman governor Pilate was always sure to suppress
any rumors of an insurrection. From the west, a large parade came from Pilate’s
headquarters in Caesarea Maritima. It was a procession of power – soldiers clad
in gilded armor, mounted on horses, swords blazing. They marched to the fanfare
of drums and trumpets, declaring the supremacy of the Emperor of Rome with
titles such as “son of God,” “prince of peace,” and “savior of the world.” And
the procession also included prisoners being dragged in shackles, reminding
everyone of what happens to those who dare stand against Rome.
This was
Pilate’s way of saying, “You want to see power? You want to see a messiah? I’ll
show you what power looks like.” The Emperor, of course, was the deity
according to Rome. Pilate’s parade was that of the status quo, an imperial
parade of power and wealth. So Pilate says to all of these pilgrims coming to
Jerusalem, “I know you’ve got rebellion on your mind, I know the Passover gets
you riled up, I know you want someone to lead you against us, but don’t get any
stupid ideas. If you try anything, we will crush you.”
That context is
crucial for understanding the Palm Sunday narrative. So while this parade of
the Empire is coming from the west, there was another parade entering Jerusalem
on the eastern side, from the Mount of Olives. This was a less formal parade,
and by comparison, a rather pitiful one. It’s the alternative parade to
Pilate’s show of Roman power. It was a humble procession with dozens, not
hundreds, of participants. It was a parade where people grabbed whatever they
could, in this case their cloaks or palm branches, and spread them on the
ground not in front of a horse wearing armor and ridden by a powerful solider,
but instead in front of a donkey being ridden by a Jewish peasant who was poking
the hornet’s nest of the secular and religious authorities of the day.
This parade was
the antithesis to the Roman parade. Jesus’ parade was a protest, his own sort
of “March on Jerusalem.” Everything that the Roman parade stands for, Jesus’
claims the opposite. So instead of signs of military strength, his parade
involves palm branches and people spreading their cloaks on the road. Palms
were the Roman symbol of victory, and so this procession mockingly declares
triumph over against the Roman parade. It begs the question, what is worthy of
our protest today?
But let us not
forget that Jesus’ parade had a destination. This parade leads to the Cross. It’s
a long journey though, as Jesus won’t arrive at the Cross until Friday. What
happens between Sunday and Friday is a crucial, but often overlooked, part of
the Holy Week story. Though Jesus’ parade began as a political protest against
Rome, his procession turned religious. In Jesus’ day, the skyline of Jerusalem
had two major landmarks. The first was the Temple, in all its splendor. And
right next to the Temple was the Antonia Fortress, which served as the Roman
military headquarters in Jerusalem. It gave Rome the ability to keep an eye on
troublemakers in the Temple and make a quick deployment, should the need arise;
and it sent a clear message about where the ultimate power resided in Jerusalem.
Keep
in mind that many were awaiting a Messiah to save Israel from Roman occupation.
So as Jesus approaches the gate of the city, it was expected that he would make
a right turn towards the Antonia Fortress. That is where the Messiah would lead
the charge against Rome; where the second Exodus would begin. But Jesus didn’t
make a right turn; instead, he turned left and entered the Temple. Everyone wanted
Jesus to go to the Antonia Fortress. But he cut right to their hearts instead
and challenged them in their corrupt exploitation of the poor in the name of
religion. His procession wasn’t just a parade; it was the beginning of a
movement.
As our Gospel
text tells us, Jesus enters the Temple to cleanse it and says “My house
[should] be a house of prayer; but you have made it a den of robbers.” The
Temple has become a place where robbers feel at home, and those being called
robbers do not take kindly to it. Then some question to Jesus’ authority,
hoping to quell any thoughts of insurrection. If Rome gets a whiff of a Jewish
messiah figure, they will not hesitate to use that great army of theirs. In one
of the gospels, the Temple leadership says “Do you not understand that it is
better to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation
destroyed?” But instead of having Jesus’ legitimacy questioned, the chief
priests and scribes end up being the ones who appear to be delegitimized.
Jesus knows what
he’s doing. He is not the victim of Holy Week, instead he is the instigator of
Good Friday. He refutes the hypocrisy and oligarchy of the Temple, the economic
domination system that keep the rich wealthy and the poor in poverty. Rome’s
mantra was the false Pax Romana,
which is often described as “peace through victory.” Rome essentially said “You
will have peace, just as soon as we conquer you and put you under our
protection and governance.” Jesus offers an alternative – he says that the
equation is “victory through peace.” Jesus’ victory comes not through violence
or armed resistance, but by his Cross. Jesus’ parade subverts both the
political and religious institutions of his day and the result is the story of
God’s salvation which unfolds throughout Holy Week.
So the question
that we have to ask ourselves this morning in light of these Palm Sunday events
is “Which parade will you join?” Which messiah figure will you follow – the emperor
or the crucified one? Which parade do you want to live in? Is it the parade of
Pilate – of wealth, of power, of self-preservation? Or do we instead join the
procession of Jesus – of humility, of love, of challenging the status quo? Now,
I know what the easy answer is. No one says, “Well, I like the idea of wealth
and power, so I’m going with Pilate.” Holy Week invites us to search our hearts
and minds, to take up our cross and follow Jesus, to prepare ourselves for the
victory that comes on Easter. Marching in Jesus’ procession is not easy, as it
leads to the Cross, but also the Empty Tomb. Before us this morning there are
two kingdoms, two visions of what life looks like, two parades. Which will you
join?
