It is
the festival of Passover, one of the most important holidays celebrated by the
Jewish people who gather to remember how God passed over their houses instead
of killing their firstborn children during their captivity in Egypt.
Jerusalem
is overflowing with people as Jews gather for Seder meals and celebrations.
As the
Roman governor of Samaria and Judea, Pontius Pilate would leave his seaside
estate and travel to Jerusalem for the festival. He does not come because he is
particularly religious. Rather, comes to display Rome’s imperial rule and power
in the occupied city.
Pontius
Pilate rides into the city on top of a horse as high as a Clydesdale featured
in a Budweiser commercial.
He is surrounded
by shiny swords and other signs of military might.
And the
“who’s who” of Jerusalem surround him, including individuals who are ready to put
coins in his campaign coffer in exchange for a promise to continue to support
whatever resources or rights they want to protect.
Meanwhile,
on the other end of Jerusalem, Jesus rides not on top of a war horse but on top
of a borrowed borough.
He is
riding on a colt.
I
imagine his feet are dragging on the ground.
And, he
too, has a large crowd following him.
The
poor and the powerless are lining the streets shouting “Hosanna! Blessed is the
one who comes in the name of the Lord.” “Hosanna” – a word that means “Save
us.”
Save us, King Jesus.
It is
political theatre at its best – power and humility, rich and poor, warhorses
and young donkeys.
Two
parades.
Two
crowds.
Two purposes.
Jesus
is coming face to face with the rulers of the temple and the state – rulers who
will crucify him on Friday because nothing is more threatening to an
institution than new life.
Nothing is more threatening to
power than those considered powerless showing up and demanding change.
While
Pilate’s arrival is expected, Jesus’ arrival sends the city into turmoil.
Who is
this humble man whose actions proclaim he is the long-awaited messiah?
Who is
this individual who is willing to come face to face with the powers and
principalities?
Who is
this one who can literally shake the way things are into the way things should
be?
Who is this?
We know
who Pilate is.
Pilate
is the one with worldly power and wealth, the one who will do anything to maintain
his illusion of control.
But who
is Jesus?
He is a
king, but not the kind of king to which the world gravitates.
He is a
lord, but his lordship is not defined by wielding power over others but by
serving them.
He is a
leader, but his strongest assets are not his charisma or charm but rather his
self-giving acts of compassion and generosity.
Who is this?
How we
respond to the question has serious implications for not only our lives but
countless other lives in this city and around the world.
Our response
to the question dictates which parade we would have joined on this day 2000
years ago and which parade we are likely to join today – the parade of the powerful who we believe can
get us somewhere or at least protect what we have – what we believe we have
earned – or the parade of the one who came to save all people with a preferential option for the poor and powerless.
Which
parade would you have joined?
Where would
you have found yourself that day?
Many of
you marched yesterday.
You
joined some 800,000 people from across the nation in support of young people
who are demanding change.
I
watched the rally.
I wept
with an 11-year-old prophet from Alexandria and a high school student who used
the power of silence better than it’s ever been used before.
But I
didn’t march.
My life
is often a tightrope as I balance making sure my husband knows I love him as
much I love the church. But too often Craig gets the shorter end of the stick.
Having been away at a monastery on silent retreat all week, I knew I needed to
give Saturday to Craig, and while Craig is the better Christian in our family,
he is not a marcher.
I
sought to faithfully tend to the covenant of marriage yesterday, one of my
calls – and still, I feel deep, deep sadness for not being there.
Jesus says “Let the children come to me.” Keeping
children safe isn’t just right. It’s a matter of faith.
In the passion narrative, we just heard Jesus ask for
swords to be put away – even as others are putting him to death. Working for an
end to senseless gun violence isn’t just right. It’s what Jesus, the prince of
peace, would demand.
Seeking a transfer of power from the powerful to the
powerless isn’t just the right thing to do at times. It’s why Jesus was
crucified.
There is no doubt in my mind that if Jesus were
physically present in Washington this weekend, that he would have felt more at
home marching yesterday than he would in many of our sanctuaries today.
I never again want to miss a march.
And I never again want to miss an opportunity for us to
be united as a congregation while we march.
We all
know how seductive Pilate’s power can be.
We regularly
put our faith, hope and trust in arrogant, angry leaders who promise a better
tomorrow at the expense of those at the bottom.
We vote
for who will protect our ideals even if those ideals are not the ones taught
and embodied by Jesus.
We can
get behind someone who promises to solve today’s problems, especially if their
solution benefits us.
On the
other hand, putting our faith, hope and trust in one who was crucified for what
he stood for can have serious consequences.
It
might cost us our pride as we embrace a humility that empties itself.
It
might cost us our swords and semi-automatic weapons as we embrace his way of
peace.
It
might cost us some of our anger as we seek to embody his love.
It
might cost us bent up resentment as we seek forgiveness and reconciliation.
In the
movie The Shack, Mack asks Jesus, “Do
all roads lead to you?” Jesus responds, “No, not at all – most roads don’t lead
anywhere.”[1]
But
when people march with Jesus, when they follow this crucified and risen savior,
then the road might just lead to mercy and justice for all.
[1] http://jameshowellsweeklypreachingnotions.blogspot.com/2017/11/preaching-palm-sunday-march-25.html
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