Palm Sunday
April 17, 2011
Rev. Sara Wilcox
The Passion of Christ

Time has a way of changing the details of an event and the church universal, particularly Western Christianity, has been a prime offender—as I was growing up my visual of the procession into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday may have involved a donkey but on that donkey was a fair-skinned Jesus, with a well-trimmed beard and clean white clothing, dare I say bleached white.  Dressed in my second best clothing—the very best reserved for the next week—I remember standing in the large sanctuary of my childhood church with the marble floors and pews that had divided seats waving palm branches, proclaiming Hosanna! Hosanna in the Highest!  I was young enough to feel the excitement of this procession but not yet old enough to understand the great irony of my privilege and position and truly begin to wander what procession was I waiting on…

Orthodox Christian tradition will tell you that Jesus made his way into Jerusalem on his way to the cross and that his death on Good Friday, what we call the Passion, was inevitable and necessary so that we might receive forgiveness of sins.  Today’s Psalm reminds us and I affirm that God’s grace is wide and God’s forgiveness abundant, but Western Christian tradition has managed to change the very meaning and significance of this procession into the necessary prelude to our own personal get out of jail free card—as if there was nothing else to that parade.  We can wave palm branches in the air in anticipation of his coming, but if we are unable to understand the significance of his entrance than we have missed the point and we most likely are on the other side of Jerusalem—nowhere near the procession of Christ.

That day in Jerusalem there were two parades.  And while few if any of us, could claim peasantry status the procession we celebrate is in fact a peasant’s procession.  Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan write that “from the east, Jesus rode a donkey down from the Mount of Olives, cheered by his followers.  [He] was from the peasant village of Nazareth, his message was about the kingdom of God, and his followers came from the peasant class.”  On that same day, Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor entered Jerusalem from the west to be there during the major festivals of Passover week.   Borg and Crossan ask us to imagine that procession’s arrival in the city.  “A visual panoply of imperial power: cavalry on horses, foot soldiers, leather armor, helmets, weapons, banners, golden eagles mounted on poles, sun glinting on metal and gold.”  Imagine the sounds: “the marching of feet, the cracking of leather, the clinking of bridles, the beating of drums.”   And then imagine the rustling of palms as they waved through the air, the voices of the poor and the vulnerable peasant class shouting in anticipation of the possibility that one of their own might be the one who changes it all.  The faithful who have more than enough, in fact probably more than their share, find it very easy to assume that the peasants that day were pleased that their sins would be forgiven, since their sins were so many.  But I suspect that in Jerusalem that day, the peasant class was not shouting Hosanna in the Highest with hopes that their sins could be forgiven…you see those peasants suffered at the hands of the powerful and the faithful and they came to that procession because Jesus proclaimed things will be different.  The significance of that procession is the heart of the gospel—and as theologian Walter Wink reminds us, “the gospel is not a message of personal salvation from the world, but a message of a world transfigured, right down to its basic structures.” (p.83)

Marcus Borg reminds us that “Passion” has a broader meaning than “suffering”.  Jesus was passionate about God and the kingdom of God.”  Jesus was passionate about God’s dream of “justice, nonviolence, and peace.”  Jesus’ Passion in the narrow sense flowed out of his passion in the broader sense.

At that time in Jerusalem the very target of Jesus’ passion was the domination system enforced by the Roman empire and propped up by the temple authorities.   Theologians like Borg, Crossan and Walter Wink explain that in a  “domination system” there is political oppression, where the many are ruled by the few.  There is economic exploitation—where a high percentage of society’s wealth ends up in the hands of the wealthy and powerful…and continues to, because the wealthy and the powerful set up the system, and through the structures and laws they reinforce their power and wealth.  If Jerusalem sounds familiar—it should—it always amazes me that while much changes over time—much remains the same as if time stands still.  The most alarming feature of the domination system is its religious legitimation—religious language is used to justify and legitimate the existing order.  People are told the powerful rule by divine right and the social order reflects the will of God.  2000 years of experience suggests the domination system is not abnormal at all, it is very normal…yet the fact that cultures normalize it does not make it God’s will or way.
If you have been following the political debates recently you can’t escape the conversations about our nation’s budget.  While many people of faith may like to think that this is simply a political conversation—the choices and decisions before our nation are far more than political.  They are spiritual and they are moral.  In Asheville we like to promote buying local and you likely have seen signs that proclaim Love Asheville, buy Local: Put Your Money Where Your Heart Is.  The places where we put our money directly speak to the values we hold most dearly.  There is no way to compartmentalize budgets as political choices—when in fact they demand moral choices.    You may have read in this morning’s newspaper the ACT editorial written by Presbyterian ministers Steve Runholt and Shannon Kershner—together they gathered the support and commitment of area clergy and leaders to fast on Good Friday.  This fast is an effort to call attention to the cuts in federal programs that provide food aid to America’s poorest citizens, including women and children.  Similar fasts have taken place over the last month spearheaded by David Beckmann, president of Bread for the World.  Bread for the World is a collective Christian voice whose focus is lobbying our nation’s decision makers to end hunger at home and abroad.  That sounds way better to me than drug companies and trial lawyers lobbying Heath Shuler.  The agreed upon budget deal last week included $1 billion in cuts for programs preventing the spread of HIV/AIDS, $600 million in cuts for community health care centers,$78 million of cuts for counseling on home foreclosures and reverse mortgages for the poor and elderly, nearly $1 billion dollars was cut from four programs that provide assistance to hungry and poor people and $1.5 billion was cut from poverty-focused development assistance which includes more than ½ billion dollars in foreign aid.   At the same time, our Nobel Peace Prize winning president allowed an increase in military spending of $5 Billion dollars.

The justice, nonviolence and peace of Jesus Christ cannot be found in our allocations for our own protection—in fact, the man we profess to follow gave his life for justice, nonviolence and peace and he didn’t do so that we could use violence and injustice to maintain our security as a nation or as individuals.    This past week when our president proclaimed that our nation could not afford tax cuts for the wealthiest among us—his opposition proclaimed he had started class warfare.  Class warfare didn’t start from our President though…it has been percolating in the vast pool of insecurity that so many families face today because the way of life that we have chosen as a culture is not sustainable.  And both parties have failed to call on Americans to choose sustainability.  Both parties line up in submission to the imperial procession in hopes that they can maintain exactly what we have and be exactly who we have been.

I remember time and again growing up in the Presbyterian Church hearing the scripture from the gospel of Luke, “From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and from one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded.”  It was affirmation of my privilege and wealth…I never lived in a mansion but I was for want of little.  I heard these words and was compelled to use my position of privilege to lessen the burden of the poor and vulnerable.  I wrapped Christmas presents for kids whose parents were in prison, I collected canned goods, I visited the elderly in nursing homes—all important and worthy activities…but all done safely and securely standing alongside the imperial procession.  I never even knew there was a difference.  And the domination system likes it that way!  You see, I never knew that what was being required and demanded of me was greater than acts of charity—God expects and demands justice and Jesus rode on a donkey into Jerusalem at the same time as the imperial procession to demand that people decide…if you choose the procession of Christ, you choose to stand in solidarity with the poor and the vulnerable and the last and least.    And the gospel truth is this—if you aren’t standing in solidarity with the poor, than you are standing against them.  Solidarity with the last and least requires that we stop asking them to explain how they got there and we stop asking them to repent for their failures to live up to the imperial standards and we open our hearts and our doors to their coming.  And in place of the cracking of leather and the crinkling of bridles we use our voices to proclaim and demand that God’s reign be known—a reign marked by support and nurture for one other, cooperation, sharing, harmony and respect, decisions that are win-win, and where there is not us and them, only a “we”.  A good friend reminded me this week that the trappings of middle-class church often keep us from true acts of justice—we find ourselves doing good things on behalf of the poor but not truly with them.  It laid on my heart for hours as I searched for a way to ease my burdened heart.  And while I haven’t solved the problem by any means, it occurred to me that right there across the street  many of our neighbors will probably be affected by the budget cuts that happened this week—and then it occurred to me it’s Easter next week and we should invite them to church.  I’m hard pressed for time during Holy Week to find the time to go door to door but I had visions of a large paper sign printed at Kinko’s that I might be able to weatherproof to protect it from the elements—and I think the Spirit liked the idea because when I went online to Fedex Kinko’s they were printing outdoor banners for 55% off… so for $60 we can get a 3 foot by 5 foot invitation that lets our neighbors know breakfast will be served here at 9:30 and they can bring their kids for an Easter Egg Hunt and we hope they stay for worship!  I don’t know if they’ll come but I do know they are welcome and if we don’t invite the people out there they will never know.  All you have to do is make a little extra food in case they show up!

Recently, the pastor of Harvard University’s Memorial Chapel died from a stroke.  Peter Gomes is the posterboy for diversity and his accomplishments are one that our nation should be proud of: he was an African-American theologian, gay, and conservative.  He reminds us that “This day, Palm Sunday, is not in anticipation of Easter…it is in anticipation of Good Friday.”

You see that day in Jerusalem, the peasant procession from the east leads to the cross because of the imperial procession on the other side of town.  The two do not exist well together—because the significance of the peasant procession is that it calls into question the very existence of the imperial procession.  So I ask you which procession would you have been in, which procession are you in today and where do you want to be tomorrow?

The truth is our lives are mess of contradiction—we are wrapped up in the empire, standing along aside the imperial procession—we participate in varying degrees—some actively encouraging the empire, some convinced that as the empire suggests this is the right and good order of things, some conflicted by the wealth and privilege in their lives but unable to escape their engagement, some who might appear more at home in the peasant procession but are seduced by the promises of the empire.  As we stand alongside that procession we ultimately bear responsibility for the path of the peasant procession to the cross.  We crucify ourselves, one another and ultimately Jesus of Nazareth every time we fail to use our own voices, our privilege and position in opposition to the imperial procession…

Hear these words from the Gospel of Matthew:  Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the governor’s headquarters, and they gathered the whole cohort around him. 28They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, 29and after twisting some thorns into a crown, they put it on his head. They put a reed in his right hand and knelt before him and mocked him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” 30They spat on him, and took the reed and struck him on the head. 31After mocking him, they stripped him of the robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him away to crucify him. 32As they went out, they came upon a man from Cyrene named Simon; they compelled this man to carry his cross. 33And when they came to a place called Golgotha (which means Place of a Skull), 34they offered him wine to drink, mixed with gall; but when he tasted it, he would not drink it. 35And when they had crucified him, they divided his clothes among themselves by casting lots; 36then they sat down there and kept watch over him. 37Over his head they put the charge against him, which read, “This is Jesus, the King of the Jews.”

If this feel a little uncomfortable—it should.  The weight of this imbalance in our culture and in Jesus’ is as heavy as the cross that Simon of Cyrene carried up that mountain.

In my readings this week I came upon the poem by Shel Silverstein  entitled “The One Who Stayed.”  It details the perspective of man conflicted by his decision to remain in his town when in his childhood, a piper came and led off all the children to a life he never was able to know.  The poem’s last words are this:

“I cannot say I did not hear
That sound so hauntin’ hollow
I heard, I heard, I heard it clear…
I was afraid to follow”

The greatest irony in Jerusalem on what we call Palm Sunday was that the empire was intricately woven into the temple—the empire had infiltrated the faith community promising them the false idols of security and wealth.  History suggests that the peasant procession in the face of the imperial procession meets certain death—at the hands of the empire.  It begs the question of the church—why do we allow it and how do we participate in it?  You cannot go from Palm Sunday to Easter without passing by the cross—this Good Friday may your journey prompt reflection on which procession you choose.  Amen.

1 Comment

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  By Slick, April 17, 2011 @ 9:14 pm

  This was absolutely magnificent. I quoted several of your passages to my sisters and several friends as they were so powerfully expressed and delivered. Good job, well done on such a reflective sermon.

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