We start today’s message by bringing to our mind’s eye the holy city of Jerusalem, just before Passover. Estimates vary, but the population of Jerusalem in those days was likely in the range of 40,000. Penticton size, if you will. But three times per year, at the major Jewish festivals, between 125,000 and 150,000 pilgrims would descend upon the city, more than quadrupling the population. Some folks would have the resources to do this on a fairly regular basis, whereas for others, especially for those from far away of modest means, it was a once in a lifetime event. So we imagine the old city of Jerusalem – the cramped streets, the ramparts, and the hilly areas around the city that visitors would have encountered on their way in.
As described in Luke’s
gospel, on the day we remember as Palm Sunday, Jesus entered the city on the
back of a colt, and his followers hailed him as Messiah. Though Luke’s version of the story does not
specifically include palm branches or shouts of “hosanna”, today we borrow
those from the other gospel stories, Matthew, Mark and John. Down from the
hilltop village of Bethany – the place where Mary anointed Jesus’ feet– this
modest little parade went down the Mount of Olives, past the garden of
Gethsemane, and back up to the east/”golden” gate of the city. And again, we imagine the sights and smells
and emotions: the temperature in April would be about the same as the
temperature here (Osoyoos/Oliver) in May, there’d be the scents of the local
foliage, and palm branches – and the perspiration, and the colt - and the
sounds of chaotic jubilation.
Numerically, we don’t know
how widespread a following Jesus had, and there were other things going on in
Jerusalem, as we shall soon hear. With
all that, it’s hard to tell how much attention this parade would have
garnered. What we do know, is shared
through an extended quote from the late professor Marcus Borg, whose work with
John Dominic Crossan has been such an influence for so many of us in the
mainline Churches of north America. Marcus wrote:
“Two processions entered
Jerusalem that Passover. The other
procession was an imperial one. On or
about the same day [as Jesus’ modest entry], the Roman governor Pontius Pilate
rode into the city from the opposite side, the west, at the head of a very
different kind of procession: imperial cavalry and foot soldiers arriving to
reinforce the garrison on the Temple Mount.
They did so each year at Passover.
“Imagine the scene as Pilate’s
procession entered the city, a panoply of imperial power. Weapons, helmets, golden eagles mounted on
poles, sun glinting on metal and gold.
The pounding of horse hooves, the clinking of bridles, the marching of
feet, the creaking of leather, the beating of drums, the swirling of dust. The eyes of the silent onlookers, some
curious, some awed, some resentful.
“Jesus (as well as the
authors of the gospels) would have known about Rome’s policy of sending
reinforcements to the city at Passover.
His decision to enter the city as he did was what we would call a
planned political demonstration, a counterdemonstration. The juxtaposition of these two processions
embodies the central conflict of Jesus’s last week: [the choice between] the kingdom
of God or the kingdom of imperial domination.
What Christians have often spoken of as Jesus’s triumphal entry was
really an anti-imperial entry. What we
call Palm Sunday, featured a choice of two kingdoms, two visions of life on
earth.” (Borg, p 232)
What an important contrast
for us to consider in 2025.
Arriving from the west, the
Imperial Guard in all its splendour, power and pageantry, a none-too-subtle
reminder that the Jewish people were not fully masters of their own destiny, not
unlike like the blunt message being delivered to Gazans today. Herod was their King, yes, but in name only;
Rome was in charge, and were happy to spill some blood to remind the Judeans of
this.
Arriving from the east, a
much less impressive display, centred around a young man from Galilee who had
something to say: Jesus of Nazareth. He
had been healing, preaching and, importantly, listening as people described the
limitations of their lives. As
knowledgeable as a Rabbi in his command of scripture, speaking with the
authority of God’s own voice, he excited his listeners by outlining a new realm
in which the order of things would be inverted: the first would be last and the
last, first, God’s own vision of harmony and abundance restored for all.
In April of 2025, these two competing
visions are once again before us: the gilt-edged ostentatious power of wealth and
privilege, cockiness and weaponry; and the life-affirming power that insists on
all persons being uplifted with peace, love and dignity, not just those with
the right connections. And here, we
speak of peace not just as an absence of war, but the kind of peace that
emerges when there is a true concern for those who are visibly reviled,
oppressed, and kept away from the things they need in order to thrive. Each of these visions stakes its claim, now as
in Jerusalem 2000 years ago, and ordinary people, you and me, choose what we
will regard as the foundation and purpose of our lives.
The type of power asserted by
Rome, we are well-familiar with. With
each targeting of the 2SLGBTQIA+ community, with each attack on science and
learning, with each removal of rights from women, with each disrespect of
sovereignty, with each announcement of the addition or subtraction of helter-skelter
tariffs, Rome insists that we pay attention.
Rome tries to scare us into complicity, or else.
What may be harder for us to
really grasp, is the alternative: what exactly is it that Jesus, and all voices
of equanimity and reason are putting before us?
Once more, I turn to Marcus Borg, who describes the choice made over the
ages by those who embrace the transformative path of Jesus:
“The way of Jesus was about
personal transformation. And it was
political, God’s passion for a different kind of world – one in which people
have enough, not as the result of charity but as the fruit of justice, and
within which nations do not war against one another anymore. [The path of Jesus is] a path of resistance
to the domination system, and advocacy of an alternative vision of life
together under God. His counter-advocacy,
his passion for God’s passion, led to his execution. The way of the cross is both personal and
political.”
Every year, Palm Sunday
presents to us this contrast: between Caesar and God, between the coercive
might of Rome, Herod and Pontius Pilate, and the transformative infusion of
love, which was shown to us by Jesus and passed on to us as his legacy to us
and in us. And in previous years, when
Palm Sunday would come around, I would hear the choice between these two paths almost
as a formality. Of course I choose the
way of Jesus, I decided that when I was confirmed over fifty years ago and
have, I hope, found ways to assert that in tens of thousands of little choices
since then. The choices I make, good and
bad, are informed by my understanding of Jesus, and his way of
boundary-breaking love, and at my best I might even get it right 51% of the
time. Thank goodness that the grace of God is more reliable than my personal
fidelity to the task.
But this year, Palm Sunday is
different for me, for in this moment in time – amidst a world whose precarious
balance is getting yanked to and fro by the off-balanced decisions of one
person and his supporting regime, and as we think and pray about our own
Federal election – we realize that a Rome vs. Jesus scenario is before us. To
use a term we first heard a couple of months ago, a key aspect of our calling
right now, as households and as Church and perhaps even as a nation, is to
create “islands of sanity,” places of safety for those who are being targeted
by the mean-spiritedness of the day, places where knowledge and wisdom are
valued, places where the lovingkindness of God for all her children finds
explicit expression.
Something that has come
increasingly clear to me in recent days, even as I remain committed to changing
my buying habits and my personal entertainment choices as a small way of asserting
the sovereignty of this Canadian homeland that I love, is the importance of
separating out my indignant response to the mean-spirited decisions made by the
President, from my aspirations – and, I believe, God’s – relative to my
neighbours.
My desire to support my
nation at a time of threat and official disrespect must not cross over to being
judgmental or inhospitable toward our neighbours just over the border, whose
suffering is different from ours but just as real. I admit to some trepidation as to the possible
reaction south of the 49th to a car with BC plates, not to mention the
possible search of phone/laptop at the border, but I can choose how I respond
to our cross-border guests, I can choose the spiritual gift of hospitality and God’s
heart of grace. I also realize, at this
key point in our nation’s history, how easy it is for these local and national
needs to distract us from the urgent needs of this planet. As each nation views itself as less and less
interconnected to the whole, there is a global temptation to ramp up all industries
everywhere, nation by nation, the same industries that put such pressure on
this precious, precarious planet. In so
many ways, personal and political, local and national, it’s time to be
vigilant, but not time to push the panic button and start doing things we will
regret later on.
On Palm Sunday, we are wary
of the power of Herod, Pilate and Caesar, and we note the irony, as Jesus is
heralded as Messiah or King, for his Kingship is completely different. The goal
of life as we follow Jesus into the kin-dom of God, is completely unlike the
ways of wealth and privilege and the mocking tone of aggressive superiority. And we
are called to choose between those shapings of power.
In spite of the cost, Jesus
stayed true to his mission. In spite of
the cost, the saints and martyrs of the early church, and people of deep faith
and high principle since then, have likewise remained true. And in spite of the stress of the weird, flabbergasting,
almost dreamlike days in which we live, we are called to embody the
transformative love of Jesus: as we muddle through our days, as we determine
our calling as Church, and, on April 28th, as we cast our
votes. May our words and actions speak
a loud Hosanna, to the Christ who comes in God’s name. Amen.
Reference cited:
Borg, Marcus. Jesus:
Uncovering the Life, Teachings, and Relevance of a Religious Revolutionary. NYC: HarperCollins, 2006. Pages 225-232.
See also:
Borg, Marcus and Crossan,
John Dominic. The Last Week: What the Gospels Really Teach About Jesus's
Final Days in Jerusalem. NYC: HarperOne, 2007.
Jackson, Wayne. https://christiancourier.com/articles/how-many-people-were-in-jerusalem-when-jesus-was-crucified
Wheatley, Margaret. Restoring
Sanity: Practices to Awaken Generosity, Creativity, and Kindness in Ourselves
and Our Organizations. Oakland, CA: Berrett-Koehler, 2024.
© 2025 Rev Greg Wooley,
Osoyoos-Oliver United Church Pastoral Charge.
No comments:
Post a Comment