“Sermon for Palm Sunday, 2015” by Marjory Bankson

March 29, 2015

 Palm/Passion Sunday

Scripture: Mark 11: 1-11

Palm Sunday is such an incongruous mixture of celebration and hopefulness mixed with an undercurrent of fear and dread. Like us, the disciples knew – and didn’t want to know – what was coming. They dreaded the confrontations ahead.

As Mark tells the story, crowds of rural pilgrims were converging in Jerusalem for Passover, stirred by the stories of liberation and freedom in their yearly Passover liturgy. These excited visitors, surging through the streets of Jerusalem, would also bring legions of Roman soldiers to the city, to keep things in order. It was a volatile mix.

 

As Mark tells it, the Temple authorities were angry about Jesus’ teachings – claiming his authority to forgive sins, healing on the Sabbath, eating with sinners, preaching the realm of God here and now. In Mark 10, Jesus tells his disciples exactly what is going to happen: “Listen,” he says, “we are going up to Jerusalem where the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the teachers of the Law. They will condemn him to death and then hand him over to the Gentiles. These will make fun of him, spit on him, whip him, and kill him. And after three days he will rise to life.”

Following that dreadful preview, Mark includes two important stories before Jesus enters Jerusalem for the final time. One is about distraction. James and John deal with the possibility of Jesus’ death by asking to sit on his right and his left when Jesus claims his throne “in the glorious Kingdom.”

Your faith in what, we might ask. Faith in Jesus? Faith in his desire to see? The wording is ambiguous. Bartemaeus is not some passive victim who is being rescued by Jesus. He fights for the chance to be fully alive again – to see what is really going on and to walk with Jesus into the fray.

Both stories open our eyes to the demands of discipleship. Can we drink the cup of truth and reality? Can we be baptized as Jesus was, facing our fear of death and emerging as new creatures with a different guidance system in place? Do we want to be healed – changed – transformed? It’s a question we need to ask ourselves again and again.

Contrasting Realms

Mark’s narrative then brings us to what we celebrate as Palm Sunday. In chapter 11, my Bible translation calls this “The Triumphant Entry into Jerusalem.” It is the culmination of a long journey on foot from Galilee, about a hundred miles to the north. Crowds have gathered and disbursed, some moving with Jesus toward Jerusalem for Passover. That’s why Bartemaeus had such a hard time getting his attention.

Notice the universal dimension of this oracle. “He shall command peace to the nations – dominion from sea to sea – and from the River to the ends of the earth. This reference to Zechariah speaks to me of our theme for Lent – that God’s realm means peace and harmony for all aspects of creation, to the ends of the earth. Could it be that the dream of a peaceable kingdom is planted in all of us? That it only needs to be fed and watered to thrive? And when we listen, really listen, to the birds of the air and the bears of the polar sea, can we hear their cries of distress? Can we see those people who are systematically ignored by our economic and social policies?

Jesus came into Jerusalem, in the midst of a palm-waving crowd of nobodies, barely carried by an undersized and unarmored colt. He embodies God’s realm, the peaceable kingdom, the creative and inclusive hope of the world. In contrast, the Roman soldiers would be coming in from the north toward the praetorium, marching with clanking swords, creaking armor, and horse-drawn chariots, embodying the violent world-order of Rome.

Can you imagine where would you be in that picture of Jerusalem? Would you be in the exuberant crowd around Jesus? Pressing close to the colt, watching for trouble? Would you be an onlooker, hiding inside your Jerusalem house, waiting for all the crowds to go home? Or might you be hanging around the temple yard, selling something? Where would you be? What would you be thinking? Feeling? What would you fear most? And where do you imagine Seekers might be clustered?

When I visualize these two contrasting images, I realize that both are alive in me. On one hand, I see and hear the predictable, orderly, reliable Roman solider in me, who is fearful of boisterous unruly crowds. On the other hand, there is a lively creative artist in me, who loves the hopefulness and possibility of newness that I sense around Jesus.

Our text for today ends simply: Jesus rode into Jerusalem, went into the temple and looked around, and then, since it was late in the day, he went back to Bethany with his disciples.

 As we look ahead toward Maundy Thursday and the crucifixion on “Good” Friday, there are two other stories that seem important to consider as we explore what it means to be healed, and to grow as disciples.

, you remember, is where Mary, Martha and Lazarus lived. Jesus might have been staying with them, as he had before. Later in this momentous week, Jesus was at the house of Simon the leper – another one of those unclean people that he often ate with. An unnamed woman comes in with an alabaster jar full of expensive perfume, and anoints Jesus’ head.

When the disciples object to this extravagant gesture by the woman, Jesus defends her by saying “You will always have poor people to help, but she has anointed my body for burial. Wherever the gospel is preached, all over the world, what she has done will be told in memory of her.”

In fact, I have rarely heard a sermon preached “in memory of her.” But in this incident, we catch sight of God’s realm once again. The usual hierarchy of anointing is upended. A nameless woman does what the disciples cannot do because they don’t want to admit Jesus will die. Like Bartemaeus, she breaks through social convention with an act of love and compassion, and Jesus affirms her for it. He keeps exposing his disciples to God’s peaceable kingdom – his version of the beloved community – hoping (I suspect) that they will have a deep enough experience to continue his work once he is gone.

The anointing at Bethany prefigures the footwashing and communion supper that we will celebrate on Maundy Thursday. Once again, in Mark 14, Jesus sends his disciples ahead to spot a man with a jug of water who will lead them to the upper room where they will celebrate Passover together. This too seems prearranged. By using this repetitive pattern, Mark links the extensive palm branch parade with the intensive upper room preparation for ministry. Both are facets of God’s realm here on earth.

In the middle of their Passover meal, Jesus acknowledges that one of the disciples will betray him – and they begin to worry, “Could it be me?”

Betrayal doesn’t always mean turning your leader in to the police for money. Sometimes it’s as “simple” as what happened to Peter while Jesus was dying on the cross: “I am not one of his disciples,” he said, as the cock crowed in the distance. We all know that story of denial, but it didn’t disqualify Peter from becoming a leader in the early Christian community.

This story reminds me (again) how easy it is to fall asleep when it’s important not to. We can’t stand too much reality, apparently. When we really don’t want to face the amount of danger and suffering around us, we reach for distractions. We argue about who’s in charge, or what if this or that might happen. We go to sleep. And we all do it.

But the good news is this: falling asleep didn’t disqualify Peter, James or John for the tasks ahead of them. Instead, failing Jesus in his hour of need was part of their preparation, their self-knowledge and discipline for the work they were being called to.

In his pamphlet, “Leading From Within,” Parker Palmer warns of leaders who project their unconscious shadows onto others. This whole section on betrayal and denial and sleepiness suggests to me that Jesus was well aware of the numbing fears that were haunting his disciples. In the Garden, Jesus faced his own worst fears and was still able to call Peter, James and John toward their work in the world.

My gleanings so far from this Palm Sunday meditation on Mark’s gospel are these:

• May we all choose into this Easter journey with Jesus – because it leads to new life!

  Amen.