Jesus' triumphal entry on this Palm Sunday has an empty, ironic feel. The people will soon turn on Jesus after praising him on this day. He is lauded on this day but there are ominous hints in the Mark passage. These point in the direction that Jesus is a new kind of king, one whose way still troubles those who wish to follow him.
Riding into town Parades in our part of the world have a charming, folksy, small-town genuineness quality about them. The well-prepared parade attendee gets to their spot early, brings a lawn chair, lugs a pot of coffee, is equipped with sun screen, and then sits and waits for people they already know and have seen a thousand times walk by. You've seen an uncle or a niece a thousand times before and you haven't given it a second thought. But that person is out on the asphalt on a parade day and it is a thrill.
One of the features of every parade is the people riding in a convertible waving to the crowd. The parade queen tries to keep her face frozen in a perpetual smile for the length of the parade route. The mayor bravely acknowledges the applause of his or her fellow citizens who may be thinking ``if he/she can be mayor, then why not me?'' The local politician needs to wave and smile yet look appropriately serious enough so that we know he or she can handle complex issues like casinos on tribal lands, inheritance tax law, and educational reform.
Today we are imagining again that famous parade of years ago when Jesus, having made it all the way down from Galilee to Jerusalem, enters the famous city. He enters to some robust cheering echoing the cries of Psalm 118, a flurry of waving branches with leaves fluttering in the wind, and nearby are his excited disciples who must have thought something big was soon to happen. But Jesus, what might he have thought as he balanced himself on the donkey midst the cry ``hosanna!''
There is enough buried in these verses from Mark's gospel to let us know that everything isn't going to be ``as usual,'' that this is no ordinary parade. Choosing a donkey to ride into town on is the first hint. One immediately suspects that Davidic royalty will be redefined. Mark has shown Jesus suggesting that his way, his road will be difficult. And now, entering Jesus, the people throw branches in front of him on the road. Might this road too lead to suffering? Then there is the grim mood of verse 11. After he gets into Jerusalem and things quiet down we see him off the donkey walking slowly into the temple. He ``looked around'' a verb that carries the strength of staring right into the heart of the matter, taking everything in. It is late, so he goes out to Bethany, to his friends' house.
He had seen enough. Back in Jeremiah's time (check Jeremiah 7), the sixth century BC, the people of Israel dared to hope they would find immunity in the temple. In spite of oppressing the alien, neglecting the widow, forgetting about the orphan, and shedding innocent blood, they thought that they could find safety in the temple. But Jeremiah said ``no'' you can't steal and murder, you can't swear falsely and commit adultery, you can't just chase after other gods then come here and say ``ahhh, we are safe!''
In a similar way Jesus looked around, deep into the heart of the matter, and said this isn't right, I won't put up with it. He went away to Bethany to take a few deep breaths, sleep on it, and then returned the next day to vent his righteous indignation. ``My house is supposed to be a house of prayer, but you have turned it into a den of robbers.''
A cheap and easy faith One of the things I have heard over and over across the years is this, ``those people who go to church, they are just a bunch of hypocrites.'' We have all heard some variation on that theme, and maybe we've been the authors ourselves. ``Those people over there, they act so pious, but look at what they do! They are so corrupt and two-faced. Can't they see their blatant inconsistencies?'' Or put another way, ``they talk the talk, but do they walk the walk?''
Now it is mighty tempting to take pious potshots at the imperfections of others--that is true. It is also true that we should examine the beam in our own eye before we worry about the speck in our neighbor's eye. But as Jesus cast his eye about the people mouthing their praises on the streets of Jerusalem, and as they bowed in prayer in the temple, his eyes penetrated right through them.
When Jeremiah looked around the temple he pronounced the Lord's indicting verdict. It is in the tradition of Jeremiah that Jesus stood in the temple of Jerusalem and looked around. All of which begs the question, if Jesus were to take a hard look around the modern day temples of our own landthe big multi-million dollar sprawling ones, the storefront ones with the quickly scribbled signs, the older ones with dark benches and great acousticsall of them--what would he see, and what would he say?
Would Jesus notice that we sing the songs of David rather well, in harmony and with spirit, but we don't have much of a clue what to do next? Would Jesus notice that we spend an exorbitant amount on ourselves, rather than being generous towards others? Would Jesus say you pray to me for safety and protection but in truth you give your blessing to sending armies of death around the world in the name of your own security? Would Jesus say that you talk about the church as a family but in truth class, ethnicity, and culture are a more powerful determinant of who you will associate with? What would Jesus notice if he took a careful look around today?
A matter of identity I've never liked Palm Sunday too much. Probably, it is precisely because of the hypocrisy of this day. As it turned out, all those hallelujahs, all those nice incantations of the Psalms, had scant little enduring power. It was all pretty hypocritical. And like all of you, I don't want to be a hypocrite. I want my actions to resemble my words. That's what I want for all of us.
We enter this holy week and we are today, and will across the week if we listen, find ourselves challenged with crucial identity issues. Who are we anyhow, and can we identify ourselves with this Jesus? Jesus was no ordinary king riding into Jerusalem. He was the servant-king, riding on the back of a donkey. He willingly took upon himself the role of the servant. He is the one who, along the way, said that anyone who wishes to follow me must take up the cross. He's the one who wonders who will still praise him, and stand by his side, when the hard questions come, when daylight fades to night? When the sword bearing soldiers come in the dead of night, who will stand and who will run? When a kiss is planted on his cheek, which way will you look? When things look lost, and a stranger asks `do you know him?' what will you say? And when he's hanging on a desolate cross between two thieves, and the thought comes, `this is what it means,' then what will you decide to do?
By now the shouting and the praising has all died away. The branches and the leaves have been swept away, over to the side of the road. Another parade has come and gone. Night has fallen and Jesus is here. He is looking hard into the heart of things. Then he turns. What will he find when he settles his gaze and stops to look at you and at me?
