Sunday, March 20, 2016

Dress rehearsal



The Liturgy of the Palms
The Liturgy of the Word


Most people call this final Sunday in Lent “Palm Sunday.”  It’s not hard to understand why—the things that we do on this day that really stand out, that we might remember about it even from our childhood, have to do with the way this service began: with the story of Jesus coming into Jerusalem, and the crowds of his disciples that went along with him, crying out praises to God and hailing him as a king.  And the way we act out the story, forming our own little crowd and making a procession out in the open air, singing our own hymn of praise.  And because the gospels talk about people coming to meet Jesus with branches in their hands, we decorate the church with palm branches, and hand out palm leaves for everyone to carry in the procession. 
But while the scene along the road into Jerusalem that day was one of tremendous excitement and exuberance and joy, no one who was there thought that this was the high-water mark of Jesus’ ministry.  In their minds, this moment of triumphal entry into the city was just the beginning, just the prelude to the even more exciting and dramatic climax that was still to come.    They sang a psalm of thanksgiving to God for victory over their enemies and oppressors, and the gospels don’t say what they thought this victory would look like when it came to completion.  Maybe different people had different ideas.  But what we can say with certainty is that they didn’t expect things to turn out as they did.  Which brings into the episode a bite of irony, which we can appreciate because we know what those joyous disciples did not.
Because today is also “Passion” Sunday, that fast-forwards, if you will, to the climax that lies ahead.  This sudden, jarring shift from one story to the other, and one mood to another, heightens the sense of irony, and the impact of the passion story.  But it does so in a very particular way.  Because we are going to go back over the story again “in real time”, as it were, on Thursday evening, and Friday afternoon.  The liturgies of the great three days before Easter will lead us into deeper contemplation of the mystery of Christ’s passion, and what it reveals to us about God.  But first, we need a dress rehearsal. 
If you have ever put on a play you know that when you get to opening night, the goal is to be as unself-conscious as possible.  You want to be completely focused on the drama, embodying the characters, immersed in the world of the play, and drawing the audience with you into that world.  But at the dress rehearsal there is a kind of split consciousness.  On the one hand, the actors and crew put on the play as much as possible just as they will on opening night.  On the other hand, it is a final opportunity for the participant to examine and evaluate their performance.  Is everything just right with the makeup and the costumes, with the sound and the lighting?  Are there any last fine adjustments that need to be made to the blocking, or to this actor’s gesture, or the way that line is said?  Are there any fine notes the director wants to give so the actors can better understand the motivations of their characters, or the inner logic of the play?
For forty days we have been preparing ourselves for this week, the high point of the Christian year.  And today we read the whole sweep of the passion story, from the last supper to the tomb, in the manner of a play, as if to remind ourselves that we are not looking back across the centuries as spectators of these events, but participants in them.  But first comes the Liturgy of the Palms, preparing us to understand that, as sad and painful as the drama gets, its ultimate meaning is joy.  We are entering the contemplation of those mighty acts, as the prayer says that began this liturgy, whereby God has given us life and immortality.  But the prayer also asks for the grace of God, to help us to see them that way.  
And in that sense, Palm Sunday is like a dress rehearsal, a final chance before Easter to check our attitudes and expectations.  What, exactly, do we want these events to mean?  What do we expect will happen?  Are we looking to see something this Holy Week that gives us life and immortality?  And what would that be?  And how would we know? Today’s ironic transition from triumphal celebration to awe and shock and sorrow suggests that it is here, at the threshold of ultimate victory, that we must take the greatest care not to hope for the wrong thing.   Because misplaced hope for salvation is how we get from “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord” to “Crucify him!”
You see, we know to expect disappointments and reversals along the road to getting what we desire.  We might get discouraged for a little bit, or even fall into despair.  We might give up on it for a while, but if it is a truly noble goal, and we really want it with all our hearts, we will find a way to get up and keep going.  Of course, if we are thwarted again and again, we might finally come to the conclusion that we are striving for something that we will never attain.  Which is heartbreaking, but even then we have the consolation of knowing that we have given our all in a good cause, and perhaps will come after us to carry on the fight.  But none of this is half as devastating as learning that you have completely misread the signs, and set your heart on a false hope.  Not because what you want is beyond your ability to achieve, but because it is the wrong thing to hope for.    
Some people that Jesus was coming with the power of God to save them from their enemies and oppressors.  Some had their doubts, and were waiting for a sure sign it was safe to jump on the bandwagon.  And there were different kinds of hopes for how he would use power and what he would use it for.  Some saw it more as a military and political kind of thing--that he would raise up rebellion and drive out the Romans and make himself king.   Some saw him as more of a priestly figure, who would throw out foreigners, sure, but also the high priests and scribes while he was at it, and purify the worship of the temple.  Others went all out, and hoped he would summon armies of angels and usher in the final judgement and the promised transformation of the world.  But all of these people were wrong. 
They were wrong about Jesus, but even more importantly, they were wrong about God.  They thought God would send a great man to restore their greatness, to make them the dominant people in the world, to whom every other race and nation would pay tribute.  They thought God was going to enshrine the institutions and creeds and practices of their religion as the one true faith forever, and abolish every other way of honoring the holy.  They thought that God was going to overthrow their greedy masters and put in place by force a classless utopia where no one owned more than he needed, or rose any higher than another.  And every one of them was wrong.
So maybe the most important the question to ask, as once again we contemplate these mighty acts, is this: when we find out that we are also wrong, and that we don’t really know who God is, or what God wants, or what God will do for us, to make us truly free and truly happy, what will we do?  Will we cling that much tighter to our old hopes and expectations?  Will get enraged that they still elude our grasp and start looking around for someone to blame?  Or will we let go, empty ourselves, open ourselves to receive a hope that defies our expectations, that could only come from God, that is completely new?

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About Me

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Petaluma, California, United States
I am a priest in the Episcopal Church, and have been (among other things) an organic farmer and gardener, and a Zen monk. I have a lifelong interest in social and spiritual renewal on the basis of contemplative discipline, creative nonviolence, and ecological practice. In recent years my work has focused intensely on the responsibility of pastoral ministry in the humanistic, evangelical, and catholic branch of Christianity known as Anglicanism. I'm married with a daughter, and have three brothers and two parents.