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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