Göttinger Predigten
Göttinger Predigten im Internet hg. von U. Nembach
Palm/Passion Sunday, 04/14/2019
Sermon on Luke 23:1-49, by Paula Murray
Then the whole company of them arose and brought him before Pilate. 2 And they began to accuse him, saying, “We found this man misleading our nation and forbidding us to give tribute to Caesar, and saying that he himself is Christ, a king.” 3 And Pilate asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” And he answered him, “You have said so.” 4 Then Pilate said to the chief priests and the crowds, “I find no guilt in this man.” 5 But they were urgent, saying, “He stirs up the people, teaching throughout all Judea, from Galilee even to this place.”
6 When Pilate heard this, he asked whether the man was a Galilean.7 And when he learned that he belonged to Herod's jurisdiction, he sent him over to Herod, who was himself in Jerusalem at that time. 8 When Herod saw Jesus, he was very glad, for he had long desired to see him, because he had heard about him, and he was hoping to see some sign done by him. 9 So he questioned him at some length, but he made no answer. 10 The chief priests and the scribes stood by, vehemently accusing him. 11 And Herod with his soldiers treated him with contempt and mocked him. Then, arraying him in splendid clothing, he sent him back to Pilate. 12 And Herod and Pilate became friends with each other that very day, for before this they had been at enmity with each other.
13 Pilate then called together the chief priests and the rulers and the people, 14 and said to them, “You brought me this man as one who was misleading the people. And after examining him before you, behold, I did not find this man guilty of any of your charges against him. 15 Neither did Herod, for he sent him back to us. Look, nothing deserving death has been done by him. 16 I will therefore punish and release him.”
18 But they all cried out together, “Away with this man, and release to us Barabbas”— 19 a man who had been thrown into prison for an insurrection started in the city and for murder. 20 Pilate addressed them once more, desiring to release Jesus, 21 but they kept shouting, “Crucify, crucify him!” 22 A third time he said to them, “Why? What evil has he done? I have found in him no guilt deserving death. I will therefore punish and release him.” 23 But they were urgent, demanding with loud cries that he should be crucified. And their voices prevailed. 24 So Pilate decided that their demand should be granted. 25 He released the man who had been thrown into prison for insurrection and murder, for whom they asked, but he delivered Jesus over to their will.
26 And as they led him away, they seized one Simon of Cyrene, who was coming in from the country, and laid on him the cross, to carry it behind Jesus. 27 And there followed him a great multitude of the people and of women who were mourning and lamenting for him. 28 But turning to them Jesus said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. 29 For behold, the days are coming when they will say, ‘Blessed are the barren and the wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed!’ 30 Then they will begin to say to the mountains, ‘Fall on us,’ and to the hills, ‘Cover us.’ 31 For if they do these things when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?”
32 Two others, who were criminals, were led away to be put to death with him. 33 And when they came to the place that is called The Skull, there they crucified him, and the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. 34 And Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” And they cast lots to divide his garments. 35 And the people stood by, watching, but the rulers scoffed at him, saying, “He saved others; let him save himself, if he is the Christ of God, his Chosen One!”36 The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine37 and saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” 38 There was also an inscription over him, “This is the King of the Jews.”
39 One of the criminals who were hanged railed at him, saying, “Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!” 40 But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? 41 And we indeed justly, for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing wrong.” 42 And he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” 43 And he said to him, “Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.”
44 It was now about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour, 45 while the sun's light failed. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two. 46 Then Jesus, calling out with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” And having said this he breathed his last. 47 Now when the centurion saw what had taken place, he praised God, saying, “Certainly this man was innocent!” 48 And all the crowds that had assembled for this spectacle, when they saw what had taken place, returned home beating their breasts. 49 And all his acquaintances and the women who had followed him from Galilee stood at a distance watching these things.
When I was old enough to find my way about town on my own, I took part in the most marvelous Passion Play held at a local Methodist Church. My parents might have looked askance at that had we grown up in some other place where perhaps the Baptists held sway, or Roman Catholics, or Presbyterians, but this was south central Idaho, Mormon territory, and by a very large percentage. So everyone who was not LDS tended to stick together, especially around Easter.
I was too young to really understand the differences between all the communions of that place; it was just clear that there was a division. That division mattered, because it didn’t just have to do with where you went to church on a Sunday morning, but who your friends were at school and even, sometimes, who your daddy worked with or who sold you your auto insurance. But there was one place that we all agreed was pretty darn spectacular on the Sunday before Easter, Mormon or other, and that was the Methodist church on the square.
It wasn’t because the church was pretty, though it was, or its setting in the main town square, though that too was nice. It wasn’t because the people of the church were friendly, most adults seemed friendly to me, at least when they were at church. It wasn’t even because they had the best youth group in town, and the most active, though that was a huge draw. No, it was because they put on a Passion Play every Palm Sunday, and at the beginning of that play a REAL donkey was walked down the long, red carpet that covered the long, central aisle of that long, lovely sanctuary. A real donkey - and no one seemed to care that that very real donkey walking down that long, red carpeted aisle was not wearing any protection. I tell you that church was full to bursting on a Palm Sunday morning and everyone in that church held its collective breath until the donkey completed its amble down that long, central aisle, made a ninety degree turn to its right at the bottom of the aisle, and exited out the side door into the parking lot.
Year after year the congregation performed the same Passion Play on Palm Sunday, and year after year we all held our breath until the donkey made it down the aisle and out the door. And he never made a mess. Not that I saw, anyway.
That glorious animal drew the crowds but sort of obscured the whole point of our being there, the man on his back. Yes, one of the men of the community, usually a Methodist but not always because we did audition for some parts, acted out the part of Jesus and rode on the back of the donkey as it ambled down the aisle. And crowds of children, of which I was one, walked before it and after it dressed in bathrobes and homemade veils waving palm branches and shouting, “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna!” We might as well of been invisible, both the palm waving crowds and Jesus himself, because all eyes remained fixed on the donkey, who likely just wanted to be done with it all and eat his well-earned reward of mashed carrots and apples.
I have gone back and forth in my own head about the true value of a spectacle like the one in which I participated. Did the spectacle diminish the telling of the biblical story of Jesus’ triumphal entrance into Jerusalem? Or did it just enhance it and ensure that everyone who was a part of that day as participant or observer remembered the beginning of Jesus’ final week on earth? What about the procession which began this morning’s liturgy? The folks who like to stay in their pews might vote, I suppose, that we should do away with it. Those who like it, or at least understand the purpose of it, would say that it makes it more memorable, more a part of our lives. That would be the goal of liturgy generally, and the Church year, that by following the life of Jesus, year after year, his life and ours, as disciples, become intertwined, and, year after year, our lives are increasingly conformed to his. And it does this regardless of the age of the participant. The many parts of Palm Sunday, the palms, the processional, the talk of a donkey if not the actual animal, are accessible to children in a way that words are not. Words, objects, movement, all these teach the faith, its content, specifically what we believe, and say that our faith is alive, even as Jesus is, it’s not just a matter of old books and characters long gone.
So I come down on the side that we continue to do such things as palm processions, though sadly we do them without the donkey and it is obvious that most of us cannot walk and sing and wave a palm branch all at the same time with any grace at all. Our general level of klutziness is endured by us all for a greater good, that we become aware that we are a part of Jesus’ life. More, that this man, riding onwards to what will look like utter defeat to his enemies and the uninformed, is in truth the king not only of our lives but of life itself. It is not just a narrative, a story, a communal fiction; it is TRUTH, all in capital letters. He is the Redeemer, the One sent by God for the salvation of the world. It is TRUTH, a messy truth, both potentially, as in what the donkey could have left behind, and actually, in what humans make of it.
Though Jesus is the central character of the story of his triumphal entrance into Jerusalem, and of the Passion which follows, the people around him draw almost as much attention as does our Lord. They are a mess. They don’t get it. They welcome Jesus as though he were a soon to be Roman emperor with the conquest of yet another province to fill Rome’s greedy maw. Only, he is their king, their answer to Tiberius Caesar, the brute who held the power of the whole Roman Empire in his hands like a rider holds the power of his mount in the reins. Depending upon the Gospel from which the text of the day is taken, they throw down their robes or palm branches or tree branches in front of his steed, to make a royal highway for their king. These are people who often don’t have more than one or two robes to their name. Like my beloved Methodists in Idaho, they displayed a particular brand of courage when it came to their possessions. Still, a matter of five days later, the crowds who welcomed him to Jerusalem, are calling for his execution, “Crucify him!” they yell.
Desiring a conqueror, they intentionally throw away the suffering servant come to take the burden of their sins and the despair of death to the cross. For the sake of their security, they throw away him who can truly save them, and yet still find themselves the victors, when the one whom they have made a reproach to them and to their enemies rescues them from divine wrath and the Pit that is utter extinguishment. Lest we become arrogant in our own way, assuming our own superior understanding and faith, let us all remember those times in our lives when we have thrown away the cross and its sinless occupant, seeking to save ourselves from our sin and the humiliation of helplessness in the face of that sin. We would make ourselves the star of this day, this Palm/Passion Sunday, but, in the end, it must be him who saves us, bears our humiliation in his stripes, and accomplishes what we cannot, the forgiveness of sin and the end of death.
Will we receive the gift? Or will we continue to make a mess of it, looking for an Emperor, our own private Caesar? Let me give you one example, one pointed example, which lays out the possibilities. You will remember that in Luke’s account of the life of Jesus, two thieves are crucified with him. The thieves are nailed to the cross, and their crosses raised up, on either side of Jesus, and then they begin that long, dreadful battle to continue to draw breath that was crucifixion. But they have air enough still to talk to the one who is at the heart of this drama, Jesus, the rabbi from Nazareth.
The first thief, unwilling to let go of the mess that is his life and his starring role in it even to the end, and taking his cues from the crowd and the pun that is the sign above Jesus’ head, sneers at Jesus and says, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But the thief on the other side, rejecting the mess he had made of his life, and receiving a grace filled vision of God’s intent, responds to the first. “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Finally, before the struggle to breathe becomes all consuming, and blessed with a new but inimitable faith, he asks Jesus to “remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And Jesus looks at this poor mess of a human being and promises, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” Shortly thereafter Jesus releases his Spirit to the Father, and accomplishes our salvation with his death. Sometime later, the one-time thief, now justified saint, slipped away after his Lord and King, and the promise made him on the Messiah’s cross was fulfilled.
Today we welcome him into our lives, this holy King, and shout in our own subdued, Pennsylvania Dutch ways the Hosanna that gives him glory. By the time we have finished our Sabbath nap, we may have already stripped him of his robe and wrapped a crown of thorns around his head. We are not steadfast in faith as Christ was and is. We still ride that donkey called sin; we still want to be the star of our own little drama. But we can pray, as we follow him year by year through the gate of Jerusalem to the cross, that we become a little more like him who is our Lord and Savior, and a little bit less like us.