Palm/Passion B: Cries, Confusion, Compassion

Mark 11:1-11
Mark 15:6-15
Philippians 2:1-11

Dear Partner in Preaching,

I am struck by both the cry and confusion of the crowd who witnesses and participates in Jesus’ triumphal entry. “Hosanna,” they cry: “Save us.” Or, depending on how you interpret it, as a cry of anticipation or a cry of adoration, perhaps, “Savior.” In either case, this single word captures the hopes, pleas, dreams, needs, and expectations of a crowd of people who were worn out by occupation, by feeling like strangers in their own land, and who had little day-to-day hope of improving their life or lot. And so they turn to Jesus.

I don’t know how many of our folks would readily, or at least initially, want to identify with this crowd. We tend to be more comfortable sharing our accomplishments than failures, our success (or those of our kids and grandkids) then our setbacks, stories of healing rather than of pain. A cursory glance at most social media accounts offers a fairly effortful attempt to show the glossy side of our lives.

And yet, if you have a quiet moment with a friend, offer him or her a genuine moment of attentive and accepting listening, you will be surprised at the deep ache so many of us carry. Fears about the future, challenges in our relationships, a general sense of impotence about world events, less confidence in some of the social structures – church, law enforcement, government, family – than we once maintained. “Hosanna. Save us.” All in all, not that different from the folks who welcomed Jesus and longed for him to change things…and themselves. “Hosanna. Savior.”

But along with identifying with their cry, I’m also struck by their confusion. Yes, they want salvation, but on their own terms, perhaps imagined as a dramatic defeat of the Romans and restoration of Israel. What they don’t imagine, what they don’t really want, truth be told, is a Savior who dies. A savior who identifies with them completely and fully rather than elevates them to where they’d like to be. They don’t want a God who changes them by challenging their view of themselves, their neighbors, and their values, they want a God who reinforces and even validates these values and beliefs. “Hosanna. Save us…. But don’t change us.”

Again, I can identify. I would prefer to be fixed than transformed. Christianity as on-going program of self-improvement is rather attractive, but Christianity as giving up the ghost of my vain expectations, of looking outward toward the need of others rather than inward to my own hopes, that’s a little harder to get excited about. Self-improvement validates the importance of self; a commitment to service based on Christ’s example (Phil. 2) doesn’t by any means denigrate the importance of the self but demonstrates how our existence, meaning, well-being and future is inextricably bound up in the existence, meaning, well-being and future of those around us.

So little wonder that the cries of “Save us” turn all too quickly and painfully to “crucify him.” It’s the same crowd, the same people, the same bunch of hopeful adorers who soon become hateful accusers. It’s a shocking turn of events, but perhaps not too surprising. We often set up people – leaders, celebrities, personal heroes – as the answer to our hopes only to eagerly tear them down when they disappoint us.

Perhaps what’s most surprising about this story, then, is neither the cry or confusion of the crowds, even if I only begrudgingly admit how much I am like them, but rather the compassion and commitment of Jesus. He enters Jerusalem to cries he knows will turn to accusations. He comes down from heavenly glory to take on our lot and life. He eschews the prerogatives and privileges of his divine status to take on the form of a servant and die the death of an outcast.

Why? Not, in the end, to show us how messed up we are, how distorted our sense of values has become, how short-sighted we are in our willingness, even eagerness, to trade faith for security and exchange love for comfort. Oh, don’t get me wrong, that’s part of what Jesus’ descent into our lives and world does – it betrays the lies we love and to which we cling. But that’s not the goal, only the means to invite us into authentic relationship with God and each other. Death comes before resurrection. It is not the goal, just an inevitable result of our condition that God overcomes in love.

I think as I approach this Sunday I am inclined to keep my focus initially on the crowd – my people, if pushed to admit it – and therefore go with the Mark 11:1-11 text as the primary Gospel text. But perhaps to amend it with just a few verses from the Passion (Mark 15:6-15) to pose the question of this shocking but not ultimately surprising turn of events. Yet the passage behind it all remain Paul’s “Christ-hymn” to his beloved congregation in Philippi, because focusing too long on our fickle natures and unseemly but unavoidable resemblance to the crowds leads only to despair. Ultimately, my identification with the crowds is also a means, a means to recognize that Christ did indeed come to save me, to save us, not from the Romans (or whatever 21st century equivalents I have constructed), but rather from myself, and from my values, and from a world that teaches that what matters most is what I want rather than sees the possibility that meeting my neighbor’s need will also satisfy my own heart’s deepest desire.

Jesus came indeed to save and to transform. Death it will feel like at first, and then life. Just like the one who came to reveal and achieve it:

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, 
who, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself,
and took the form of a slave
. (Phil. 2:5-7)

Perhaps that will preach, Dear Partner. Perhaps, even if our people or even we ourselves aren’t quite ready to hear it, through the power of the Holy Spirit it will preach, convict, and redeem. Whatever direction you may go or however your sermon may turn out, know of my gratitude to you for your effort, for your faithful work, as your words continue to make a difference, even when you don’t always see it.

Yours in Christ,
David