Reflections on the Palms and the Passion

A few years back (alright, maybe more than a few now since I was still in parish ministry) I read the following words on a blog post and put them in my Palm/Passion Sunday file. I don't remember where I saw them or who wrote the post; but hopefully not a good friend whom I am about to now insult. But I've heard very similar words many, many times over the years on the lips of both clergy and lay people who wish that Palm Sunday didn't have to include the reading of the Passion. Here's what I read:

"I am thinking of starting a campaign to bring back Palm Sunday, without the additional observance of Passion Sunday. Palm Sunday was always one of my favorites growing up as a preacher's kid, and it was all about the palms--and a lot of them. It was celebratory and festive when, as child, I got a chance for a hands-on worship experience and a glimpse of what royalty could look like."

So the argument goes. This year as we continue to maintain physical distance and stay away from our church buildings we don't need to have this "argument." There will be no parades.

Yet it occurs to me that maybe this is exactly the time to do some more serious theological reflection, which is the purpose of this post. I won't be preaching on Sunday. But many will be, in new ways, including by way of broadcasting from empty churches or their own living rooms. So I offer these thoughts, early in the week, in the hope that it might stimulate thought and maybe even conversation. My goal is not to antagonize anyone but perhaps to plant a seed or two that may grow for next Holy Week. 

Whether or not the thoughts quoted above have merit, what struck me when I read them and now these years later is how nostalgic the writer was "for those festive and celebratory days when she was a child." Some of the comments in agreement with this post went further, and sounded pretty self-righteous. One in particular struck me: “we do the Passion today because a majority of people are too lazy to come back on Friday, but they are not too busy to go out to Outback…” 

Alright, so the internet may not be the place to have an adult theological conversation!

I wasn’t privy to the liturgical discussions that the editors of The Book of Common Prayer had back in the mid-1970s when they recommended this change. Maybe they did say, “hey, we better squeeze the Passion in with Palm Sunday because everyone will be at Outback on Good Friday.” But I seriously doubt that. That's just snark!
And regardless of whether they “caved in” or not to modern “realities” and regardless of whether or not some future edition of The Prayerbook ought to go back to the way things were, I want to argue that the liturgy we have works, precisely because it is complicated. What has not caught up is our theological reflection or our Biblical interpretation. In other words, I don't want to go back to the “good old days” for theological reasons. 

A brief aside, however, before I continue.Since leaving parish ministry I have seen a regular move of the Passion Narrative to the end of the liturgy, rather than in the middle, where the gospel is usually read. I wish I'd seen this done or thought about it when still in the parish because I think that does work - and I think creates a better space for hearing that narrative. By the way, in liturgical traditions like mine you get a synoptic account of the Passion on Sunday and then John's Gospel on Friday - so hearing it twice in a week is not a bad thing! Anyway, I confess I do like this move and maybe the next revision of this liturgy could make this more normative. It works well and leads into Holy Week well.

But I don't think that's what those who want to "only do Palms" have in mind. Regardless of where the Passion Narrative is read (usually in parts, as a drama) my point is simply that it should be part of the same liturgy with the palms.

Why? Because, while it’s true that the move from Palms to Passion feels abrupt, I think it has been made to feel more abrupt than it really is because we have misunderstood the little parade that we usually enact as we enter into Holy Week. I disagree that it is supposed to be “merely festive and celebratory and a glimpse at royalty!”  If you want that, then go back and watch the last royal wedding; the preaching was outstanding! I want to try try to see a deeper political and theological connection between Palms and the Passion Narrative. 

When Jesus entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “who is this?” The crowds were saying, “this is the prophet Jesus, from Nazareth in Galilee.”  

The whole city was in turmoil.  That doesn’t sound very festive to me! In Greek, that word is the same one from which we get the English word “seismic.” Matthew suggests that the whole city was “shaking” – even trembling.  Those are never words that mayors like to hear, whether we are talking about literal seismic shifts or the more metaphorical kinds. Mayors like stability.  

Estimates of the population of Jerusalem in Jesus’ day run around 40,000. But on high holy days like Passover, as many as 200,000 pilgrims would travel to Jerusalem. That's five times the normal population. Think about cities when they host the Olympics or the Super Bowl and you begin to get some sense of the electricity, the buzz. But add to that the political context of Roman occupation. This isn’t a Thanksgiving Day parade. It’s a political rally. And potentially more than a rally. Maybe the start of a revolution. Think Tiennemann Square or Tahir Square or a million person march on The Mall in Washington and I think we get closer to the tensions that go to the heart of this day.

Now add to that tinderbox the religious dimensions: the meaning of Passover itself and the messianic hopes of Second Temple Judaism and the yearning for a Son of (King) David to save Israel. It's intense. When we sing All Glory Laud and Honor, maybe it's a protest song. 

In their book, The Last Week: A Day-by-Day Account of Jesus’ Final Week in Jerusalem, John Dominic Crossan and Marcus Borg imagine another parade across town: a display of Roman imperial power, as Pontius Pilate rides into the city with horse and chariot and shining armor and the brass bands playing John Philip Sousa marches. (Well, maybe not so much the Sousa!) That’s where the festive royal parade really is: that's where the display of Roman imperial power is and the flexing of political muscle. Because the Roman authorities are worried that a riot might break out as these pilgrims gather to remember that old, old story of the Exodus: a story about how the bonds of Pharaoh’s oppression were loosed and the captives went free. If people start to see the connection between Pharaoh and Caesar, they might start telling old Caesar to let God’s people go! 

So what exactly is Jesus doing as he rides into town on an ass? Is he mocking Pilate and the Empire? Is it a counter-demonstration? Is he reminding his people that Passover isn’t just a remembering of the past, but a challenge to all misuses of power and authority in every time and place? 

I don't know. But the text says "that the whole city was seismic!" As in "about to blow up." And politicians—especially politicians whose authority is being questioned—worry about angry mobs. They tend to want to squelch angry mobs. They call it “keeping the peace,” but it’s really about keeping order and far too often the powers-that-be often confuse the two. 

Jesus comes to bring lasting peace with justice that exposes the Pax Romana for what it really is.  During the Lenten season we pause to remember people like Oscar Romero and Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Both of them and many others who have gone before us discovered the costs of discipleship when they stood for the gospel and against the powers of this world.

There is a temptation for Christians, particularly North American Christians, to turn this day into something that is merely individualistic and “spiritual.”  Something that has nothing to do with the worlds in which we live and move and have our being: to turn it into a nice “celebratory and festive parade.” But I think when we do that we distort its true meaning. Jesus taught us to look for, and to work towards, the New Jerusalem, the new Washington, DC, and the new Worcester. And that is what he is about, I think, as he comes riding into Jerusalem on this day.

A decade or so ago, I went to a Shabbat service at one of the synagogues in Worcester for a retirement/ going-away event for their longtime rabbi, Seth Bernstein. He was committed to interfaith work for over twenty-five years in Worcester and I had had several opportunities to work and teach with him. Included in the prayers at that liturgy was one from the Reform Jewish Prayerbook which captured my imagination. It’s a prayer for Shabbat, but I think it also works as a prayer to carry with us into this Holy Week. It's a prayer that has haunted me since first praying it and every year or so I come back to it and it feels even more important and even more relevant. 

And I have come to believe it provides a kind of bridge to connect the Palms with the Passion, as Jesus comes riding into Jerusalem. Because as we see when we hear the Passion narratives, the response of the authorities is swift and violent. As if often is. God may well bless the peacemakers. But very often, governments try to shut them up.

So here is that prayer.

DISTURB US, Adonai, ruffle us from our complacency. Make us dissatisfied. Dissatisfied with the peace of ignorance, the quietude which arises from a shunning of the horror, the defeat, the bitterness and the poverty, physical and spiritual, of humans. Shock us, Adonai, deny to us the false Shabbat which gives us the delusions of satisfaction amid a world of war and hatred; Wake us O God, and shake us from the sweet and sad poignancies rendered by half forgotten melodies and rubric prayers of yesteryears; Make us know that the border of the sanctuary is not the border of living and the walls of Your temples are not shelters from the winds of truth, justice and reality. Disturb us, O God, and vex us; let not Your Shabbat be a day of torpor and slumber; let it be a time to be stirred and spurred to action.Baruch atah, Adonai, m'kadeish Ha Shabbat.