A TALE OF TWO PROCESSIONS
A sermon preached by
Rev. Dr. Randle R. Mixon
First Baptist Church, Palo Alto, CA
Sunday April 5, 2009
Text: Mark 11:1-11
People were streaming to the old city from every direction, crowding through all the gates into the narrow, winding streets. They were coming from every corner of the western world to celebrate the ancient festival. As the roads were thick with the dust of trampling feet, so was the air thick with the electricity of anticipation. The most sacred of celebrations lay ahead. With such a large, excitable crowd, the Roman overlords and their Judean collaborators were understandably uneasy about maintaining order and keeping control. Passover was always a tenuous time for those responsible for sustaining the system of domination that was the order of the day.
So we see, entering this volatile scene, two processions - one from the east, the other from the west; one with all the pomp and glory of Roman power and authority, the other looking like a hastily organized carnival parade made up of whatever ragtag group could be collected at the last minute; each commenting on the futility of the other’s purpose; both on a collision course of direct and deadly confrontation.
This is the scenario that Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan posit in their book, The Last Week: What the Gospels Really Teach About Jesus’s Final Days in Jerusalem. As they comment on the first day of that week, they argue that something like this scene was inevitable. History teaches that these annual Passover gatherings were indeed volatile. The crowds were too large to be contained within the city walls, so the overflow spilled out into surrounding villages like Bethphage and Bethany, with some even camping out in the surrounding countryside. Though the parallels are not exactly the same, imagine the crowd control concerns in Harvey Park the night of President Obama’s election or on the Capitol Mall the day of his inauguration. Or think of the accounts of the fears of the Kennedy and Johnson administrations as the great civil rights demonstrations of the 60s played out in our nation’s capital. How do we keep a large assemblage of disaffected citizens orderly, under control? The administrations turned to police and the military to ensure security. Martin Luther King, Jr., Bayard Rustin and the rest placed their faith in nonviolent resistance, the work of love.
But back to Jerusalem. Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor in 30 AD, disdained the provincial Judean capital, in spite of its reputation for great beauty. He preferred to keep his residence at Ceasarea Maritima, the magnificent Mediterranean port city recently built by Herod, the Great. Perhaps Pilate preferred the latest things. He only came up to Jerusalem when it was necessary to rattle Rome’s sword and keep Rome’s peace among the unruly, uncivilized Judeans with their strange religion. Annually they insisted on celebrating some story of how their god had liberated them from Egyptian slavery centuries ago. The governor would have to travel to Jerusalem from the coast, accompanied by a large retinue of armed forces, to make sure everyone knew who was in charge. He, himself, would lead the procession, riding a fine stallion, trained for battle. The crazy crowd would see the invincibility of Roman power and authority and hopefully forego any foolish schemes of sedition or rebellion. Flags flying, weapons gleaming, Pilate and his troops would enter the western gate that led directly to Herod’s palace. There the governor stayed while he was in Jerusalem.
Meanwhile, to the east of the city, a group of pilgrims made their way down from Galilee to Jericho and then up the steep ascent that crested at the Mount of Olives. This motley group of fishermen, tax collectors, sharecroppers, peasant women, men and children would enter the eastern gate that led directly to Herod’s monumental temple. As they made their final approach to the city, their leader sent two of their number ahead with a curious assignment. They were to locate a donkey on which he might ride into the city. Once mounted on the donkey, his followers cheering along the way, as others in the great crowd took up the chant, he rode forward to his destiny. The celebration spread like wildfire through the crowd, they cut branches to wave and laid their coats on his path. It was as if some great potentate was entering the city, laying claim to the throne. “Hosanna!” they shouted. “Blessed is the one who comes to re-establish the glory of the kingdom of David.”
What irony! A king mounted on a donkey, attended by peasant rabble, rather than armed forces. How would this king ever conquer or rule? Did Jesus know what he was doing? Was he aware of the conflict he was courting? The gospel says that Jesus knew – and tried to teach his followers - that, indeed, he was going to Jerusalem where he would be arrested, tried and executed. Borg and Crossan argue that the ironically named “triumphal entry” was guerrilla theater, deliberately planned by Jesus to demonstrate visually the immense difference between the kingdom of God and the empire of Rome, between nonviolent resistance and violent force, between love incarnate and repressive power.
Of course, the crowd no more understood his true purpose than did his own followers. They wanted him to be their long-expected Messiah. They thought he would come on the scene, driving out the hated Romans. They expected he would bring leveling justice to the high-handed and wealthy Judean collaborators. They hoped he would restore the power and glory of David’s kingdom, their ancient, longed for glory days. They desired that he turn their lives from poverty to plenty, from sickness to health, from despair to fulfillment. He had tried to show his followers that this was not how God’s kingdom worked, that instead discipleship meant following him all the way from life to death to resurrection and new life. But all they could think of was how important their roles might be in the coming kingdom, who would sit on his right and left, who would be the greatest. On this day he allowed them their illusion, he did not try to silence their hosannas, he did not deny the acclamation of Messiahship.
But this is a tale of two processions. Here the power of love confronts the power of military might. Here the authority of God’s kingdom of peace and justice confronts the authority of domination systems. Here the way of God confronts the way of the world. Borg and Crossan argue that the kingdom of God, the way that Jesus both shows and walks, is in direct contrast to what they name as “domination systems,” systems such as the Roman Empire with its collection of local collaborators that sought to keep the whole of western civilization in the place they deemed proper. The authors say that the domination systems are characterized by “political oppression,” “economic exploitation” and “religious legitimation,” that is, power, centered in a few, that oppresses and exploits the many is somehow ordained by God. “This is just the way it is people; get used to it.” This is the sort of system under which the Jewish people labored in Jesus’ time (Marcus J. Borg & John Dominic Crossan, The Last Week: What the Gospels Really Teach About Jesus’s Final Days in Jerusalem pp. 7-8.)
Jesus challenges the assumptions of the domination system, but the system cannot stand such a challenge. It insists that Jesus be silenced. Neither Jesus nor God desires Jesus’ death. This is not the story of a bloody sacrifice, demanded by a cruel and vengeful god for the sins of the world. This is the story of the inevitable consequences of the collision of these two processions, two conflicting powers, two different ways of life. Jesus knew and understood the consequences that come from following God’s way and proclaiming God’s kingdom. God’s way and God’s kingdom are not what the world expects, not what conventional wisdom teaches is normal. God’s way does not privilege some over others. God’s kingdom demands justice, especially for the poor and downtrodden, and is always a kingdom characterized by peace and love and sharing.
In the name of God, Jesus insists that real peace on earth is possible and that justice for all is the way that comes about. Nonviolent resistance to the powers that dominate and control is a sure dimension of discipleship. He does not avoid confrontation, he is not afraid to stand up to those who question him, challenge him, threaten him. For him, righteousness trumps expedience, justice outweighs convenience, compassion comes before comfort, mercy is more than legalism, love triumphs over indifference, and, in the end, life cannot be done in by death.
There is something to celebrate in this way Jesus walked. Facing the ignominious cruelty of the cross, Jesus is still quite willing to party with his people, to celebrate the coming of the kingdom of God to Jerusalem, to join in the joy of dysfunctional power confronted, domination undone and new life breaking on the horizon. Paul Nancarrow puts it this way, “Jesus comes to the City of Peace in peace, riding a donkey and not a war stallion, and spontaneous community breaks out around his peaceable presence…” (Paul S. Nancarrow, Process and Faith Lectionary Commentary, Palm/Passion Sunday, 2009.) Surely Jesus shared with this community the joyful excitement and the rich possibilities of the moment.
In a clever blog, Donna Schaper encourages us today, like Jesus then, to “’Take a donkey.’” Why? Because she says, “Donkeys traverse rough terrain; difficulty and donkeys go together. The destination may be beauty or world peace, but you'll need a donkey. Means matter; if you have no means, your ends are probably fatally flawed.” And what of the difficulties that we, like Jesus’ first disciples, face? Schaper warns that “What we think is going to be true is not going to be true. Watch out for your assumptions about both God and salvation: God and salvation may show up riding on an ass. They will not be interested in kings or praise. They will choose a kind of death on behalf of a kind of new life” (Donna Schaper, "Take a Donkey," Theolog: The Blog of The Christian Century, 2009.)
Two processions…which will we join, or will we remain watching on the sidelines? One leads to power, prestige, privilege and familiar death; the other takes the way of love, humility, service and new life. Conventional wisdom, normal civilization, the domination system compels us to join the former; the Son of God calls us to the latter; we must choose for ourselves. As the poet suggested in today’s contemporary word, the marvelous mystery of Jesus walking among us, smiling his life-giving smile, again enters our holy cities. He invites all to fall in behind him in service to and celebration of the coming kingdom of God. Will we be where we need to be or will we find ourselves “in another part of the city waiting for the Messiah,” waiting for the fulfillment of some notion we have of how Jesus should come among us? This is something for us to consider in this Holy Week…two processions to consider, two ways to walk this week and beyond. I wonder where Easter will find us.