The Longest Ride

Isaiah 50:4-9a; Philippians 2:5-11; Luke 19:28-40

In the old days, when paper was very expensive to buy and writing letters was the only way to keep in touch, writers found an interesting way to save on paper. One piece of paper could be made to hold twice as much information by practicing the art of palimpsest. It worked like this: After filling the page of paper with writing, the page was simply rotated 45 degrees and then another entire page of writing was placed on top of the existing lines. These letters could compress the maximum amount of news onto a minimum amount of paper. But, there was only one drawback. It made for difficult reading. Like singing a round, it took intense concentration to keep focused on just one layer of the message at a time.

The story of Jesus' entry into Jerusalem is like one of those many layered palimpsests. While Luke is busy telling this story, we can see layers of tradition and stratus of implications running under and through it. Every scene in the story draws its power from an earlier age, a previous incarnation. The continual flashbacks to Zechariah, 2 Kings, and the Psalms are necessary to give meaning to Jesus' actions.

Probably the most noticeable element in this story is the city of Jerusalem, itself. In his book, Seasons of Faith and Conscience, Bill Kellerman talks about Jesus weeping "tears of love for Jerusalem," the Temple City, a "house of prayer that has become a den of thieves."

Kellerman continues to use the city itself as a palimpsest lying between this celebratory entrance and the savagery of the crucifixion. He reminds us that in Jewish tradition, the name Jerusalem ironically means "foundation of peace." Jesus' walk through the city, beginning with the glorious procession from Mt. Olivet in today's text and continuing to Luke 19:48 with his arrival at the temple itself, acts as a kind of walking tour that points out how Jerusalem's "foundations of peace" are crumbling.

Because it is the season of Passover, the holy holiday recounting Israel's liberation from Egypt, Jesus' walk is an even more power image. In his walk he travels from the historic site of judgment (Mt. Olivet) into a scene of corruption and injustice (the cluttered temple filled with money-changers and dove-sellers). Kellerman reminds us of other such walks in our more recent history that have also visually demonstrated a call for justice -- the walks from Selma to Montgomery, and the walk on Washington, D.C.

One of the most intriguing palimpsests Kellermann discusses is based on an observation originally made by theologian William Stringfellow. Recall that at the start of Jesus' ministry, he was confronted by the devil with temptations of power. In Luke's text when Jesus successfully withstands the tempter's seductions, the devil retreats to await "a more opportune time." What Kellermann and Stringfellow suggest is that this ecstatic moment of entry into the city may be that moment. "If this thing is built, as we may imagine, in a bandwagon fashion with surging and cheering crowds, the option of a sudden zealot-style revolt -- the very thing he's come to avert! -- may have its own tempting momentum."

Luke certainly knows his Greco-Roman cultural milieu. He takes care to omit the inflammatory palm fronds and the extremely Jewish-sounding "Hosannas" from his version of the entrance parade. Ironically, it is the church itself that has succumbed to the temptation, for we mark this Sunday with waving palm fronds and use the language of "triumphal entry."

There is the story about how a community-wide Easter pageant took place in a city. Various people in the town volunteered to play the different parts. The character of Jesus went to a most unlikely person -- a big, burly, barroom brawler, an oilfield worker, the most unlikely person to be typecast as our Lord. After several weeks of rehearsals, the day of the Easter Pageant finally arrived.

When they came to the part of the play where Jesus was being led away to be crucified, one little man, filling in as a part of the crowed, got caught up in the emotion of the drama. He joined in the shouts of "Crucify him! Crucify him!" as Jesus was led away toward Calvary. Then, in the midst of shouting insults at the top of his lungs, he accidently sprayed some spit in the face of the character playing Jesus as the actor walked by carrying the cross on his back. The oilfield worker stopped in his tracks, reached up and wiped his face dry. And then he looked at the little man and said: "Ill be back to take care of you after the resurrection!"

Remember how Jesus told the disciples to inform the borrowed colt's owner that the animal was being taken because the Lord had need of it? Perhaps the need Jesus felt was to use a symbol that spoke not of might and majesty, but of humility and service. The spindly, skittish little creature Jesus used to ride amidst the crowd could hardly inspire awe or fear. Thus while the crowd cheered his entrance into the city, the visual image Jesus projected was a palimpsest of humble service.

Through his ministry and especially during this moment of tempting power, one cannot escape Jesus; rejection of violence and the ways of the zealots. Of course zealots are still with us -- those whose heroism is as eager to take a life as to lay down a life. Jesus saves the church from falling into the zealots' twisted logic of violence by demonstrating that the triumphalism of might is never the right path.

I am reminded of some comparisons that have been made concerning Jesus' entry into Jerusalem:

"A Roman leader would have ridden in a chariot pulled by magnificent white stallions...

Jesus entered the city on a donkey, and a borrowed one!

A political leader would have been surrounded by security guards who would have kept crowds from close physical contact to prevent any personal harm to him...

Jesus was literally surrounded by his disciples representing many walks of life and rode into the midst of the people, almost at their height.

A military leader would have galloped along the road, passing the crowds with perhaps a wave of the hand or a nod of the head if there were any recognition at all...

Jesus on a donkey moved slowly with the people, accompanying the people, as well as accompanied by the people.

A religious leader in traditional , appropriate priestly robes would have moved sedately through the crowds surrounded by an orderly contingency of other religious leaders who would've prevented anyone who was unclean from touching him...

Jesus, dressed in his usual attire, moved humbly through the crowds, surrounded by his diverse band of disciples, not shrinking from the touch of anyone.

This week's text from Philippians reminds us that instead of choosing the palm fronds of triumphalism we are to choose the way of service. The hymn Paul quotes is not his own but a Christological confession of the early church. Being a "slave," taking "human form," "humbling" himself, being "obedient to the point of death" -- these are not the typical characteristics of a majestic, military-style leader. Yet these very qualities are the ones we are called to imitate. Having been brought so low, even down to death itself, Jesus then rises higher than any earthly king could ever dream. Here is Paul's theme of praise and celebration, awe and grandeur. The Philippians hymn too is a palimpsest of celebration and service and sacrifice.

In this world where arms bazaars around the world are making it possible for 20 nations to build a nuclear bomb by the end of the century, are we able to read the dual message of obedient servanthood and exuberant celebration which is closely overwritten in these New Testament events? Or do we choose the seduction of the palms over a life of service? Remember that traditionally the palm fronds from this Sunday are saved until next Ash Wednesday, when they are burnt and their ashes are used to smudge a cross -- a symbol of sacrificial love -- onto the worshiper's forehead. Thus the Lenten season, those forty days of purposeful reflection, personal discipline and community service, are ushered in by the old symbols of triumph and joy. It is a powerful, palimpsested message for the church.

Amen.