Palm Sunday

Zachariah, along with Haggai, can be dated to the last decades of the fifth century BCE, and they prophesized following the exile in Babylon and were coming to terms with the unexpected decision of the Persian ruler, Cyrus, to allow the exiles to return to their homeland. This edict, published in 538 BCE, made it possible for those who had seemingly lost hope to return and come to terms with the need for rebuilding – rebuilding their shattered lives, rebuilding the destroyed temple, and rebuilding the religious life of the community. We will be doing a disservice to the rich imagery and challenges of this profound book if we focus only on a couple of verses, one being the verses under consideration, and the other being Zachariah 4:6 “This is the word of the Lord to Zerubbabel: ‘Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit,’ says the Lord of hosts.” (NRSV)

Today, on Palm Sunday, we look at Zachariah’s words (9: 9 – 10) that should not become dull through familiarity but retain the element of surprise that startles us afresh as we consider the imagery of a king, undoubtedly “triumphant and victorious” but “humble and riding on a donkey.” His victorious journey is reframed in terms of humility, not humility that is passive or timid or reeking of indifference, but a humility that has a purpose. The triumphant king riding on a donkey will challenge the power of those who ride arrogantly on war horses. He will overcome the challenges of the domineering and swaggering warriors who believe that might is right and aggressively use war chariots and the weapons of war. This king will “command peace to the nations” and his overlordship would be “from sea to sea and from the River to the ends of the earth.” As we accompany the king on this journey of peace, we are called on to proclaim boldly and rejoice exceedingly, that we are in the entourage of a king for whom the journey culminates in the overcoming of violence and the establishment of a just and lasting peace.

This passage from the book of Hebrews, which is unique among the epistles with its focus on the High Priest but one who presides over the abolition of sacrifice, also contains the imagery of a journey. It testifies to as a “race that is set before us”, not any race, but a race which has as its goal “Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith”, someone who ran this race before us to open the way ignoring the “shame” and “hostility against himself from sinner”. The race that we have to run in following the one who “endured the cross” is one of “struggle” and pain, something that can be discouraging and make us “weary” and bring us to the brink of losing heart. Nevertheless, we are called upon to “endure” and keep running for the gift of the “peaceful fruit of righteousness.” This Palm Sunday, we are reminded that the journey has costs and consequences, never easy, but a race for which we need to keep training, recognizing that we are following in the path blazed for us by Jesus, who now encourages us from “his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.”

The Gospel text for this Palm Sunday is not the familiar “triumphal entry into Jerusalem” found in Mark 11: 1-11, which ends with Jesus leaving Jerusalem and going to Bethany, but tells us about a return journey to Bethany, at the home of “Simon, the leper.” Just think about it – the Jesus who entered into Jerusalem and was hailed by large crowds deliriously shrieking “Hosanna in the highest heaven” (Mark 11: 10), takes his place with the utterly marginalized of the society of his time, in fact, sitting at the table of this Simon and eating with him. Now, another marginalized person comes to him, a woman who is not named at all, and this woman proceeds to waste a lot of money by “pouring an alabaster jar of very costly ointment of nard on Jesus’ head.” This is unbelievable – who is she? Why has she done this? What an utter waste of resources that could be better used! We are given no details about the journey that led this woman to the table in Bethany, a table where she had no place, a house where she just barged in without an invitation. And yet, the gospel truth is staggering in its expansiveness – “Truly,” says Jesus, “Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.” For her, this journey is one of proclamation, where the one doing the proclamation and the one being proclaimed are simultaneously centered. One centered as the epitome of what it means to testify to the truth, even if it means that your name is not enshrined or remembered, and the other centered as the epitome of what a true journey entails – death on a cross – by being prepared “beforehand” for burial. Does this mean that the journey is doomed to failure?

Conclusion: Continuing the journey

Let’s continue to journey alongside those who question the woman’s actions; let’s journey alongside those who shout; let’s journey alongside those who don’t want to engage in a conversation with us; let’s talk to those who want us to shut up; let’s talk to those who are prepared to engage in violence after a time of Bible study and prayer; let’s recognize that if we fall silent, the very stones will talk; let’s remember that the blood shed cries out from the ground. Let’s talk about journeys – journeys from near, journeys from far, journeys that bring us home, journeys that take us far away, journeys that brought us to the familiarity of our home churches and faith communities; journeys that take us away from these churches and communities; journeys with people that we like; journeys with people from whom we would prefer to turn away from – journeys of discovery, journeys of wonder, journeys of learning, journeys of unlearning, journeys to the heart of God; journeys into Jerusalem; journeys to the cross. Journeys where we lay down our burdens at the foot of the cross and look at the man whose crown is made of thorns, journeys where we discover his body and his blood, freely available, freely given, freely offered for you and for me and for the world for which he lived and for which he died.