In one of the early episodes of the television series M*A*S*H, the doctor called “Trapper” discovers he has a stomach ulcer -- no surprise given that he works in a combat zone. Although initially upset at the news, his outlook changes when his bunkmate Hawkeye reminds him that, according to Army regulations, that ulcer means Trapper is going home. The whole unit plans a big going away party for Trapper. Then, just moments before the party begins, Trapper learns that the Army has changed its regulations and he will have to stay in Korea and have his ulcer treated there while he continues to serve. Instead of calling off the party, Trapper goes anyway, letting the celebrations and festivities continue until finally he is called on to give a farewell speech. That’s when he tells everyone there he isn’t leaving after all. (1)
Like Trapper, trying to enjoy his going away party even though he knew that he wasn’t actually going away, it can be challenging for us to fully enter into the celebration of Palm Sunday. We know what those first cheering disciples didn’t know, even though Jesus had been trying to tell them. We know what the future holds for Jesus. We’ve been to this parade, year after year, we’ve sung the songs, we’ve waved the branches, we’ve shouted Hosanna! We’ve been here before and we know that the celebrations today don’t change anything -- within a matter of days, Jesus is still going to be betrayed, still going to have an unfair trial, still going to be crucified, still going to die. We know the limits of this story all too well, and we know that although this Holy Week begins today on a high note, it ends on the lowest, darkest note of all.
Today officially marks the end of the season of Lent and the beginning of Holy Week. And here at the end of Lent we find ourselves face to face not just with the limits of this season or the limits of this story but with our own limits. This Lent, we didn’t pray, read, study, or serve nearly as much as we’d hoped or intended. Days went by and we took barely a moment for God. As we enter into Holy Week we discover that, as a devotional I read this week put it, instead of Lent giving us a deeper understanding of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, actually, it reminded us that we really just don’t get it at all. (2)
Even that very first Palm Sunday, when there was so much shouting and celebrating as Jesus entered Jerusalem, even that day had its limits. You see, some historians believe that Jesus wasn’t the only authority figure riding into Jerusalem that day. Back then, it wasn’t known as Palm Sunday, of course. It was simply the first day of the week during which the Jews would celebrate Passover, the most holy week of the Jewish year. On that day, Jesus came riding down from the Mount of Olives in the East. But from the west came another procession, headed by Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor of the region that included Judea and its capital Jerusalem. The timing was no accident. With hundreds of thousands of Jews streaming into Jerusalem to celebrate Passover in the holy city, Pilate wanted to be there, not out of any sense of reverence for his subjects’ religious traditions, but so that in case trouble broke out, he and his soldiers would be there to stop it.
Pilate’s procession would have been an impressive display of imperial power: cavalry on horseback, foot soldiers, leather armor, shining helmets, menacing weapons, banners, sunlight glinting off of golden eagles mounted on poles. All over Jerusalem you could hear the synchronized marching, the clip clop of the horses, the beating of the drums. Those close enough to see would have worn expressions of awe or fear or resentment, for this procession was designed to remind the so-called chosen people of God that the empire of Rome was as more powerful as any god. Pilate wanted to be sure that the people knew that his power and the power of Rome were limitless. (3)
Compared to Pilate’s imperial procession, Jesus and his bunch of rag-tag followers looked pretty puny. In fact, if you’ve ever stayed to the bitter end of a parade, it was probably something like that. Thin crowds, streets covered with litter that even all those cloaks thrown down couldn’t hide, and then, the man of honor, a grown man who looked more than a little ridiculous riding on a small donkey. Compared to Pilate’s over the top procession, meant to clearly display the menacing power of Rome, the way Jesus comes into Jerusalem no longer seems so remarkable. It seems, if anything, to broadcast his limitations.
Most of us have heard the story of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem so many times that we’re likely to hear things that might not have even been there in the text. This is particularly true in Luke’s version, which doesn’t include some of the details from Matthew and Mark. Listen again: “As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying, ‘Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!’” (19:37-38)
Did you notice what isn’t in Luke’s account? There are no palm branches, for one thing. There is no reference to big crowds of unknown people who show up to welcome Jesus into Jerusalem. In Luke’s gospel, the only people cheering for Jesus are people who already know him intimately, his disciples. And the people cheering aren’t referring to Jesus as the Son of David, like they do in Matthew and Mark. Here in Luke the disciples refer to him simply as a king who comes in the name of the Lord.
Then there are the things that Luke includes that the other gospels do not. For one thing there is this strange comment from Jesus that if the disciples did not accompany his procession with shouts and cheers, the very rocks would cry out instead. And when Jesus comes around a bend and gets his first glimpse of Jerusalem, the holy city, instead of lighting up with joy, he begins to weep over the inevitable limitations of God’s people, who will not listen to him and accept the peace that he offers, but who will instead choose, in just a matter of years, to rise up in violence against their mighty occupier, the Roman empire. This choice, of course, is doomed to fail, as Jesus predicts.
No wonder the end of Lent brings us face to face with our limits; apparently, this entry into Jerusalem, at least as Luke describes it, brings Jesus face to face with limits, too; the limits of his disciples, who cheer for him now but will betray him in the garden of Gethsemane; the limits of Jerusalem, which should recognize him as God’s chosen Messiah but whose leaders instead will put him to death for fear that he poses too great a threat to Rome; even his own limits that come with being fully human, for Jesus knows that he has come to Jerusalem to die.
Like Trapper, aware that his going-away party was really only postponing the inevitable return to the reality of life in a war zone, today’s celebration evokes mixed emotions in us. But that’s exactly what it should do. This end of Lent and beginning of Holy Week, this strange parade that’s really a pretty pathetic procession of peasants, all these things bring us face to face with our limits so that we can learn again the limitless love of God.
We can enter fully into Palm Sunday, we can wave our palm branches high and sing praise to God with full voice precisely because we know how bad the week is going to get. We shout our praises of Jesus today because we know this week that ends with his death is just one part of a story in which we discover that God extends salvation to all humanity and even to the whole creation (which is why those rocks would cry out!) with a limitless, unconquerable love.
This is a week to reach our limits, to reach them and even to be thankful for them. Today that means joining the first disciples in proclaiming that Jesus has come in the name of the living God to bring the peace of heaven to earth. On Thursday that means gathering here to sit around the table with Jesus and remember that, like his disciples, we have betrayed him both intentionally and unintentionally and we desperately need and long for the limitless forgiveness he offers us in the Lord’s Supper. On Friday that means showing up to witness to Jesus’ limits as a human being and to remember that, because Jesus willingly accepted those limits, God truly understands and participates in human suffering and death. And when we find ourselves on Saturday truly exhausted by looking so deeply at all these limits, may we then rise up on Sunday morning and discover that our exhaustion and sorrow has once again been turned to joy and new life by a God whose mysterious, profound love for us and for all creation has no limits. Amen.
Endnotes:
1. Scott Hoezee recalls this episode in his commentary on the passage on the Center for Excellence in Preaching website. Read it here.
2. from an evotional sent March 25, 2010 by the Rev. Derek Starr Redwine, Westminster Presbyterian Church, Akron, Ohio.
3. Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan, The Last Week. HarperOne, 2006.
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