Something kind of funny happened this week. At the sermon roundtable we
shared our thoughts about this passage. And in the discussion, it came up how
surprised we were that after the big procession into the city with all the pomp
and circumstance, when Jesus entered the temple, all he did was look around and
leave. Because it was getting late. And this was surprising to us. Is that what
he came for?
So there was that – and then later in the week I was looking at some
notes from a few years ago when we last looked at this particular passage. And
this is the funny thing: three years ago, we had the exact same reaction. We
were so surprised that after the big parade, all Jesus did was look around the
temple and then leave. Because it was late. And we thought, what was the point
of that? Is that what he came for?
I guess consistency is a good thing. But isn’t it funny that it
continues to surprise us? especially when we know the story already? Where do
these expectations come from? Why do we assume something different will happen?
Not only do we assume
something different will happen, but I think Jesus’ disciples who were with him
that day also assumed something different would happen – something different
than what did happen. Entering the royal city in a royal procession suggests
strongly that something else will happen.
Some people expected him to begin the overthrow of the Roman Empire in
Palestine. Rome was extraordinarily powerful and threatening and oppressive.
Rome was going to be especially threatening this week.
They were entering Jerusalem at the time of the Passover, when tensions
would run very high. Think about it: the Passover is the remembrance of the
time when God freed the Israelites from slavery in Egypt, and led them to the
promised land, a land which they would call their own, this same land that Rome
now occupied, where Roman soldiers made an intimidating presence, threatening
death by crucifixion for anything that they considered a threat to their power.
The Roman governor of the region, Pontius Pilate, traveled to Jerusalem
every year for the Passover week, just to keep an eye on things. He didn’t seem
to be particularly fond of Jerusalem. Pilate preferred to stay in Caesarea,
because the seaside town was more pleasant for him. But during the Passover his
job required him to be in Jerusalem, where he stayed at Herod’s Palace.
And so, we need to recognize the possibility that on that very day when
Jesus was leading a procession into the city of Jerusalem from the East, there
was another procession coming in from the West – an imperial procession with
Pilate at the head, followed by a column of Roman soldiers in armor with
weapons.
The contrast would have been striking. The tension would have been
great. And it would have been natural for the people to desperately want the
kind of savior who would overthrow the bullies from Rome.
Rome ruled by violence. Their strategy was to overwhelm and intimidate.
They strove to maintain what they called the Pax Romana, the Roman Peace. But
the peace of Rome was nothing other than keeping the inhabitants of the land
cowed by an unrelenting threat of violence. And they tried to balance this
threat with just enough goodies to keep the populace somewhat content. Bread
and circuses.
The film I watched this past week was Gladiator, to get the sense of the
violent power of the Roman Empire. Gladiator takes place more than a hundred
years after Jesus rode into Jerusalem, but things had not changed all that much.
Rome was still dominating a huge chunk of the world. Their army was still
projecting power as they rode through the streets, and they were still crucifying
anyone who appeared to be a threat to their supremacy.
During our midweek Lent study last week, someone raised a very
interesting question. Is it possible that the more violence we are exposed to,
the greater becomes our taste for violence? I thought about that while I was
watching Gladiator. Because among the great entertainments of the Roman empire
were the gladiatorial games, where slaves were sent into the arena to fight and
die a gruesome death – just for spectacle.
There is a scene in the film when this group of new gladiators are
getting ready for their first time in the arena. The man who bought them and
trained them, Proximo, gives them a sort of pep talk.
Proximo tells them: We are all dead men, ultimately. There is no choice
about if or how we die. But we do get to choose how we meet our ends and how we
will be remembered. In this world of the gladiators, clearly, the preferred
choice is to go violently.
The expectation of violence is an interesting thing. As long as we are
presented only with violent alternatives, it seems like it’s hard for us to
imagine any other kind of alternative. Because, we think, isn’t this just the
way the world is?
And wasn’t Jesus addressing that expectation directly when he arrived in
Jerusalem that day? In his choices, wasn’t he addressing these expectations?
The choice to ride in on a donkey.
The choice to go directly to the temple – and then walk away from it.
It was a time of high tension in Jerusalem in those days. Consider all
the assumptions that were in play: The Roman Empire assumed that there would be
violent rebellion, and they intended to quash it. The Jewish zealots assumed
that Jesus would lead just such a rebellion, and they intended to be a part of
it. The Pharisees and Sadducees assumed he wanted to strip them of their
authority, and they intended to prevent it.
I imagine that the crowds who greeted him and followed him into the city
assumed he would go into the temple and take his rightful place as the head of
this earthly kingdom. And they would have embraced that. But all these
assumptions were wrong.
What did Jesus come for? He came to usher in a new kind of kingdom. He
came to bring forth a new kind of covenant – a covenant that found its strength
not by rule of law, not by rewards and punishments, but by service, by
generosity, by sacrifice. And, of course, this covenant was powered by love.
This is God’s covenant of grace.
We will see, as the events of the week unfold, just what this entailed
for Jesus. This covenant would require great sacrifice from him and the power
of that sacrifice to transform people – both friend and enemy – was something
no one, apparently, had assumed.
Proximo said, We all die; there is no choice about that. But we do get
to choose how we meet our ends and how we will be remembered. Think about what
Jesus chose. Think about how he chose to be remembered. Think about what
message it holds for us.
As we reach the end of our Lenten examination of God’s covenant, can we
perhaps begin to see it in a new way? Can we allow ourselves to imagine that
God’s covenant with us, with the world, is different from the world’s ways? And
can we imagine that God’s way, a way of love and grace and peace, is an
alternative to the world’s way of brutality and violence?
Can we imagine that God is at work in the world, and is calling us to be
God’s partners?
What happens when we assume all this is true?
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