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!’ Some
of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, ‘Teacher, order your disciples to
stop.’ He answered, ‘I tell you, if these were silent,
the stones would shout out.’ (Luke 19:37-40)
When you
think about it, it must’ve been a pretty pitiful parade. Here comes Jesus on a
colt (or a donkey depending on which Gospel you’re reading) looking
ridiculously oversized on this puny beast. No mighty war horse here. No red
carpet, either. Just the tattered garments of peasants thrown in the road
before him. No magnificent standards waving in the wind to announce his royal
office. Just a few scrawny palm branches. The elite 1% of the time would never
give him a second thought—at least not until the peasants started making noise.
And some voices just can’t be silenced.
I like Palm
Sunday as I really enjoy the sacred reenactment that is our Christian practice
during Holy Week. Note, I say Palm Sunday,
not Sunday of the Passion. I’m a bit old-fashioned that way. In my parish we
won’t be reading the Passion narrative for those who don’t want to come to worship
on Maundy Thursday or Good Friday. If you really want the Passion story, you’ll just have to come and act it out
with us during the week. But, in spite of the palm-waving enthusiasm marking
the start of Holy Week with Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, I think there
needs to be a note of foreboding on this day about what is to come.
If we read
on in Luke’s Gospel beyond the part of the Palm Sunday story appointed for
today (vv.28-40), we hear the rest of
the story. We hear Jesus making a dire prediction about the fate of the
society. He already sees the destruction of Jerusalem and the pain inflicted on
the people who choose violence over peace (v.42). He then takes a dangerous
stand for the oppressed by driving the corrupt money-changers and merchants out
of the temple, denouncing those whose greed preyed on the poor and the
stranger. It’s no wonder those in power wanted him dead (v. 47).
As I think
about Jesus in the temple, I am reminded of a 20th century saint
whom the Lutheran church commemorates this week, Archbishop Oscar Romero, who
was martyred March 24, 1980. Romero was a fairly conservative Roman Catholic
priest from El Salvador. He initially had no interest in politics until he
began serving poor and rural communities in his home country. Deeply touched by
the plight of the poor, the insensitivity of the Salvadoran government, and the
brutality of the ruling elite which resulted in the murder of an activist
colleague, Romero devoted himself to compassionate treatment of the peasantry
and the end of torture and murder regularly employed against all who protested
human rights abuses.
| Oscar Romero 1917-1980 |
Romero was
eventually elevated to the position of Archbishop of San Salvador. Although the
oligarchs constantly pressured him to remain silent or neutral, Romero used the
archdiocesan radio station to broadcast words of solidarity to the poor and condemnation
to those who would be abusers. He also wrote US President Jimmy Carter to implore
American aid in fighting human rights violations in El Salvador. This request
was ignored.
On March
23, 1980, Romero broadcast a stirring sermon in which he called on soldiers to
disobey orders to murder peasants. The following day, as he served mass in a hospital
chapel, the archbishop was gunned down by an unknown assassin.
In Romero’s
story I see the shadow of Jesus in the temple. Both Jesus and Romero felt
deeply for the poor and outcast. Both lived and suffered under oppressive,
violent regimes. Both denounced violence.
This Sunday
we’ll wave the palm branches and hail Jesus as our king. I hope I can remember
to be a good and faithful subject to this king. Doing so will mean embracing
compassion for those less fortunate than myself. It will mean denouncing anger,
prejudice, and violence. And it will mean that I, as a Christian, am called to
put my faith into action every day.
A blessed
Holy Week to you, my friends.
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