A Populist Messiah? (Reflections on Palm Sunday)

“When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil asking, 'Who is this?' The crowds were saying, 'This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.'” (Matthew 21:10-11)

If you've read my previous posts around this time of the year, you'll know that we at Faith Lutheran of Philadelphia don't celebrate the Sunday before Easter as The Sunday of the Passion. No siree, Bob! You want the Passion story..? Then come and experience it through the worship of Holy Thursday and Good Friday. None of this lazy, Sundays-only stuff for us. We relive the story every year through our liturgies, and, I think, that's what keeps it alive and powerful for us.

We'll celebrate the Sunday before Easter as Palm Sunday, a festival reminding us of the events which led to our Lord's crucifixion. We wave palm branches just as the crowd in Jerusalem did who laid them in the Lord's path, creating a poor-person's red carpet to welcome Jesus as the Messiah as our gospel lesson records it (Matthew 21:1-17).

This story fascinates me as it has something of the flavor of a poor people's populist revolt to it. Here's Jesus entering the center of national religious life (which is to say, the center of all life for the people of his day) in a way described by the prophet Zechariah. He's coming from the Mount of Olives just like the Messiah should (Zech. 14:4) and he's riding in a very humble way—not on a royal mule or war horse—but on a little donkey (Zech. 9:9). He's entering as king, but as a king who has his roots in the peasantry. No chariot, no banners, no trumpets for this humble king. Just hungry people, desperately shouting “Hosanna!” Please help us.

I don't think it's hard for Americans in 2017 to imagine what those peasants who followed Jesus and cried out for his aid were feeling on that Sunday. They knew their society was pretty helplessly messed-up. Somebody else was calling the shots, leaving the average folk to feel like something they'd rather not step on in the street. You know they were hoping that this Jesus guy was the one who'd come and make everything right. He was one of them, and not like the power structure who was keeping them down.

Imagine how jazzed these folk must've been when Jesus entered the temple and drove out the big financial interests. These were the sellers of sacrificial animals who charged a huge mark-up to the unsuspecting rubes from the countryside. Then there were also the money-changers with their usurious exchange rate for turning pagan Roman coins into acceptable, non-blasphemous shekels from Tyre which were acceptable for paying the temple tax. Jesus called these guys out (Matt. 21:13), calling them “robbers.” I'll bet the crowd standing by were saying to themselves, “Atta boy, Jesus! You tell 'em!”

Our gospel story goes on to say that after Jesus took care of the money guys, he turned his attention to the ones who were really on the outside of society, the blind and the lame (v. 14).These folks weren't even permitted in the temple because they were considered ritually unclean because of their disabilities. In one heroic move, Jesus reversed the whole social order. And who cheered him on? Children—the very weakest members of the society.

In a time of renewed populism in America I'll bet we could read a lot into this story. Our sinful nature really loves an “us-versus-them” narrative. If you're President Trump, the “them” might mean a smug, liberal, intellectual elite from Hollywood or the "dishonest media" who have consistently ignored the realities of hard-working Americans in order to push a tree-hugging socialist agenda. Or, if you land on the progressive side, you might see “them” as the big money oligarchs who buy politicians through dark campaign money and cut the programs of needy citizens in order to give themselves tax breaks.

I'd be willing to bet that however we look at the “us-versus-them” situation, we can't help but wait for the Messiah to come riding in and put everything right—the way we understand “right,” that is. And the kind of Messiah we're expecting will be just as disappointing in this sinful world as the earthly ruler for whom many mistakenly took Jesus.

We want a kick-ass Messiah who can trample our enemies and put them in their place and make us feel superior. But if we look at the gospel, we see that Jesus' Palm Sunday act of defiance landed him on the cross. This is where he intended to be all along, and this is the only place we really meet and know him. When we look down the aisle and over the altar of our worship space, we don't gaze on the image of a victorious general on horseback with sword raised high. Neither do we gaze at some guy who has just hit the Power Ball. We won't find God in wealth or power or influence or fame.

We'll find God in Christ crucified. We'll find God in Jesus' honesty and courage and compassion. We'll find God in the one who loved us enough to endure our earthly, all-too-human pain. We'll find God in the one who found us—even in our sin and selfishness—beloved enough to die for.

Jesus did not come to change the system. Jesus came to change us.