“…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…” (Luke 19:37)
I have to give a shout-out to Professor Emerson Powery, a professor of Bible Studies at Messiah College in Grantham, Pennsylvania for doing a study on the Palm Sunday gospel (Luke 19:28-40) for the Working Preacher[i] website. I’m a pretty old fashioned guy, and I just don’t like the liturgical change that turned the Sunday before Easter from Palm Sunday to Sunday of the Passion. I suspect this was an attempt to pander to lazy Christians who just don’t want to go to church on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, so they get to hear the whole Passion narrative on Palm Sunday. Okay, call me a crank, but if you’re going to celebrate Holy Week, do it right, gosh darn it! Come and reenact the story by having Holy Communion on Thursday and hearing of our Lord’s death on Friday. If you do, Easter will mean so much more to you. I’m just saying.
Anyway, I have to thank Dr. Powery for doing a study for us Palm Sunday guys and for pointing out some rather weird details that precede this story in chapter 19 of Luke’s gospel. Jesus’ entry to Jerusalem has actually been coming since chapter 10, and he’s made it pretty clear to everyone except his twelve thick-skulled disciples what’s about to happen. Chapter 19 opens with the story of Zacchaeus, a little runt of a tax collector who is both vertically and ethically challenged. He climbs a tree so he can see Jesus pass, and Jesus calls out to him and invites himself to Zacchaeus’ home for dinner. Without issuing any words of condemnation, he forgives the little guy for ripping off the tax-payers. Zacchaeus promises to restore what he’s stolen, make liberal restitution, and not do this again. It’s a pretty cool story and so far, so good. But then Jesus tells this parable of the talents.
You know this one. It’s the story of the man who goes away on business, leaves three of his slaves in charge of his money, and gets mad when one of them fails to invest the cash and make him a profit. But unlike the way the story is told in Matthew’s gospel, the Luke version brackets the story of the servants with the story of the ruler’s business trip. It seems this guy is some royal dude who is about to inherit power over some distant territory. The people of this territory aren’t exactly thrilled to have him as their new ruler, and they send a delegation to tell him so. After he returns home and deals with his slaves, he orders all the dissidents from his new kingdom to be brought to him so he can watch them being slaughtered.
This story comes right before Jesus enters Jerusalem and it begs the question: just what the heck does it mean? Best I can do is say the story Jesus tells contrasts the way the rulers of this world operate and the way Jesus operates. Jesus’ entry into the capital, when you think about it, isn’t that spectacular. This is no grand procession such as they’d have following a victory over an enemy in battle. Jesus isn’t mounted on a stately war horse. In fact, he probably looks a little silly riding on a colt. There are no banners or trumpets, just a bunch of people who believe in him throwing their ragged coats in the road as a kind of poor man’s red carpet. Jesus doesn’t make a grand speech. In fact, he actually starts to cry (v. 41), which, we might agree, looks pretty wimpy.
But: the reason he’s emotional is because he knows what a show of force is going to do to this town. He predicts that acts of violence—even violence against a cruel oppressor—are going to lead to destruction (vv.42-44).
Then he dries his eyes and proceeds into the temple, where, outraged by the con game the ruling elite is playing on the citizens, he calls them out as a bunch of robbers[ii]. They’re basically engaged in the same kind of thievery Zacchaeus was, but they don’t seem to be inclined to repent, and they really get on the wrong side of Jesus’ temper. The shrimpy tax collector receives grace, but the entire corrupt system is condemned. Jesus forcefully ejects the sellers from the temple which, you must admit, was a pretty gutsy thing to do. Luke follows this story up by reminding us that the chief priests and their pals were on the lookout for ways to kill Jesus.
Unlike the ruler in his parable, Jesus isn’t going to watch his opponents being slaughtered. His opponents are going to slaughter him—and he knows it. The absolute rulers of this word, be they Caesar or Vladimir Putin, think they can get away with anything. Anything, that is, except telling the truth. The weak carpenter/rabbi on the little colt can call them out on their crimes. It is ironic that true courage can only come from the powerless.
Jesus’ triumphal entry doesn’t seem to be much of a triumph in the way the world sees triumph. Jesus enters in humility, but humility is an acknowledgement of truth, and truth gives us courage. The powerful think they have nothing to fear, and so they are basically cowards. Those who acknowledge their weakness, their sin, their brokenness, and their need for grace will receive grace and the peace that comes with it.
[i]
This is where I steal my best sermon ideas.
[ii]
The basic scam was to exchange Roman coins (which had graven images on them)
for temple coins. The exchange rate did not favor the purchaser. Also, animals
were sold for ritual sacrifice—at a considerable mark-up above the market
price. The priests were in collusion with the Roman authorities.
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