Passionate about the passion
Commentary
Object:
I suspect that most preachers will not be looking for ways to dive headlong into
lifting up the passion as the centerpiece of their homiletical offering for this Sunday. No
doubt there are good reasons to avoid wandering off the usual beaten path of the Palm
Sunday parade: the palms, on order for a year, beckon to be taken home and folded into
family Bibles as bookmarks; the children wait to have the promise fulfilled that they will
be able to act up a bit in the parade of palms with a passion that is not usually permitted;
and the choir has practiced for months. The wise preachers will be somewhat circumspect
in their moves.
The whole business is made worse by this citation for passion from the dictionary, "2. Obsolete: suffering" Obsolete! That comes crashing headlong into how I was raised. When did this happen? By the time I had come along, my congregational ancestors had done a real good job overcoming their fears and trepidation about the passion to the point of most churches installing a cross on the altar. Granted, it was of the finest brass and absent the body of Christ. At least it proclaimed his message with the letters IHS, commonly understood to mean "I have suffered." By the time I had graduated from high school, we had even made some serious progress toward observing Ash Wednesday and giving more than a nod to Lent. It seems that we are doing some back peddling here at best.
Passion/Palm Sunday feels like one of those moments when we may sacrifice part of the essence of the gospel for whatever last bit of meaning we squeeze out of the palms before they are dried out and ready to play their part as next year's ashes. However, accusing voices have their say and direct my attention to the passion, "unmerited suffering is redemptive," and "what would you have done in Dietrich Bonhoeffer's shoes," "we are called not to success but to faithfulness." [The pastor who confirmed me studied under Bonhoeffer.]
It seems that this Sunday of the church year has always been somewhat bipolar. Though the dictionary may say that passion as suffering is obsolete and extreme bipolarism is bad, having no pole is worse. Like the original readers of the gospel, we know what is ahead: betrayal, denial, desertion, anonymous suffering, and death. As the Isaiah text has it, "I gave my back to those who struck me, and my cheeks to those who pulled out the beard; I did not hide my face from insult and spitting." Who would want to join in a parade of that?
Who would want to join in a parade of those who have humbled themselves? Life certainly has enough times when we are humbled and brought down to size. Yet, that may be what makes this march different from all others. It is the parade of those who have been humbled by life. While the culture might define a few pounds overweight or a few points below the median or a few less dollars in the bank as the end of the world, the Jesus parade composed of shared humanity that welcomes all is the only one that is leading somewhere. It may even include those who need to be humbled but have been too afraid to let their humanity show through. If they do they will experience being a part of the parade of those who have experienced the healing of Jesus.
The poles come together in this parade. The mainstream may be rerouted but the marginalized will dance. This is quite a march in review. Those who sit on thrones may find their foundations shaking but the empty and fearful will find themselves enthroned as children of God. This may be more than the choir intends or the children portray on Palm Sunday but it does open me to some of the synonyms the dictionary gives for the passion: fervor, ardor, enthusiasm, and zeal. It is led by Jesus who by suffering, rejection, and denial is ready to lead us through our suffering.
Isaiah 50:4-9a
As parades go what is marched passed us in the story of the Hebrews seems to be a fairly sad affair. They arise from families whose story emerges in the book of Genesis as twisted, full of jealousy, defiance, abuse, and shamelessness. Things do not get much better from there. They fight against their opportunity for freedom and quarrel with their leadership. Their kings are either crazy or they use their office for their own gratification and glory. Their temple seems a poor defense against their idolatry.
The text is written to speak to a people returning from exile where not a few of the Hebrews have succumbed to the allures of careerism, profit, and all the advantages that Babylonian culture has to offer. Just what does the prophet mean when he writes, "The Lord God has given me the tongue of a teacher, that I may know how to sustain the weary with a word"? What does the prophet mean when the long, sad litany of the Hebrews' story seems to offer no escape from the long, sad litany of the evening news? The question seems particularly poignant given the fact that it is precisely after the exile the Hebrews begin to collect and canonize their history as we find it in scripture.
Whatever else we can say of the record the Hebrews had committed to paper, it clearly shows that whatever else we can say of their God they were not saved from their humanity by any act of divine intervention. Viewed from another perspective, the Hebrews recounted not just a story of their foibles but the story of a God who did not desert them in the midst of their foolishness, but embraced their humanity.
In the telling of the tale, the pathway to the future still remains open for a people who quarrel amongst themselves, a people that complains they have been brought into the desert to starve still has a table set before them, leaders who ride high are brought low, and exile is not the final chapter in the story. The telling of the tale is not merely the endless repetition of human frailty, but the endless parting of the waters, the pouring forth of manna, the moral center that does hold, and the call to return from exile. In the midst of human frailty, divine possibility makes its appearance and a terribly human people are embraced.
In short, their story was not all about them and human possibilities. Of course, this is what happens during Passion Week. It is not all about human possibilities. The parade includes resources suddenly showing up to do the work that God wants done in the form of a donkey, the dreams of Pilate's wife that seem to trouble her so, the tongue-tied Pilate who does not know what to make of the whole business, in the actions of a betrayer that winds up fulfilling God's plan, and in the ironic sign that spoke the not-so-obvious truth of the moment, "This is Jesus, the King of the Jews."
From a human perspective the story paraded before us this week is just the sad tale of another poor, hapless, even wise soul sacrificed to the ways of the world that prevailed then and now. However the prophet says that his ear has been opened as he surveys the historical record and having been given the tongue of a teacher by the Lord God, says more is at work in this sad parade than meets the eye. His ear has been opened to another possibility that will vindicate him. He comes out ready to contend with anyone who will confront him on this. Relying on human possibilities will begin to wear thin and grow old.
I am ready to get passionate about joining in the parade of those who have, like the prophet Isaiah, been given the tongue of a teacher by the Lord. They know they will not be put to shame.
Philippians 2:5-11
There is an old song that sums up my feelings about Palm Sunday: "I Love A Parade." Above all, I don't ever recall being charged admission to one. Parades have a great way of leveling the playing field. Having gone through a repeat performance of the Boston Red Sox as World Series champions, an event that most New Englanders never expected to see occur once in their lives, I am particularly aware of the effect that a good parade can have on people. As the victory parade moved through Boston, people in six- figure incomes and these barely above the poverty line mixed together with the same sense of wonder, awe, and admiration. In all the cheering there was a unity that is rarely achieved on the other days of the year. As things moved along, the barrier between players and fans broke down as the players danced and jigged on the floats. It seemed that some of the Japanese players did not know what to make of this common display of passion. The day certainly fulfilled the last dictionary definition of passion: "ardent affection -- love, b: a strong liking or desire for or devotion to some activity, object, or concept."
Any parade that gets down to the fundamental humanity we all share is a good thing in my book. Anything that overrides the idea we are more different than alike cannot be a bad thing. The ancient hymn that Paul cites in his letter certainly invites endless Christological and metaphysical speculation. However, the central meaning Jesus parades before us is the core of what Paul is saying; Jesus came not to save us from our humanity but to give full expression to his and in so doing set before us new possibilities in our own.
The week will certainly demonstrate that the experience of Jesus is very close to our own. He must struggle with those who simply do not get it as they fumble to understand what his actions mean. He will certainly have to live through the reality of humans playing it safe, playing it for all it is worth, and playing the game of life by pitching people off against each other. Make no mistake about it, by the end of the week, Jesus reacts with all the humanity that is within him -- "He took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be grieved and agitated." The gospels recount that it is the disciples who are repressing their own humanity at this point. They are unable to enter into Jesus' passion at this point when he needs them so they pull the covers around and try to sleep the night away. No doubt given the tenor of our times, many of us would like to sleepwalk our way through life.
It is left to Jesus to remain awake and aware of what is happening. Paul pleads for something more than the disciples are able to offer at this point -- "Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form...."
Of course the "spirit is willing but the flesh is weak." Who wants to join the parade of those who are able to join in the suffering of others and to be touched by their story? There is great danger that parade will run headlong into burnout and being overwhelmed by other's stories. Yet, it is found that Jesus did not suppress his humanity but entertained and embraced other's humanity. He chooses not to escape into a dream world or pull others into it. The power of God meets us in those who choose to struggle with what it means to be a community that needs to forgive and receive forgiveness for its betrayals. The power of God is manifest in those who choose to be humanly present and proactive in taking the actions, which God can use to God's glory and our blessing. God's power will be made known in what human beings do on the road to Jericho, how they consider the lilies of the field and the birds of the air, and what they do with their treasure. Obedience unto death, even unto death on a cross will be confirmed as the parade route on Easter morn.
Matthew 26:14--27:66
Matthew tells a story where Jesus implements God's plan in which things happen in fulfillment of scripture -- "He said, 'Go into the city to a certain man, and say to him, "The Teacher says, my time is near; I will keep the Passover at your house with my disciples." ' " There can be no mistaking the fact that Jesus is clearly aware of who will betray him and that all his disciples will desert him. We draw up short at the notion that this parade of events is somehow God's plan. We are not comfortable with the idea this must take place.
Could all of this be explained to us without parading the horror of this week out in public? Forgiveness does not mean much if it is merely forensic matter. It becomes real and healing when it reaches beyond argument and rhetoric. At least that is the way it is in my marriage. It is not enough to say that the breach does not matter. It does, we are hurt, wounded, and dispirited. Forgiveness is saying that is not the final measure of the person or the moment. The healing will come from reaching beyond the pain and the sense of betrayal that human beings often inflict on one another. I want to be in the parade of those who can do that and those who know that it has been done for them.
However, I find myself out of step when I have thought myself well intentioned enough to avoid the need for forgiveness -- "Well, I only meant well." That is not good enough, neither is it true nor is it terribly helpful to the one I have wronged. I need forgiveness that reaches beyond the mayhem my foibles, ego trips, shallowness, and callousness unleashes on the world. As Jesus points out in the Sermon on the Mount, we are not as well-intended as we think we are. Only in relationship do we discover the distance between our intentions and their effects.
What stands in the way of my well-being is often my inability to forgive myself -- a particular problem of clergy. I don't want to accept my own failings as something that God can work with. The account of Judas' fate in Matthew's gospel that ends in his hanging himself shows one who is unable to accept what he has done and can find no reconciliation with God. This stands in marked contrast to Peter who denies Jesus and the others who desert him. There is still meaning, purpose, and hope for their lives in accepting that they are accepted for the task that God has set before them. Their story is not over.
This is good news for human beings who do inflict so much damage on each other and on themselves. As Paul Tillich put it in his sermon, "You Are Accepted": "We cannot force ourselves to accept ourselves. We cannot compel anyone to accept himself. But sometimes it happens that we receive the power to say, 'Yes' to ourselves, that peace enters into us and makes us whole, that self-hate and self-contempt disappear, and that our self is reunited with itself." Matthew's gospel tells us that such a moment comes not when all has been explained to us but at a table prepared for us where Christ is present gathering his people again beyond all the hurt and pain inflicted on him. I experience that not in having the events of Holy Week explained to me but as they are reenacted around this table. I want to join the long parade of those who have had that experience and accepted that acceptance. I can become very passionate about that story.
Application
The passion of this week cannot be preached unless it is something that the preacher and the congregation have experienced in their own lives and in their life together. The prophet Isaiah reminds us that if we are to have a word for the weary then we must teach as those who have been taught. In our common life together, is it regular practice to recite the tale of how God's power to use ordinary folks to do extraordinary things has been made manifest in the life of the congregation? Can we be a people humble and empowered by our life together? The gospel of Matthew says that we have nothing to say to the nations unless we do. Philippians asks us to have the same mind among us that was in Christ Jesus. Do we see in his acceptance of these events the fulfillment of life or its denial? The texts give us much to ponder during Holy Week which is a holy thing itself.
Alternative Application
Matthew 26:14--27:66. On the other hand, the choir has practiced to perfection. The preacher can see the children lined up in the back of the church ready to put their passion into a parade that will put the ardor of adult faith to shame. Beads of cold sweat break on the preacher's head as she or he contemplates offering up the details of the Passion, which are reserved in most churches for either Maundy Thursday or Good Friday. But consider the mission and meaning the early church found in the Palms. They were not to be thrown away as so much confetti that expresses the fleeting joy that comes with most parades. They were to be saved all year and used and burned for the ashes on Ash Wednesday. The Palms story is not completely told on Palm Sunday. They bring us back to the fact that God's starting point is with whom we are and the faith that we have. The church year moves from the ashes to the fire of Pentecost. The fuel will be the dust or ordinariness that God's fire can ignite. That is part of the glory to which we raise our palms this Sunday.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 31:9-16
At first, this psalm conjures up the words of an old acquaintance who frequently would call on the phone to say that "I'm not paranoid, they really are out to get me!" It was always offered with tongue in cheek. This response, of course, is smarmy in the extreme and offers the benefit of not having to engage the text. But then in the rereading, the protective layers of cynicism fall away and visions begin to emerge.
As the words sink in, images of genocide in Darfur, of rancid hospitals in Bagdad, and rotting homes in New Orleans begin to grow clear. The oft-avoided, always-dreaded suffering of the other comes into focus as knuckles of compassion knock at hardened hearts.
Who has known someone at the end of their rope? Who has sniffed the odor of despair and desperation? And who, sensing that the bucket of options is empty finally turns and gives it all over to God?
This psalm is a portrait of what one might call a Job profile. It just doesn't seem like it can get much worse, and somehow in the thick of it all one has the odd sense that the cosmic casino is laying odds on the outcome. This is a life washed over with grief and misery; a smashed and broken remnant shrinking from "terror all around."
And yet trust is placed in God because God, it seems, is in charge.
The notion that the "times are in God's hands" is not one exclusive to this setting. Indeed all times are in the hands of God. Prosperity and abundance, tragedy and despair, joy and sorrow; it's all in the grip of God's sway.
The funny thing is that when we are at the end of our rope, we somehow understand this. This truth is expressed by the old saw that says there are no atheists in foxholes. As the delusion of control is stripped away and lives spiral downward, a turn to one more powerful seems inevitable.
But when the good times roll things are different. When bellies are full and beds are warm it's easy to live into the delusion that we're in charge of it all, that we are somehow responsible for our good fortune. Grateful hearts somehow dissipate in the face of super abundance.
If only we could ride on waves of consistency and trust in both good times and bad. If only we could look from windows of prosperity to see the pain of others and unlock our hardened hearts.
The whole business is made worse by this citation for passion from the dictionary, "2. Obsolete: suffering" Obsolete! That comes crashing headlong into how I was raised. When did this happen? By the time I had come along, my congregational ancestors had done a real good job overcoming their fears and trepidation about the passion to the point of most churches installing a cross on the altar. Granted, it was of the finest brass and absent the body of Christ. At least it proclaimed his message with the letters IHS, commonly understood to mean "I have suffered." By the time I had graduated from high school, we had even made some serious progress toward observing Ash Wednesday and giving more than a nod to Lent. It seems that we are doing some back peddling here at best.
Passion/Palm Sunday feels like one of those moments when we may sacrifice part of the essence of the gospel for whatever last bit of meaning we squeeze out of the palms before they are dried out and ready to play their part as next year's ashes. However, accusing voices have their say and direct my attention to the passion, "unmerited suffering is redemptive," and "what would you have done in Dietrich Bonhoeffer's shoes," "we are called not to success but to faithfulness." [The pastor who confirmed me studied under Bonhoeffer.]
It seems that this Sunday of the church year has always been somewhat bipolar. Though the dictionary may say that passion as suffering is obsolete and extreme bipolarism is bad, having no pole is worse. Like the original readers of the gospel, we know what is ahead: betrayal, denial, desertion, anonymous suffering, and death. As the Isaiah text has it, "I gave my back to those who struck me, and my cheeks to those who pulled out the beard; I did not hide my face from insult and spitting." Who would want to join in a parade of that?
Who would want to join in a parade of those who have humbled themselves? Life certainly has enough times when we are humbled and brought down to size. Yet, that may be what makes this march different from all others. It is the parade of those who have been humbled by life. While the culture might define a few pounds overweight or a few points below the median or a few less dollars in the bank as the end of the world, the Jesus parade composed of shared humanity that welcomes all is the only one that is leading somewhere. It may even include those who need to be humbled but have been too afraid to let their humanity show through. If they do they will experience being a part of the parade of those who have experienced the healing of Jesus.
The poles come together in this parade. The mainstream may be rerouted but the marginalized will dance. This is quite a march in review. Those who sit on thrones may find their foundations shaking but the empty and fearful will find themselves enthroned as children of God. This may be more than the choir intends or the children portray on Palm Sunday but it does open me to some of the synonyms the dictionary gives for the passion: fervor, ardor, enthusiasm, and zeal. It is led by Jesus who by suffering, rejection, and denial is ready to lead us through our suffering.
Isaiah 50:4-9a
As parades go what is marched passed us in the story of the Hebrews seems to be a fairly sad affair. They arise from families whose story emerges in the book of Genesis as twisted, full of jealousy, defiance, abuse, and shamelessness. Things do not get much better from there. They fight against their opportunity for freedom and quarrel with their leadership. Their kings are either crazy or they use their office for their own gratification and glory. Their temple seems a poor defense against their idolatry.
The text is written to speak to a people returning from exile where not a few of the Hebrews have succumbed to the allures of careerism, profit, and all the advantages that Babylonian culture has to offer. Just what does the prophet mean when he writes, "The Lord God has given me the tongue of a teacher, that I may know how to sustain the weary with a word"? What does the prophet mean when the long, sad litany of the Hebrews' story seems to offer no escape from the long, sad litany of the evening news? The question seems particularly poignant given the fact that it is precisely after the exile the Hebrews begin to collect and canonize their history as we find it in scripture.
Whatever else we can say of the record the Hebrews had committed to paper, it clearly shows that whatever else we can say of their God they were not saved from their humanity by any act of divine intervention. Viewed from another perspective, the Hebrews recounted not just a story of their foibles but the story of a God who did not desert them in the midst of their foolishness, but embraced their humanity.
In the telling of the tale, the pathway to the future still remains open for a people who quarrel amongst themselves, a people that complains they have been brought into the desert to starve still has a table set before them, leaders who ride high are brought low, and exile is not the final chapter in the story. The telling of the tale is not merely the endless repetition of human frailty, but the endless parting of the waters, the pouring forth of manna, the moral center that does hold, and the call to return from exile. In the midst of human frailty, divine possibility makes its appearance and a terribly human people are embraced.
In short, their story was not all about them and human possibilities. Of course, this is what happens during Passion Week. It is not all about human possibilities. The parade includes resources suddenly showing up to do the work that God wants done in the form of a donkey, the dreams of Pilate's wife that seem to trouble her so, the tongue-tied Pilate who does not know what to make of the whole business, in the actions of a betrayer that winds up fulfilling God's plan, and in the ironic sign that spoke the not-so-obvious truth of the moment, "This is Jesus, the King of the Jews."
From a human perspective the story paraded before us this week is just the sad tale of another poor, hapless, even wise soul sacrificed to the ways of the world that prevailed then and now. However the prophet says that his ear has been opened as he surveys the historical record and having been given the tongue of a teacher by the Lord God, says more is at work in this sad parade than meets the eye. His ear has been opened to another possibility that will vindicate him. He comes out ready to contend with anyone who will confront him on this. Relying on human possibilities will begin to wear thin and grow old.
I am ready to get passionate about joining in the parade of those who have, like the prophet Isaiah, been given the tongue of a teacher by the Lord. They know they will not be put to shame.
Philippians 2:5-11
There is an old song that sums up my feelings about Palm Sunday: "I Love A Parade." Above all, I don't ever recall being charged admission to one. Parades have a great way of leveling the playing field. Having gone through a repeat performance of the Boston Red Sox as World Series champions, an event that most New Englanders never expected to see occur once in their lives, I am particularly aware of the effect that a good parade can have on people. As the victory parade moved through Boston, people in six- figure incomes and these barely above the poverty line mixed together with the same sense of wonder, awe, and admiration. In all the cheering there was a unity that is rarely achieved on the other days of the year. As things moved along, the barrier between players and fans broke down as the players danced and jigged on the floats. It seemed that some of the Japanese players did not know what to make of this common display of passion. The day certainly fulfilled the last dictionary definition of passion: "ardent affection -- love, b: a strong liking or desire for or devotion to some activity, object, or concept."
Any parade that gets down to the fundamental humanity we all share is a good thing in my book. Anything that overrides the idea we are more different than alike cannot be a bad thing. The ancient hymn that Paul cites in his letter certainly invites endless Christological and metaphysical speculation. However, the central meaning Jesus parades before us is the core of what Paul is saying; Jesus came not to save us from our humanity but to give full expression to his and in so doing set before us new possibilities in our own.
The week will certainly demonstrate that the experience of Jesus is very close to our own. He must struggle with those who simply do not get it as they fumble to understand what his actions mean. He will certainly have to live through the reality of humans playing it safe, playing it for all it is worth, and playing the game of life by pitching people off against each other. Make no mistake about it, by the end of the week, Jesus reacts with all the humanity that is within him -- "He took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be grieved and agitated." The gospels recount that it is the disciples who are repressing their own humanity at this point. They are unable to enter into Jesus' passion at this point when he needs them so they pull the covers around and try to sleep the night away. No doubt given the tenor of our times, many of us would like to sleepwalk our way through life.
It is left to Jesus to remain awake and aware of what is happening. Paul pleads for something more than the disciples are able to offer at this point -- "Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form...."
Of course the "spirit is willing but the flesh is weak." Who wants to join the parade of those who are able to join in the suffering of others and to be touched by their story? There is great danger that parade will run headlong into burnout and being overwhelmed by other's stories. Yet, it is found that Jesus did not suppress his humanity but entertained and embraced other's humanity. He chooses not to escape into a dream world or pull others into it. The power of God meets us in those who choose to struggle with what it means to be a community that needs to forgive and receive forgiveness for its betrayals. The power of God is manifest in those who choose to be humanly present and proactive in taking the actions, which God can use to God's glory and our blessing. God's power will be made known in what human beings do on the road to Jericho, how they consider the lilies of the field and the birds of the air, and what they do with their treasure. Obedience unto death, even unto death on a cross will be confirmed as the parade route on Easter morn.
Matthew 26:14--27:66
Matthew tells a story where Jesus implements God's plan in which things happen in fulfillment of scripture -- "He said, 'Go into the city to a certain man, and say to him, "The Teacher says, my time is near; I will keep the Passover at your house with my disciples." ' " There can be no mistaking the fact that Jesus is clearly aware of who will betray him and that all his disciples will desert him. We draw up short at the notion that this parade of events is somehow God's plan. We are not comfortable with the idea this must take place.
Could all of this be explained to us without parading the horror of this week out in public? Forgiveness does not mean much if it is merely forensic matter. It becomes real and healing when it reaches beyond argument and rhetoric. At least that is the way it is in my marriage. It is not enough to say that the breach does not matter. It does, we are hurt, wounded, and dispirited. Forgiveness is saying that is not the final measure of the person or the moment. The healing will come from reaching beyond the pain and the sense of betrayal that human beings often inflict on one another. I want to be in the parade of those who can do that and those who know that it has been done for them.
However, I find myself out of step when I have thought myself well intentioned enough to avoid the need for forgiveness -- "Well, I only meant well." That is not good enough, neither is it true nor is it terribly helpful to the one I have wronged. I need forgiveness that reaches beyond the mayhem my foibles, ego trips, shallowness, and callousness unleashes on the world. As Jesus points out in the Sermon on the Mount, we are not as well-intended as we think we are. Only in relationship do we discover the distance between our intentions and their effects.
What stands in the way of my well-being is often my inability to forgive myself -- a particular problem of clergy. I don't want to accept my own failings as something that God can work with. The account of Judas' fate in Matthew's gospel that ends in his hanging himself shows one who is unable to accept what he has done and can find no reconciliation with God. This stands in marked contrast to Peter who denies Jesus and the others who desert him. There is still meaning, purpose, and hope for their lives in accepting that they are accepted for the task that God has set before them. Their story is not over.
This is good news for human beings who do inflict so much damage on each other and on themselves. As Paul Tillich put it in his sermon, "You Are Accepted": "We cannot force ourselves to accept ourselves. We cannot compel anyone to accept himself. But sometimes it happens that we receive the power to say, 'Yes' to ourselves, that peace enters into us and makes us whole, that self-hate and self-contempt disappear, and that our self is reunited with itself." Matthew's gospel tells us that such a moment comes not when all has been explained to us but at a table prepared for us where Christ is present gathering his people again beyond all the hurt and pain inflicted on him. I experience that not in having the events of Holy Week explained to me but as they are reenacted around this table. I want to join the long parade of those who have had that experience and accepted that acceptance. I can become very passionate about that story.
Application
The passion of this week cannot be preached unless it is something that the preacher and the congregation have experienced in their own lives and in their life together. The prophet Isaiah reminds us that if we are to have a word for the weary then we must teach as those who have been taught. In our common life together, is it regular practice to recite the tale of how God's power to use ordinary folks to do extraordinary things has been made manifest in the life of the congregation? Can we be a people humble and empowered by our life together? The gospel of Matthew says that we have nothing to say to the nations unless we do. Philippians asks us to have the same mind among us that was in Christ Jesus. Do we see in his acceptance of these events the fulfillment of life or its denial? The texts give us much to ponder during Holy Week which is a holy thing itself.
Alternative Application
Matthew 26:14--27:66. On the other hand, the choir has practiced to perfection. The preacher can see the children lined up in the back of the church ready to put their passion into a parade that will put the ardor of adult faith to shame. Beads of cold sweat break on the preacher's head as she or he contemplates offering up the details of the Passion, which are reserved in most churches for either Maundy Thursday or Good Friday. But consider the mission and meaning the early church found in the Palms. They were not to be thrown away as so much confetti that expresses the fleeting joy that comes with most parades. They were to be saved all year and used and burned for the ashes on Ash Wednesday. The Palms story is not completely told on Palm Sunday. They bring us back to the fact that God's starting point is with whom we are and the faith that we have. The church year moves from the ashes to the fire of Pentecost. The fuel will be the dust or ordinariness that God's fire can ignite. That is part of the glory to which we raise our palms this Sunday.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 31:9-16
At first, this psalm conjures up the words of an old acquaintance who frequently would call on the phone to say that "I'm not paranoid, they really are out to get me!" It was always offered with tongue in cheek. This response, of course, is smarmy in the extreme and offers the benefit of not having to engage the text. But then in the rereading, the protective layers of cynicism fall away and visions begin to emerge.
As the words sink in, images of genocide in Darfur, of rancid hospitals in Bagdad, and rotting homes in New Orleans begin to grow clear. The oft-avoided, always-dreaded suffering of the other comes into focus as knuckles of compassion knock at hardened hearts.
Who has known someone at the end of their rope? Who has sniffed the odor of despair and desperation? And who, sensing that the bucket of options is empty finally turns and gives it all over to God?
This psalm is a portrait of what one might call a Job profile. It just doesn't seem like it can get much worse, and somehow in the thick of it all one has the odd sense that the cosmic casino is laying odds on the outcome. This is a life washed over with grief and misery; a smashed and broken remnant shrinking from "terror all around."
And yet trust is placed in God because God, it seems, is in charge.
The notion that the "times are in God's hands" is not one exclusive to this setting. Indeed all times are in the hands of God. Prosperity and abundance, tragedy and despair, joy and sorrow; it's all in the grip of God's sway.
The funny thing is that when we are at the end of our rope, we somehow understand this. This truth is expressed by the old saw that says there are no atheists in foxholes. As the delusion of control is stripped away and lives spiral downward, a turn to one more powerful seems inevitable.
But when the good times roll things are different. When bellies are full and beds are warm it's easy to live into the delusion that we're in charge of it all, that we are somehow responsible for our good fortune. Grateful hearts somehow dissipate in the face of super abundance.
If only we could ride on waves of consistency and trust in both good times and bad. If only we could look from windows of prosperity to see the pain of others and unlock our hardened hearts.
