The wrong anthem
Commentary
Object:
The choir director was aghast. "I just didn't realize," she said. "It was totally inappropriate. I chose the wrong anthem."
Her mistake was understandable. The service schedule said, "Palm Sunday," and the usual Palm Sunday choir anthem includes shouts of "Hosanna." The problem was the placement. In the Book of Common Prayer, the "Hosanna" part comes at the beginning of the service following a procession with singing and palm-waving, the congregation settles down to a much more grave matter: a participatory reading of one of the passion narratives from the synoptic gospels. The choir director's anthem, coming after this solemn reading, did seem a bit inappropriate.
Yet Palm Sunday and Passion Sunday are one and the same, and today's readings all describe the same Messiah, and the same God who is defined by that Messiah: One who is self-giving to a fault. The difference between the triumphal entry into Jerusalem and the crucifixion is simply that the definition of messiahship has been clarified; it is not to be manifested in the royal palace, but among the poor, the weak, and the neglected. Whatever historical reality may underlie these stories, on this day we read about a humble king who is humbled further, and we enact our own participation in these stories by taking the part of "the crowd" in both stories. The same crowd that shouts "Hosanna to the Son of David!" will soon shout, "Crucify him!"
Isaiah 50:4-9a
The Third Servant Song in Second Isaiah is a monologue, with the Servant as the speaker. The monologue reflects the broader genre of a trust psalm; the Servant expresses his trust in God. Here in Isaiah, the Servant should be thought of as the embodiment of Israel (or the faithful remnant in Israel), not as an individual (cf. 48:16; 49:3).
The passage in which our lection occurs is divided into three sections. The introduction (vv. 1-3) shares with the previous chapter the invocation of Zion, but now it is specifically the "children of Zion" who are called (v. 1). The speaker poses questions that will be answered in the Song proper (vv. 4-9). The final verses (vv. 10-11) are a commentary in response to the Song (here the Servant is no longer the speaker): The community is divided in their response to the Servant, and those who do not believe are warned of dire consequences.
The Servant is empowered by God "to sustain the weary with a word" (v. 4). Specifically, the Servant is given an ear for the gift of God's word: "The Lord God has given me the tongue of those who are taught" (the NRSV translation, "tongue of a teacher," is possible, but not likely). What the Servant is learning here is not information as much as lifestyle; the community is taught to accept suffering and shame on God's behalf (v. 5). "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" (v. 6). Despite this trial, the community asserts its faith: "The Lord God helps me; therefore I have not been disgraced; therefore I have set my face like flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame" (v. 7). The Servant uses legal language to picture his exoneration, with God sitting in the defense attorney's chair: "He who vindicates me is near" (v. 8). The prosecution's witnesses are faulty ("Who are my adversaries?"), and the judge will find no guilt (v. 9).
With this vivid picture of personal suffering, Second Isaiah embodies both the grief and hope of a community that had suffered badly in exile. No wonder Christians understood this passage to reflect and interpret the life and death of their Messiah!
Philippians 2:5-11
The Song continues in Paul's letter to the Philippians. Most scholars see this passage as a literal song, an early Christian hymn inserted by Paul into his letter as support for his exhortation. This is certainly possible: The unusual and poetic vocabulary may not be Paul's own, and the structure is reminiscent of Hebrew poetry in its stress and parallelism (it is usually thought to be influenced by Isaiah's Servant Songs, though some scholars see its primary background in the story of Adam's fall in Genesis). However, the themes and even the language are well within Paul's rhetorical repertoire, so he may have written this ode to Christ himself.
Clearly the hymn moves in two directions: first downward in humility, then upward to glory. It is not so clear what this movement actually represents. Traditional interpretation has seen here a reference to the pre-existence and incarnation of Christ, who came down from heaven to take human form, and then returned from whence he came. But an equally good case could be made that the poetic language imagines no pre-existence, and that the entire tale is told of the incarnate Christ, who humbled himself in service to others. Both interpretations fit the hymn (though I incline to the traditional one).
Neither is there a consensus on how the main focus of the hymn is to be understood. The crux here is the elliptical opening sentence, which reads literally "This think in you (pl.) which also in Christ Jesus" (v. 5). The verb must be supplied in the second half of the sentence. Traditionally, the simplest translation has been preferred, with the verb "to be" (so NRSV, "Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus"). This implies that the point is simply ethical imitation and that the life of the community should parallel the life of Christ ("in you" is best understood as "among yourselves," specifying not individual inner disposition but group character). However, this translation does not quite capture all the nuances of Paul's expression "in Christ," which indicates a state of union and power that goes beyond mere aping of actions. We might translate the phrase, "which is yours as those who are in Christ," or "which you think as those who are in Christ" (supplying the verb from the first half of the sentence). The sentence could be taken in a number of ways, as paradigmatic (Christ providing the model mind), mystical (the mind shared in union with Christ), ecclesiastical (the mind of those who are the body of Christ), or soteriological (the mind that comes from being "in Christ"). These different ways of understanding the introductory sentence are not necessarily contradictory, however -- in fact, they are quite complementary. Following Jesus is not merely imitating his example, but participating in his life, and being energized by his power. It is not just that we follow Christ, but that we are in some sense sharers in Christ's nature and power, which the hymn specifies.
However we understand the introduction, we must understand how the hymn functions as part of Paul's argument. Philippians is a letter about friendship and possessions, and how one expresses the other. Paul writes to his friends to thank them for their monetary gift (1:7; 4:10, 15-18); it is not going too far to say that Philippians is one long thank-you note! In Greco-Roman society, it was a common notion that "friends share all things," and Paul rightly takes their gift as a sign of that kind of friendship. His exhortation to them is to live out the implications of their gift of friendship by sharing their hearts and minds. Paul then evokes several examples of the kind of mindset he is commending: Jesus (2:5-11); Timothy and Epaphroditus (2:19--3:1), and Paul himself (3:20--4:1). In this case, he starts his examples with the climax, pulling out all the rhetorical guns to exhort them to "make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind" (2:2).
The "one mind" they are to share is the mind of Christ, which is described in the hymn. He was, first of all, in "the form of God." Traditionally, this has been understood as a reference to the divine Christ's pre-existence, but it could refer to his human form, as Adam was created in "the image of God." In either case, he did not regard that form as harpagmos, "something to be seized, grasped, robbed," such as booty or plunder (v. 6). The poetic idea here is that Christ chose not to use his gifts to his own advantage; he did not take the opportunity that they presented for self-promotion. Note that this is "possessions" language, and that the "possessions" symbolize a spiritual state, a notion that probably would not be lost on a congregation that had so recently sacrificed their own goods for Paul's mission.
Rather than looking out for himself, Christ "emptied himself," or stripped himself of the privileges that came with his status (like a reverse Adam). He took on the identity of a slave, much like Isaiah's Servant (the hymn uses several synonyms for "form" and "likeness," all of which are poetic variants of the same idea). He did not thereby cease to be in the form of God, but by doing so defined that form -- it is that of a slave (v. 7). The slave is humble and obedient (here the stark contrast to Adam), and Paul takes the logic of his argument to its obvious conclusion: the ultimate emptying and humbling is found in a death on the cross (v. 8).
Having reached the bottom, the movement is reversed (v. 9). The humble Christ is exalted, and given "the name that is above every name," either the name "Jesus" (v. 10), or more likely, "Lord" (v. 11). This leads to a cosmic proclamation, in which "every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father" (vv. 10-11). The entire universe is thus brought under the lordship of Christ. On the basis of this declaration, Paul will launch further into his exhortation, which includes not only the request for good works, but also the promise of God's assistance (vv. 12-13).
Matthew 26:14--27:66
The long passion narrative in Matthew is dependent on the tradition passed along by Mark (which in turn is similar to the Johannine framework; no doubt a common oral tradition stands behind both). It is set during the Jewish Passover, with its symbolism of the sacrificial lamb. The Passover was a pilgrimage feast, during which a great many visitors would come to Jerusalem; this sets the scene for the explosive political machinations that lead to the cross. Like many other Passover pilgrims, Jesus and his disciples have to find a place to eat the feast, but their feast will soon turn to sorrow. The synoptics picture Jesus being tried and executed on the night of the Passover meal (John's alternate chronology is considered by many to be more historically likely).
Matthew manages to add his own unique touches to the traditional framework. He makes a number of editorial changes to his source; for example, he makes the order of the mockery before the cross more logical (27:27-44). He tends to simplify Mark, but is not adverse to adding adjectives (27:57, 59, 60), and even whole scenes (27:1-10, 62-66). He rearranges things in light of the current practice of his Jewish-Christian community; for example, in his account of the Last Supper, the words of institution reflect later liturgical practice, and the actions have been condensed and merged into one ceremony of bread and cup in the middle of the meal. His major changes, however, have to do with broad theological concerns.
Foremost of these Matthean themes is the fulfillment of prophecy. In Matthew, Jesus is presented as a teacher of Torah, but also as himself the fulfillment of Torah. Jesus is himself a prophet whose words prove true again and again (26:17-18, 21-25, 26-29, 31-35, 45-46). This is because God has planned and is in control of all these events. The episode of the severed ear illustrates God's control: When one of the disciples draws a sword and strikes the slave of the high priest, Jesus immediately orders the cessation of all violence in his defense. "Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then would the scriptures be fulfilled, which say it must happen this way?" (26:53-54). Less important than what particular scriptures Matthew had in mind here (he probably refers to Zechariah 13:7) is simply that all these events are the fulfillment of scripture. God has planned it this way all along, and the scriptures show the way. Thus they are cited often (26:15, 24, 31, 54, 56; 27:9-10, 46), and even when they are not cited explicitly, they are alluded to (note especially the broad allusions to Psalms 22 and 69 in the crucifixion and death scenes).
That God is in control is part and parcel with Matthew's concern with eschatology, the coming of the last days. Though on a human level, it is Judas who has "handed over" (paradidomi, usually translated "betrayed") Jesus, actually it is God who is doing the handing (the same verb, paradidomi, is used in the "divine passive" in 26:2). God is handing over the Son on behalf of the whole world. This is happening in eschatological time, kairos, as Jesus himself admits when he says, "My time is near" (26:18). As foretold in the prophets, there will be a heavenly banquet in these last days (26:29). What Jesus is doing here, as Matthew sees it, is ushering in the end of the age. Other instances of eschatological imagery include the legion of angels (26:53), the portents attending the crucifixion and resurrection (27:51-53; cf. Ezekiel 37:1-4), and the appearance of Elijah to "save" Jesus (27:49).
Matthew is unique in his concentration on the role of Judas in God's plan. Only Matthew includes the tradition that pictures Judas' interaction with the Jewish leaders (27:1-10). In contrast with the woman who lavishes expensive ointment on Jesus (26:14), Judas "hands over" Jesus for a paltry sum. His "kiss" proves hollow, used only as an identifying mark in the Passover hubbub. His words show his true nature, as he identifies Jesus with a term used only by Jesus' enemies in Matthew, never by his disciples: "Rabbi" (26:25, 48-49). Jesus in response gives him a sarcastic "Friend" (probably the equivalent of "Bub") and asserts God's control over the whole process: "Do what you are here to do" (26:50).
Judas may be culpable, but Matthew leaves no doubt which human agency is ultimately responsible. Pilate is let off easily, although historically crucifixion was a punishment used only by the Romans. Matthew even brings in a scene with Pilate's wife to lessen his culpability (27:19). The scene of Pilate washing his hands (27:24) is almost laughable; no one got to that level of power in the Roman empire with clean hands, and we know Pilate's ruthlessness from other contemporary sources. But Matthew, whose community was deeply in conflict with the synagogue, placed the blame squarely on Jewish shoulders, to the point of having the people as a whole cry, "His blood be upon us and on our children" (27:25).
All along, though, Jesus is presented as a sacrificial innocent. He is declared "innocent" again and again (cf. 26:58-59, 66; 27:18-19, 23-24). In Passover imagery, he speaks of his death as a sacrifice for sins (26:28). Throughout the process, he remains in total control (26:18-19, 21-25, 26-29, 45; 27:14). He lives -- and dies -- only according to God's plan.
Application
People are surprised when I tell them that I don't believe in preaching on Palm Sunday. They think I'm kidding, but I'm not. The passion narrative is long and intense. If read in parts and with congregational participation, it can be emotionally draining. The last thing I want to see at the end of it is some preacher belaboring the point (or worse yet, telling a joke).
Which is not to say that there should be no explication of the text on Palm Sunday. I propose replacing the sermon with a short introduction to the passion narrative that precedes rather than follows the reading. The introduction could point the congregation to what they should be listening for (particularly the unique emphases of Matthew's version). It would set them up to properly hear the reading. Following the reading there should be extended silence to let it soak in.
The usual objection to my "No Sermon Palm Sunday" is that "the people might need help applying the text to their lives." But that is really the point, isn't it? The congregation must work out their own salvation with fear and trembling (Philippians 2:12). The passion narrative provides the model for all of Christian life; it is not "applied" so much as it is that life. Jesus' death provides the model for the life of faith, as his resurrection assures the power to be faithful. The passion narrative is the gospel in a nutshell: He gave himself for us, so that we could give ourselves for him.
Alternative Application
Matthew 26:14--27:66. The great Jewish scholar Samuel Sandmel used to tell this story: A Jew is walking down the street on Palm Sunday. All of a sudden, a Christian comes out of church and starts beating the Jew on the head.
"Why are you hitting me?" the Jew asks. "What have I done to you?"
"You Jews killed Jesus," says the Christian.
"That was 2,000 years ago!" says the Jew.
"Well," says the Christian, "I just found out today."
Sandmel and others, both Jews and Christians, would conclude that reading the New Testament is a very dangerous thing, and as we know, the Bible is a dangerous book to read. But it's supposed to be dangerous to us, not to others.
One problem with preaching today is that the church doesn't do enough to challenge outlandish interpretations of the gospels. We should protest the notion that God blames the Jewish people for Jesus' death. Matthew wrote as part of a broader interreligious fight, in which the Gentile church was asserting itself in contrast to its Jewish roots. As with all such internecine conflicts, the rhetorical juices flowed. We should not take the depictions of the Pharisees, Sadducees, and Jewish people in the gospels as gospel truth. It is polemic, slanted, and a bit unfair.
At the very least, we should tell our congregations this: Do not, repeat, do not march out of church looking to beat up a Jew. Do not blame the Jews. Do not let prejudice, stupidity, and violence rule your hearts. Christ died for all of us, so that we might walk in new life.
Preaching the Psalm
Psalm 31:9-16
by Schuyler Rhodes
No happy dust here
This psalm tackles an age old question. Why does God cause suffering? The psalmist comes right to the point as the words jump from the scripture. "What profit is there in my death?"
The bargaining with God has begun. How could my death possibly benefit you, God? In fact, if I died, who would praise you the way that I do? And then the writer gets downright sarcastic. "Will the dust praise you?"
The writer and much of the Judeo Christian world assumes a God consciousness that is frighteningly like our own. It's understandable, of course. If you or someone you love is suffering you seek reasons. And if we concoct a God, who like us, could easily cause suffering with no good reason, then we can assume that this is what is taking place.
But what if God's consciousness is nothing like our own? What if God and God's purposes are far beyond our puny abilities to comprehend? What if we have created a God in our own image and ascribed our own ways and wanderings to this God? Is that possible? Is that likely? Yes.
"God," as one theologian put it, "is greater than that which we can conceive." So, too, are God's purposes. The Creator of the universe; of all things that exist may indeed have a reason for things being as they are in the world. However, it's not a reason we are likely to comprehend.
In the meantime, however, psalmist and parishioner; prelate and pastor continue to shake a balled up fist at the sky and ask "why?" It's okay. God can absorb our anger and even our sarcasm. God can manage to sidestep the fact that human beings tend to blame (him) for all the world's ills. This last is a nice trick, since most of the world's problems are of human origin, not divine. But still, the might and wonder of the holy can surely stand our peevish blaming.
Perhaps those who suffer might consider a new path rather than blame? Rather than asking God how he profits from our suffering, would it be possible to give our lives over to this God? Whether it be illness or grief; hurt or hunger, what would it be like if we placed it all on the altar of God's inscrutable but certain love?
It's worth a try. And it's certainly better than shaking a fist at the sky. When all else fails, try trusting God.
Her mistake was understandable. The service schedule said, "Palm Sunday," and the usual Palm Sunday choir anthem includes shouts of "Hosanna." The problem was the placement. In the Book of Common Prayer, the "Hosanna" part comes at the beginning of the service following a procession with singing and palm-waving, the congregation settles down to a much more grave matter: a participatory reading of one of the passion narratives from the synoptic gospels. The choir director's anthem, coming after this solemn reading, did seem a bit inappropriate.
Yet Palm Sunday and Passion Sunday are one and the same, and today's readings all describe the same Messiah, and the same God who is defined by that Messiah: One who is self-giving to a fault. The difference between the triumphal entry into Jerusalem and the crucifixion is simply that the definition of messiahship has been clarified; it is not to be manifested in the royal palace, but among the poor, the weak, and the neglected. Whatever historical reality may underlie these stories, on this day we read about a humble king who is humbled further, and we enact our own participation in these stories by taking the part of "the crowd" in both stories. The same crowd that shouts "Hosanna to the Son of David!" will soon shout, "Crucify him!"
Isaiah 50:4-9a
The Third Servant Song in Second Isaiah is a monologue, with the Servant as the speaker. The monologue reflects the broader genre of a trust psalm; the Servant expresses his trust in God. Here in Isaiah, the Servant should be thought of as the embodiment of Israel (or the faithful remnant in Israel), not as an individual (cf. 48:16; 49:3).
The passage in which our lection occurs is divided into three sections. The introduction (vv. 1-3) shares with the previous chapter the invocation of Zion, but now it is specifically the "children of Zion" who are called (v. 1). The speaker poses questions that will be answered in the Song proper (vv. 4-9). The final verses (vv. 10-11) are a commentary in response to the Song (here the Servant is no longer the speaker): The community is divided in their response to the Servant, and those who do not believe are warned of dire consequences.
The Servant is empowered by God "to sustain the weary with a word" (v. 4). Specifically, the Servant is given an ear for the gift of God's word: "The Lord God has given me the tongue of those who are taught" (the NRSV translation, "tongue of a teacher," is possible, but not likely). What the Servant is learning here is not information as much as lifestyle; the community is taught to accept suffering and shame on God's behalf (v. 5). "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" (v. 6). Despite this trial, the community asserts its faith: "The Lord God helps me; therefore I have not been disgraced; therefore I have set my face like flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame" (v. 7). The Servant uses legal language to picture his exoneration, with God sitting in the defense attorney's chair: "He who vindicates me is near" (v. 8). The prosecution's witnesses are faulty ("Who are my adversaries?"), and the judge will find no guilt (v. 9).
With this vivid picture of personal suffering, Second Isaiah embodies both the grief and hope of a community that had suffered badly in exile. No wonder Christians understood this passage to reflect and interpret the life and death of their Messiah!
Philippians 2:5-11
The Song continues in Paul's letter to the Philippians. Most scholars see this passage as a literal song, an early Christian hymn inserted by Paul into his letter as support for his exhortation. This is certainly possible: The unusual and poetic vocabulary may not be Paul's own, and the structure is reminiscent of Hebrew poetry in its stress and parallelism (it is usually thought to be influenced by Isaiah's Servant Songs, though some scholars see its primary background in the story of Adam's fall in Genesis). However, the themes and even the language are well within Paul's rhetorical repertoire, so he may have written this ode to Christ himself.
Clearly the hymn moves in two directions: first downward in humility, then upward to glory. It is not so clear what this movement actually represents. Traditional interpretation has seen here a reference to the pre-existence and incarnation of Christ, who came down from heaven to take human form, and then returned from whence he came. But an equally good case could be made that the poetic language imagines no pre-existence, and that the entire tale is told of the incarnate Christ, who humbled himself in service to others. Both interpretations fit the hymn (though I incline to the traditional one).
Neither is there a consensus on how the main focus of the hymn is to be understood. The crux here is the elliptical opening sentence, which reads literally "This think in you (pl.) which also in Christ Jesus" (v. 5). The verb must be supplied in the second half of the sentence. Traditionally, the simplest translation has been preferred, with the verb "to be" (so NRSV, "Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus"). This implies that the point is simply ethical imitation and that the life of the community should parallel the life of Christ ("in you" is best understood as "among yourselves," specifying not individual inner disposition but group character). However, this translation does not quite capture all the nuances of Paul's expression "in Christ," which indicates a state of union and power that goes beyond mere aping of actions. We might translate the phrase, "which is yours as those who are in Christ," or "which you think as those who are in Christ" (supplying the verb from the first half of the sentence). The sentence could be taken in a number of ways, as paradigmatic (Christ providing the model mind), mystical (the mind shared in union with Christ), ecclesiastical (the mind of those who are the body of Christ), or soteriological (the mind that comes from being "in Christ"). These different ways of understanding the introductory sentence are not necessarily contradictory, however -- in fact, they are quite complementary. Following Jesus is not merely imitating his example, but participating in his life, and being energized by his power. It is not just that we follow Christ, but that we are in some sense sharers in Christ's nature and power, which the hymn specifies.
However we understand the introduction, we must understand how the hymn functions as part of Paul's argument. Philippians is a letter about friendship and possessions, and how one expresses the other. Paul writes to his friends to thank them for their monetary gift (1:7; 4:10, 15-18); it is not going too far to say that Philippians is one long thank-you note! In Greco-Roman society, it was a common notion that "friends share all things," and Paul rightly takes their gift as a sign of that kind of friendship. His exhortation to them is to live out the implications of their gift of friendship by sharing their hearts and minds. Paul then evokes several examples of the kind of mindset he is commending: Jesus (2:5-11); Timothy and Epaphroditus (2:19--3:1), and Paul himself (3:20--4:1). In this case, he starts his examples with the climax, pulling out all the rhetorical guns to exhort them to "make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind" (2:2).
The "one mind" they are to share is the mind of Christ, which is described in the hymn. He was, first of all, in "the form of God." Traditionally, this has been understood as a reference to the divine Christ's pre-existence, but it could refer to his human form, as Adam was created in "the image of God." In either case, he did not regard that form as harpagmos, "something to be seized, grasped, robbed," such as booty or plunder (v. 6). The poetic idea here is that Christ chose not to use his gifts to his own advantage; he did not take the opportunity that they presented for self-promotion. Note that this is "possessions" language, and that the "possessions" symbolize a spiritual state, a notion that probably would not be lost on a congregation that had so recently sacrificed their own goods for Paul's mission.
Rather than looking out for himself, Christ "emptied himself," or stripped himself of the privileges that came with his status (like a reverse Adam). He took on the identity of a slave, much like Isaiah's Servant (the hymn uses several synonyms for "form" and "likeness," all of which are poetic variants of the same idea). He did not thereby cease to be in the form of God, but by doing so defined that form -- it is that of a slave (v. 7). The slave is humble and obedient (here the stark contrast to Adam), and Paul takes the logic of his argument to its obvious conclusion: the ultimate emptying and humbling is found in a death on the cross (v. 8).
Having reached the bottom, the movement is reversed (v. 9). The humble Christ is exalted, and given "the name that is above every name," either the name "Jesus" (v. 10), or more likely, "Lord" (v. 11). This leads to a cosmic proclamation, in which "every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father" (vv. 10-11). The entire universe is thus brought under the lordship of Christ. On the basis of this declaration, Paul will launch further into his exhortation, which includes not only the request for good works, but also the promise of God's assistance (vv. 12-13).
Matthew 26:14--27:66
The long passion narrative in Matthew is dependent on the tradition passed along by Mark (which in turn is similar to the Johannine framework; no doubt a common oral tradition stands behind both). It is set during the Jewish Passover, with its symbolism of the sacrificial lamb. The Passover was a pilgrimage feast, during which a great many visitors would come to Jerusalem; this sets the scene for the explosive political machinations that lead to the cross. Like many other Passover pilgrims, Jesus and his disciples have to find a place to eat the feast, but their feast will soon turn to sorrow. The synoptics picture Jesus being tried and executed on the night of the Passover meal (John's alternate chronology is considered by many to be more historically likely).
Matthew manages to add his own unique touches to the traditional framework. He makes a number of editorial changes to his source; for example, he makes the order of the mockery before the cross more logical (27:27-44). He tends to simplify Mark, but is not adverse to adding adjectives (27:57, 59, 60), and even whole scenes (27:1-10, 62-66). He rearranges things in light of the current practice of his Jewish-Christian community; for example, in his account of the Last Supper, the words of institution reflect later liturgical practice, and the actions have been condensed and merged into one ceremony of bread and cup in the middle of the meal. His major changes, however, have to do with broad theological concerns.
Foremost of these Matthean themes is the fulfillment of prophecy. In Matthew, Jesus is presented as a teacher of Torah, but also as himself the fulfillment of Torah. Jesus is himself a prophet whose words prove true again and again (26:17-18, 21-25, 26-29, 31-35, 45-46). This is because God has planned and is in control of all these events. The episode of the severed ear illustrates God's control: When one of the disciples draws a sword and strikes the slave of the high priest, Jesus immediately orders the cessation of all violence in his defense. "Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then would the scriptures be fulfilled, which say it must happen this way?" (26:53-54). Less important than what particular scriptures Matthew had in mind here (he probably refers to Zechariah 13:7) is simply that all these events are the fulfillment of scripture. God has planned it this way all along, and the scriptures show the way. Thus they are cited often (26:15, 24, 31, 54, 56; 27:9-10, 46), and even when they are not cited explicitly, they are alluded to (note especially the broad allusions to Psalms 22 and 69 in the crucifixion and death scenes).
That God is in control is part and parcel with Matthew's concern with eschatology, the coming of the last days. Though on a human level, it is Judas who has "handed over" (paradidomi, usually translated "betrayed") Jesus, actually it is God who is doing the handing (the same verb, paradidomi, is used in the "divine passive" in 26:2). God is handing over the Son on behalf of the whole world. This is happening in eschatological time, kairos, as Jesus himself admits when he says, "My time is near" (26:18). As foretold in the prophets, there will be a heavenly banquet in these last days (26:29). What Jesus is doing here, as Matthew sees it, is ushering in the end of the age. Other instances of eschatological imagery include the legion of angels (26:53), the portents attending the crucifixion and resurrection (27:51-53; cf. Ezekiel 37:1-4), and the appearance of Elijah to "save" Jesus (27:49).
Matthew is unique in his concentration on the role of Judas in God's plan. Only Matthew includes the tradition that pictures Judas' interaction with the Jewish leaders (27:1-10). In contrast with the woman who lavishes expensive ointment on Jesus (26:14), Judas "hands over" Jesus for a paltry sum. His "kiss" proves hollow, used only as an identifying mark in the Passover hubbub. His words show his true nature, as he identifies Jesus with a term used only by Jesus' enemies in Matthew, never by his disciples: "Rabbi" (26:25, 48-49). Jesus in response gives him a sarcastic "Friend" (probably the equivalent of "Bub") and asserts God's control over the whole process: "Do what you are here to do" (26:50).
Judas may be culpable, but Matthew leaves no doubt which human agency is ultimately responsible. Pilate is let off easily, although historically crucifixion was a punishment used only by the Romans. Matthew even brings in a scene with Pilate's wife to lessen his culpability (27:19). The scene of Pilate washing his hands (27:24) is almost laughable; no one got to that level of power in the Roman empire with clean hands, and we know Pilate's ruthlessness from other contemporary sources. But Matthew, whose community was deeply in conflict with the synagogue, placed the blame squarely on Jewish shoulders, to the point of having the people as a whole cry, "His blood be upon us and on our children" (27:25).
All along, though, Jesus is presented as a sacrificial innocent. He is declared "innocent" again and again (cf. 26:58-59, 66; 27:18-19, 23-24). In Passover imagery, he speaks of his death as a sacrifice for sins (26:28). Throughout the process, he remains in total control (26:18-19, 21-25, 26-29, 45; 27:14). He lives -- and dies -- only according to God's plan.
Application
People are surprised when I tell them that I don't believe in preaching on Palm Sunday. They think I'm kidding, but I'm not. The passion narrative is long and intense. If read in parts and with congregational participation, it can be emotionally draining. The last thing I want to see at the end of it is some preacher belaboring the point (or worse yet, telling a joke).
Which is not to say that there should be no explication of the text on Palm Sunday. I propose replacing the sermon with a short introduction to the passion narrative that precedes rather than follows the reading. The introduction could point the congregation to what they should be listening for (particularly the unique emphases of Matthew's version). It would set them up to properly hear the reading. Following the reading there should be extended silence to let it soak in.
The usual objection to my "No Sermon Palm Sunday" is that "the people might need help applying the text to their lives." But that is really the point, isn't it? The congregation must work out their own salvation with fear and trembling (Philippians 2:12). The passion narrative provides the model for all of Christian life; it is not "applied" so much as it is that life. Jesus' death provides the model for the life of faith, as his resurrection assures the power to be faithful. The passion narrative is the gospel in a nutshell: He gave himself for us, so that we could give ourselves for him.
Alternative Application
Matthew 26:14--27:66. The great Jewish scholar Samuel Sandmel used to tell this story: A Jew is walking down the street on Palm Sunday. All of a sudden, a Christian comes out of church and starts beating the Jew on the head.
"Why are you hitting me?" the Jew asks. "What have I done to you?"
"You Jews killed Jesus," says the Christian.
"That was 2,000 years ago!" says the Jew.
"Well," says the Christian, "I just found out today."
Sandmel and others, both Jews and Christians, would conclude that reading the New Testament is a very dangerous thing, and as we know, the Bible is a dangerous book to read. But it's supposed to be dangerous to us, not to others.
One problem with preaching today is that the church doesn't do enough to challenge outlandish interpretations of the gospels. We should protest the notion that God blames the Jewish people for Jesus' death. Matthew wrote as part of a broader interreligious fight, in which the Gentile church was asserting itself in contrast to its Jewish roots. As with all such internecine conflicts, the rhetorical juices flowed. We should not take the depictions of the Pharisees, Sadducees, and Jewish people in the gospels as gospel truth. It is polemic, slanted, and a bit unfair.
At the very least, we should tell our congregations this: Do not, repeat, do not march out of church looking to beat up a Jew. Do not blame the Jews. Do not let prejudice, stupidity, and violence rule your hearts. Christ died for all of us, so that we might walk in new life.
Preaching the Psalm
Psalm 31:9-16
by Schuyler Rhodes
No happy dust here
This psalm tackles an age old question. Why does God cause suffering? The psalmist comes right to the point as the words jump from the scripture. "What profit is there in my death?"
The bargaining with God has begun. How could my death possibly benefit you, God? In fact, if I died, who would praise you the way that I do? And then the writer gets downright sarcastic. "Will the dust praise you?"
The writer and much of the Judeo Christian world assumes a God consciousness that is frighteningly like our own. It's understandable, of course. If you or someone you love is suffering you seek reasons. And if we concoct a God, who like us, could easily cause suffering with no good reason, then we can assume that this is what is taking place.
But what if God's consciousness is nothing like our own? What if God and God's purposes are far beyond our puny abilities to comprehend? What if we have created a God in our own image and ascribed our own ways and wanderings to this God? Is that possible? Is that likely? Yes.
"God," as one theologian put it, "is greater than that which we can conceive." So, too, are God's purposes. The Creator of the universe; of all things that exist may indeed have a reason for things being as they are in the world. However, it's not a reason we are likely to comprehend.
In the meantime, however, psalmist and parishioner; prelate and pastor continue to shake a balled up fist at the sky and ask "why?" It's okay. God can absorb our anger and even our sarcasm. God can manage to sidestep the fact that human beings tend to blame (him) for all the world's ills. This last is a nice trick, since most of the world's problems are of human origin, not divine. But still, the might and wonder of the holy can surely stand our peevish blaming.
Perhaps those who suffer might consider a new path rather than blame? Rather than asking God how he profits from our suffering, would it be possible to give our lives over to this God? Whether it be illness or grief; hurt or hunger, what would it be like if we placed it all on the altar of God's inscrutable but certain love?
It's worth a try. And it's certainly better than shaking a fist at the sky. When all else fails, try trusting God.
