Sunday Of The Passion/Palm Sunday
Preaching
Lectionary Preaching Workbook
Series VII, Cycle C
Object:
Theme For The Day
Jesus paid "a king's ransom" so we might be free from sin.
Old Testament Lesson
Isaiah 50:4-9a
I Have Set My Face Like Flint
This passage occurs in all three annual cycles of the lectionary for this day. In this, the third of the four Servant Songs of Second Isaiah, we read of a suffering servant who willingly offers his back to his tormentors for beatings (v. 6) and who is able to face the most dreadful torture with impassive strength, because he has the Lord to help him (v. 7). One of the most potent weapons in the torturer's grisly bag of tricks is shame, but this man feels no shame as a result of his ordeal. "The one who vindicates me" is near (v. 8). "It is the Lord God who helps me; who will declare me guilty?" (v. 9). For Isaiah, this anonymous, suffering servant serves as an example for the entire exilic community. The members of that community, too, are being persecuted and humiliated, and, like the servant in the poem, they will find solace and strength only in the Lord. The lectionary editors have undoubtedly chosen this passage for its parallels to Jesus' Passion, but we should not neglect its meaning for its original audience, either.
New Testament Lesson
Philippians 2:5-11
Emptied, Then Exalted
This passage occurs in all three annual cycles of the lectionary for this day. This is the famous kenosis passage, in which Paul describes, in just a few verses, Jesus' descent from glory to the humiliation of the cross, and his corresponding ascent from death, through resurrection, to exaltation. Verses 1-4 (omitted from the lection) provide some helpful background context: Paul is addressing some conflicts among the Philippian Christians, and he is urging them to strive for a common mind (v. 2) and a spirit of humility (v. 3). In this passage, he reminds his readers that the common mind they are to seek comes from Jesus (v. 5). Then, he launches into a hymn recounting the events of Jesus' Passion -- which some think is an actual hymn of the early church that the Apostle simply quotes here. The model of this passage is that of the letter "V": Jesus begins at the heights, descends to the depths, and is raised back up to the heights again. His distinctive action is kenosis, or self-emptying. The key transition is the turning point between verses 8 and 9; that is when God intervenes decisively, taking this man who has descended as far into humiliation as any man could go, reversing the direction of his trajectory. The passage ends with every being in the universe bowing down before him in worship (vv. 10-11).
Palms Or Passion?
Depending on the degree of flexibility present in their liturgical tradition, lectionary preachers have an important choice this Sunday between using the assigned Gospel Reading for Palm Sunday or one of the two longer, Passion Sunday Lessons. The difference, of course, is that the Palm Sunday Lesson is limited to Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem, and the Passion Sunday Lesson is a longer narrative, telling of Jesus' trial before Pilate and death on the cross. Some pastors go even further, using this Sunday for an extended reading of the entire Passion narrative in lieu of a sermon. Passion Sunday sermons typically focus on a smaller portion of whichever Gospel Reading is being presented that day (since it is difficult to do justice to the extended reading in a single sermon).
The choice is complicated by the fact that, in many churches, attendance at Maundy Thursday and Good Friday services has declined in recent years, so the only opportunity many church members have to hear of Jesus' suffering and death is this Sunday before Easter. All too many modern Christians go directly from the Hosannas of Palm Sunday to the Alleluias of Easter -- without ever stopping anywhere else in between. This makes Holy Week appear to be a rollicking good time: all sugar and no vinegar, all light and no darkness.
That is, of course, a distorted view not only of the gospel, but of life in general. If the Sunday before Easter has a purely triumphal tone emphasizing the spirited exuberance of the palm procession and little else, then an important part of the story will go unheard by many. On the other hand, many congregations have long-established traditions focusing on the palm procession, and the displacement of these traditions by a Passion Sunday observance would be acutely felt.
Pastoral sensitivity is required, either way. If the choice is Palm Sunday, then including some mention of Jesus' suffering and death is essential. If it is Passion Sunday, then flexibility that honors local Palm Sunday traditions is also of great value.
The Gospel -- Palm Sunday
Luke 19:28-40
The Triumphal Entry
Ironically, John's version of the story of Jesus' triumphal entry (John 12:12-19) is the only one that mentions palm branches -- and John's version never comes up in the lectionary. Here in Luke's version, Jesus sends some representatives ahead of him to secure "a colt that has never been ridden" (v. 30). Once Jesus' agents speak the phrase, "The Lord has need of it," the owner immediately turns the animal over to them (Luke, unlike the other gospel writers, appears to understand this phrase as some kind of pre-arranged password, implying that the whole event had been deliberately staged). The people spread their cloaks before Jesus on the road; there's no specific mention of palms (as in John's Gospel), which would have had the specific connotation of Jewish nationalism. Luke, in fact, appears to have a different understanding. This is what some commentators have called "revolutionary street theater," a raucous parody of the sort of solemn, triumphal procession favored by the Romans. Jesus is deliberately thumbing his nose at the secular and religious authorities, and the crowd loves it. It is no wonder the Pharisees are upset, and ask him to stop (v. 39). But Jesus, turning serious, replies, "I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out!" (v. 40). The crowds are on his side -- for now.
The Gospel -- Passion Sunday
Luke 22:14--23:56 or Luke 23:1-49
The Pain
The longer Passion Sunday reading includes the following pericopes, and is long enough in most worship settings to be read in lieu of a sermon:
• The Institution Of The Lord's Supper (22:14-23)
• The Dispute About Greatness (22:24-30)
• Jesus Predicts Peter's Denial (22:31-34)
• Purse, Bag, And Sword (22:35-38)
• Jesus Prays On The Mount Of Olives (22:39-46)
• The Betrayal And Arrest Of Jesus (22:47-53)
• Peter Denies Jesus (22:54-62)
• The Mocking And Beating Of Jesus (22:63-65)
• Jesus Before The Council (22:66-71)
• Jesus Before Pilate (23:1-5)
• Jesus Before Herod (23:6-12)
• Jesus Sentenced To Death (23:13-25)
• The Crucifixion Of Jesus (23:26-43)
• The Death Of Jesus (23:44-49)
• The Burial Of Jesus (23:50-56)
The shorter Passion Sunday Lesson includes just the trial and crucifixion.
Preaching Possibilities
"Lionheart," they called him. They named him that because of his courage in battle -- and truly, King Richard I of England was a fearsome warrior. He led an army to the Holy Land, to try to recapture Jerusalem from the Muslims. He very nearly succeeded. But there were divisions in the ranks, and the Third Crusade fell apart. The French and the Germans didn't get along with the English. King Richard left for home -- and it was then his adventure really began.
Passing through Germany, in disguise, his true identity was uncovered. The German Emperor Henry VI threw him into prison. Henry declared he would not let Richard go until the people of England had raised the staggering sum of 150,000 marks.
It was, literally, "a king's ransom." When the king is in prison, the people pay the price. All over England money was collected to buy King Richard out of prison. Finally, there was enough. The king went free -- and ever after, his return home has been commemorated as the final scene of every Robin Hood movie ever made.
When Jesus entered Jerusalem, that first Palm Sunday, he too was hailed as a king. And, like Richard the Lionheart, he, too, would soon be arrested. Yet, for Jesus, there was no ransom. They hauled him before chief priests and the scribes, and eventually before the Roman governor, Pilate.
He did not cut a very kingly figure, there in Pilate's courtyard. They had stripped him, and beaten him; the only crown he wore was a crown of thorns. Pilate, being a practical sort of politician, saw no advantage in treating Jesus as a visiting head of state. No one, after all, was out there raising a king's ransom for this rabbi who had ridden in on a donkey. And so, Pilate gave the mob that cruel choice: Jesus or Barabbas. They chose Barabbas. King Jesus went to the cross.
It had all looked so different just a few days before. The sun was shining, the crowds were cheering, the people were running to and fro, calling out: "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!"
The more Palm Sundays I see, the more I'm struck by the irony of it all. I have vivid memories, as a child, of celebrating the day as one huge parade -- waving palms along with my Sunday school class, cheering, celebrating the dramatic entry of Jesus on his donkey. It was all good fun.
Yet there's very little to cheer about, really, on Palm Sunday -- for those of us who truly consider what the day is about know where Jesus is headed. The "hosannas" and the cries of "blessed be" ring hollow, when we understand how fickle is that crowd, how easily their praises turn to curses.
So much like us, they are. So easily they turn from the true Lord, to fall down and worship idols of power and prestige. So eager are they to win at all costs -- to be on the winning side, no matter what.
For Richard the Lionheart, the people pay the king's ransom. For Jesus, they do not. Yet still, there is a king's ransom in this story. The ransom is paid not by the crowds, and not by some generous benefactor, but by the king himself. When Jesus goes to the cross, he himself is paying the ransom: our ransom.
That's not the typical sort of thing a king does; but then, Jesus is no ordinary king. The strange procession into the city should have tipped the crowd off, as to how different he is; but somehow, it doesn't. There is a kind of parody in his precarious perch on a donkey's back -- but the people are too caught up in the giddy excitement to even notice.
This is not the conquering king, riding into the city on a donkey's back. This is a suffering-servant king, after the pattern of those famous "servant songs" of Isaiah: one who "sets his face like flint," then lays down his life for his subjects.
Every other king sends soldiers into battle -- to fight for his honor, and the honor of the nation. This one enters the battlefield -- the city of Jerusalem -- alone, riding an animal of peace.
Every other king plays with relish the high-stakes game of political intrigue. This one is disarmingly simple and direct.
Every other king seeks to argue from a position of strength. This one seems deliberately to seek out a posture of weakness.
Every other king upholds and embodies the law. This one submits to the law, allowing himself to be crushed by it. A peculiar sort of king indeed, this Jesus of Nazareth; no wonder Pilate is baffled when Jesus stands before him uttering not a word in his own defense!
When Jesus of Nazareth rides into Jerusalem on the back of that donkey, the crowds cheer him -- though they have no idea what sort of reversal the next few days will bring. Jesus, the king, has come to Jerusalem to pay a ransom: the ransom for human sin. So let us go ahead and wave our palms. Let us sing our stirring hymns. Let us cheer his triumphal entry. Yet, let us also be aware that between Palm Sunday and Easter Day there is an arrest, and a flogging, and a trial -- and a cross. In awe and wonder, let us worship him!
Prayer For The Day
Holy Jesus, every day
Keep us in the narrow way;
And, when earthly things are past,
Bring our ransomed souls at last
Where they need no star to guide,
Where no clouds thy glory hide.
(From the hymn, "As With Gladness, Men Of Old," text by William Chatterton Dix, 1858)
To Illustrate
In the spring of 1998, President Bill Clinton went on a tour of Africa. In South Africa, he met with Nelson Mandela, father of the revolution that toppled the dreadful, racist apartheid system in that land. One of the places the Clintons made sure they visited was Mandela's prison cell, on the isolated Robben Island, offshore from Cape Town.
Mandela, of course, is a towering moral figure -- not that he doesn't have his personal faults, but the sheer fact of his long imprisonment has given him a kind of personal stature that is rare among heads of state. A photo circulated widely in the news media at that time. It portrayed a tanned and healthy President Clinton -- commander-in-chief of the mightiest army on earth, and leader of the free world -- standing beside the stoop-shouldered, graying Mandela. The two of them were mugging for the camera, holding onto the bars of the cell, looking outside.
Did President Clinton have the foggiest idea what it must have been like for Mandela to live in that bare cell for nearly twenty years, sleeping on a hard concrete floor -- Bill Clinton, the Rhodes Scholar, the child of American privilege?
President Clinton is much like any of us, in that respect. How can he -- how can we -- have the slightest conception what it must have been like for this man to have endured such a long imprisonment for a cause he believed in? Nelson Mandela is one who has paid the king's ransom. He paid it with decades of his own life. He knows, more than most, what it means to bear a cross.
***
Another person who knew what it is to pay the king's ransom is one who would have died in obscurity -- were it not for one act of incredible courage and selflessness on his part.
Let's journey back to those days. Maximilian Kolbe (kòhl-bee) is a Roman Catholic priest, imprisoned by the Nazis in the infamous Auschwitz death camp. In July 1941, one man escapes from the camp. The authorities prepare their usual response: the execution of ten prisoners for every one escapee.
All the inmates of the camp are summoned to the parade ground, and the commandant selects ten names, at random, from out of the roll book. These ten will be taken to a punishment cell, he announces, where they will be given no food or water until they die.
The tenth name to be called out is Franciszek Gajowniczek (fran-chí-shek ga-yùv-ni-chek). As the SS officers drag the man forward, he begins to sob. "My wife and my children," he cries, softly.
Just then, there is a movement among the other prisoners. The guards raise their rifles. The dogs growl, anticipating the command to attack. A prisoner has actually left his row, and is pushing his way to the front.
It is Father Maximilian Kolbe. "Stop, or be shot," says one of the guards.
"I want to talk to the commandant," he says, calmly. Prisoners in Auschwitz are never allowed to speak, unless spoken to -- but for some reason, no one clubs him or sets the dogs on him. Kolbe continues on, stopping a few paces from the SS officer. He removes his hat, and looks the commander in the eye.
"Herr Kommandant," he says, "I wish to make a request, please. I want to die in place of this prisoner. I have no wife or children. Besides, I am old and not good for anything. He is in better condition."
The commandant has never in his life seen the likes of this. "Who are you?" he asks.
"I am a Catholic priest."
After a silence, the commandant responds. "Request granted," he says, simply; and with those two words, he makes a new saint of the Catholic church -- for Maximilian Kolbe was eventually canonized for his rare act of self-sacrifice.
Along with the other nine prisoners, Kolbe is locked in the punishment block, with no food, no water. Over the next week or so, the entire camp can hear, from time to time, the sound of hymns arising from within that cell. Though he's much older than the other nine, Father Kolbe is the last of the condemned men to die: and even then, he dies of a lethal injection -- administered by a camp official, who has grown tired of waiting for nature to take its course.
As for Mr. Gajowniczek, the man Father Kolbe saved, he survived the war -- dying in 1995 at the age of 95.
***
Anyone who's ever shoveled an icy sidewalk in winter knows there are several ways to get rid of a chunk of ice. One could seek to smash it with the shovel, scattering its broken remains all around. Or, one could melt it -- a gentler approach, converting its nature from solid to liquid.
God could have smashed and scattered us, the human race, on account of our sinful rebellion. Yet Jesus chooses the gentler way, the way of the cross. He chooses to melt the cold, hard heart of humanity. In this way, by grace, he seeks to convert our basic nature in the eyes of God from those who have sinned to those who are saved.
***
In order that we should realize the distance between ourselves and God, it was necessary that God should be a crucified slave. For we do not realize distance except in the downward direction. It is much easier to imagine ourselves in the place of God the Creator than in the place of Christ crucified.
The dimensions of Christ's charity are the same as the distance between God and the creature.
The function of mediation in itself implies a tearing asunder. That is why we cannot conceive of the descent of God toward men or the ascent of man toward God without a tearing asunder.
The abandonment at the supreme moment of the crucifixion, what an abyss of love on both sides!
God wears himself out through the infinite thickness of time and space in order to reach the soul and to captivate it. If it allows a pure and utter consent (though brief as a lightning flash) to be torn from it, then God conquers that soul. And when it has become entirely his, he abandons it. He leaves it completely alone, and it has in its turn, but gropingly, to cross the infinite thickness of time and space in search of him whom it loves. It is thus that the soul, starting from the opposite end, makes the same journey that God made toward it. And that is the cross.
-- Simone Weil, "The Distance," from Waiting for God, trans. Emma Craufurd (New York: Putnam's, 1951)
***
There's an old story the evangelist, Dwight L. Moody, used to tell, of a young Frenchman who wanted to avoid serving in Napoleon's army. He was drafted, but a friend presented himself to the recruiters to go in his place. The substitution was made, and some time later the surrogate was killed in battle.
Later, the army recruiters came by again, and tried to draft the young man into the army. "You can't take me," he told the startled officers. "I'm dead. I died on the battlefield."
This seemed an absurdity. They could see the young man standing right in front of them, but he insisted they look on the military rolls to find the record of his death. Sure enough, there was the man's name, with another name written beside it.
The case finally went to the emperor himself. After examining the evidence, Napoleon said, "Through a surrogate, this man has not only fought, but has died in his country's service. No man can die more than once, therefore the law has no claim on him."
Such was the result of the king's ransom Jesus paid for us. His name is forever written beside our own in the Book of Life.
Jesus paid "a king's ransom" so we might be free from sin.
Old Testament Lesson
Isaiah 50:4-9a
I Have Set My Face Like Flint
This passage occurs in all three annual cycles of the lectionary for this day. In this, the third of the four Servant Songs of Second Isaiah, we read of a suffering servant who willingly offers his back to his tormentors for beatings (v. 6) and who is able to face the most dreadful torture with impassive strength, because he has the Lord to help him (v. 7). One of the most potent weapons in the torturer's grisly bag of tricks is shame, but this man feels no shame as a result of his ordeal. "The one who vindicates me" is near (v. 8). "It is the Lord God who helps me; who will declare me guilty?" (v. 9). For Isaiah, this anonymous, suffering servant serves as an example for the entire exilic community. The members of that community, too, are being persecuted and humiliated, and, like the servant in the poem, they will find solace and strength only in the Lord. The lectionary editors have undoubtedly chosen this passage for its parallels to Jesus' Passion, but we should not neglect its meaning for its original audience, either.
New Testament Lesson
Philippians 2:5-11
Emptied, Then Exalted
This passage occurs in all three annual cycles of the lectionary for this day. This is the famous kenosis passage, in which Paul describes, in just a few verses, Jesus' descent from glory to the humiliation of the cross, and his corresponding ascent from death, through resurrection, to exaltation. Verses 1-4 (omitted from the lection) provide some helpful background context: Paul is addressing some conflicts among the Philippian Christians, and he is urging them to strive for a common mind (v. 2) and a spirit of humility (v. 3). In this passage, he reminds his readers that the common mind they are to seek comes from Jesus (v. 5). Then, he launches into a hymn recounting the events of Jesus' Passion -- which some think is an actual hymn of the early church that the Apostle simply quotes here. The model of this passage is that of the letter "V": Jesus begins at the heights, descends to the depths, and is raised back up to the heights again. His distinctive action is kenosis, or self-emptying. The key transition is the turning point between verses 8 and 9; that is when God intervenes decisively, taking this man who has descended as far into humiliation as any man could go, reversing the direction of his trajectory. The passage ends with every being in the universe bowing down before him in worship (vv. 10-11).
Palms Or Passion?
Depending on the degree of flexibility present in their liturgical tradition, lectionary preachers have an important choice this Sunday between using the assigned Gospel Reading for Palm Sunday or one of the two longer, Passion Sunday Lessons. The difference, of course, is that the Palm Sunday Lesson is limited to Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem, and the Passion Sunday Lesson is a longer narrative, telling of Jesus' trial before Pilate and death on the cross. Some pastors go even further, using this Sunday for an extended reading of the entire Passion narrative in lieu of a sermon. Passion Sunday sermons typically focus on a smaller portion of whichever Gospel Reading is being presented that day (since it is difficult to do justice to the extended reading in a single sermon).
The choice is complicated by the fact that, in many churches, attendance at Maundy Thursday and Good Friday services has declined in recent years, so the only opportunity many church members have to hear of Jesus' suffering and death is this Sunday before Easter. All too many modern Christians go directly from the Hosannas of Palm Sunday to the Alleluias of Easter -- without ever stopping anywhere else in between. This makes Holy Week appear to be a rollicking good time: all sugar and no vinegar, all light and no darkness.
That is, of course, a distorted view not only of the gospel, but of life in general. If the Sunday before Easter has a purely triumphal tone emphasizing the spirited exuberance of the palm procession and little else, then an important part of the story will go unheard by many. On the other hand, many congregations have long-established traditions focusing on the palm procession, and the displacement of these traditions by a Passion Sunday observance would be acutely felt.
Pastoral sensitivity is required, either way. If the choice is Palm Sunday, then including some mention of Jesus' suffering and death is essential. If it is Passion Sunday, then flexibility that honors local Palm Sunday traditions is also of great value.
The Gospel -- Palm Sunday
Luke 19:28-40
The Triumphal Entry
Ironically, John's version of the story of Jesus' triumphal entry (John 12:12-19) is the only one that mentions palm branches -- and John's version never comes up in the lectionary. Here in Luke's version, Jesus sends some representatives ahead of him to secure "a colt that has never been ridden" (v. 30). Once Jesus' agents speak the phrase, "The Lord has need of it," the owner immediately turns the animal over to them (Luke, unlike the other gospel writers, appears to understand this phrase as some kind of pre-arranged password, implying that the whole event had been deliberately staged). The people spread their cloaks before Jesus on the road; there's no specific mention of palms (as in John's Gospel), which would have had the specific connotation of Jewish nationalism. Luke, in fact, appears to have a different understanding. This is what some commentators have called "revolutionary street theater," a raucous parody of the sort of solemn, triumphal procession favored by the Romans. Jesus is deliberately thumbing his nose at the secular and religious authorities, and the crowd loves it. It is no wonder the Pharisees are upset, and ask him to stop (v. 39). But Jesus, turning serious, replies, "I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out!" (v. 40). The crowds are on his side -- for now.
The Gospel -- Passion Sunday
Luke 22:14--23:56 or Luke 23:1-49
The Pain
The longer Passion Sunday reading includes the following pericopes, and is long enough in most worship settings to be read in lieu of a sermon:
• The Institution Of The Lord's Supper (22:14-23)
• The Dispute About Greatness (22:24-30)
• Jesus Predicts Peter's Denial (22:31-34)
• Purse, Bag, And Sword (22:35-38)
• Jesus Prays On The Mount Of Olives (22:39-46)
• The Betrayal And Arrest Of Jesus (22:47-53)
• Peter Denies Jesus (22:54-62)
• The Mocking And Beating Of Jesus (22:63-65)
• Jesus Before The Council (22:66-71)
• Jesus Before Pilate (23:1-5)
• Jesus Before Herod (23:6-12)
• Jesus Sentenced To Death (23:13-25)
• The Crucifixion Of Jesus (23:26-43)
• The Death Of Jesus (23:44-49)
• The Burial Of Jesus (23:50-56)
The shorter Passion Sunday Lesson includes just the trial and crucifixion.
Preaching Possibilities
"Lionheart," they called him. They named him that because of his courage in battle -- and truly, King Richard I of England was a fearsome warrior. He led an army to the Holy Land, to try to recapture Jerusalem from the Muslims. He very nearly succeeded. But there were divisions in the ranks, and the Third Crusade fell apart. The French and the Germans didn't get along with the English. King Richard left for home -- and it was then his adventure really began.
Passing through Germany, in disguise, his true identity was uncovered. The German Emperor Henry VI threw him into prison. Henry declared he would not let Richard go until the people of England had raised the staggering sum of 150,000 marks.
It was, literally, "a king's ransom." When the king is in prison, the people pay the price. All over England money was collected to buy King Richard out of prison. Finally, there was enough. The king went free -- and ever after, his return home has been commemorated as the final scene of every Robin Hood movie ever made.
When Jesus entered Jerusalem, that first Palm Sunday, he too was hailed as a king. And, like Richard the Lionheart, he, too, would soon be arrested. Yet, for Jesus, there was no ransom. They hauled him before chief priests and the scribes, and eventually before the Roman governor, Pilate.
He did not cut a very kingly figure, there in Pilate's courtyard. They had stripped him, and beaten him; the only crown he wore was a crown of thorns. Pilate, being a practical sort of politician, saw no advantage in treating Jesus as a visiting head of state. No one, after all, was out there raising a king's ransom for this rabbi who had ridden in on a donkey. And so, Pilate gave the mob that cruel choice: Jesus or Barabbas. They chose Barabbas. King Jesus went to the cross.
It had all looked so different just a few days before. The sun was shining, the crowds were cheering, the people were running to and fro, calling out: "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!"
The more Palm Sundays I see, the more I'm struck by the irony of it all. I have vivid memories, as a child, of celebrating the day as one huge parade -- waving palms along with my Sunday school class, cheering, celebrating the dramatic entry of Jesus on his donkey. It was all good fun.
Yet there's very little to cheer about, really, on Palm Sunday -- for those of us who truly consider what the day is about know where Jesus is headed. The "hosannas" and the cries of "blessed be" ring hollow, when we understand how fickle is that crowd, how easily their praises turn to curses.
So much like us, they are. So easily they turn from the true Lord, to fall down and worship idols of power and prestige. So eager are they to win at all costs -- to be on the winning side, no matter what.
For Richard the Lionheart, the people pay the king's ransom. For Jesus, they do not. Yet still, there is a king's ransom in this story. The ransom is paid not by the crowds, and not by some generous benefactor, but by the king himself. When Jesus goes to the cross, he himself is paying the ransom: our ransom.
That's not the typical sort of thing a king does; but then, Jesus is no ordinary king. The strange procession into the city should have tipped the crowd off, as to how different he is; but somehow, it doesn't. There is a kind of parody in his precarious perch on a donkey's back -- but the people are too caught up in the giddy excitement to even notice.
This is not the conquering king, riding into the city on a donkey's back. This is a suffering-servant king, after the pattern of those famous "servant songs" of Isaiah: one who "sets his face like flint," then lays down his life for his subjects.
Every other king sends soldiers into battle -- to fight for his honor, and the honor of the nation. This one enters the battlefield -- the city of Jerusalem -- alone, riding an animal of peace.
Every other king plays with relish the high-stakes game of political intrigue. This one is disarmingly simple and direct.
Every other king seeks to argue from a position of strength. This one seems deliberately to seek out a posture of weakness.
Every other king upholds and embodies the law. This one submits to the law, allowing himself to be crushed by it. A peculiar sort of king indeed, this Jesus of Nazareth; no wonder Pilate is baffled when Jesus stands before him uttering not a word in his own defense!
When Jesus of Nazareth rides into Jerusalem on the back of that donkey, the crowds cheer him -- though they have no idea what sort of reversal the next few days will bring. Jesus, the king, has come to Jerusalem to pay a ransom: the ransom for human sin. So let us go ahead and wave our palms. Let us sing our stirring hymns. Let us cheer his triumphal entry. Yet, let us also be aware that between Palm Sunday and Easter Day there is an arrest, and a flogging, and a trial -- and a cross. In awe and wonder, let us worship him!
Prayer For The Day
Holy Jesus, every day
Keep us in the narrow way;
And, when earthly things are past,
Bring our ransomed souls at last
Where they need no star to guide,
Where no clouds thy glory hide.
(From the hymn, "As With Gladness, Men Of Old," text by William Chatterton Dix, 1858)
To Illustrate
In the spring of 1998, President Bill Clinton went on a tour of Africa. In South Africa, he met with Nelson Mandela, father of the revolution that toppled the dreadful, racist apartheid system in that land. One of the places the Clintons made sure they visited was Mandela's prison cell, on the isolated Robben Island, offshore from Cape Town.
Mandela, of course, is a towering moral figure -- not that he doesn't have his personal faults, but the sheer fact of his long imprisonment has given him a kind of personal stature that is rare among heads of state. A photo circulated widely in the news media at that time. It portrayed a tanned and healthy President Clinton -- commander-in-chief of the mightiest army on earth, and leader of the free world -- standing beside the stoop-shouldered, graying Mandela. The two of them were mugging for the camera, holding onto the bars of the cell, looking outside.
Did President Clinton have the foggiest idea what it must have been like for Mandela to live in that bare cell for nearly twenty years, sleeping on a hard concrete floor -- Bill Clinton, the Rhodes Scholar, the child of American privilege?
President Clinton is much like any of us, in that respect. How can he -- how can we -- have the slightest conception what it must have been like for this man to have endured such a long imprisonment for a cause he believed in? Nelson Mandela is one who has paid the king's ransom. He paid it with decades of his own life. He knows, more than most, what it means to bear a cross.
***
Another person who knew what it is to pay the king's ransom is one who would have died in obscurity -- were it not for one act of incredible courage and selflessness on his part.
Let's journey back to those days. Maximilian Kolbe (kòhl-bee) is a Roman Catholic priest, imprisoned by the Nazis in the infamous Auschwitz death camp. In July 1941, one man escapes from the camp. The authorities prepare their usual response: the execution of ten prisoners for every one escapee.
All the inmates of the camp are summoned to the parade ground, and the commandant selects ten names, at random, from out of the roll book. These ten will be taken to a punishment cell, he announces, where they will be given no food or water until they die.
The tenth name to be called out is Franciszek Gajowniczek (fran-chí-shek ga-yùv-ni-chek). As the SS officers drag the man forward, he begins to sob. "My wife and my children," he cries, softly.
Just then, there is a movement among the other prisoners. The guards raise their rifles. The dogs growl, anticipating the command to attack. A prisoner has actually left his row, and is pushing his way to the front.
It is Father Maximilian Kolbe. "Stop, or be shot," says one of the guards.
"I want to talk to the commandant," he says, calmly. Prisoners in Auschwitz are never allowed to speak, unless spoken to -- but for some reason, no one clubs him or sets the dogs on him. Kolbe continues on, stopping a few paces from the SS officer. He removes his hat, and looks the commander in the eye.
"Herr Kommandant," he says, "I wish to make a request, please. I want to die in place of this prisoner. I have no wife or children. Besides, I am old and not good for anything. He is in better condition."
The commandant has never in his life seen the likes of this. "Who are you?" he asks.
"I am a Catholic priest."
After a silence, the commandant responds. "Request granted," he says, simply; and with those two words, he makes a new saint of the Catholic church -- for Maximilian Kolbe was eventually canonized for his rare act of self-sacrifice.
Along with the other nine prisoners, Kolbe is locked in the punishment block, with no food, no water. Over the next week or so, the entire camp can hear, from time to time, the sound of hymns arising from within that cell. Though he's much older than the other nine, Father Kolbe is the last of the condemned men to die: and even then, he dies of a lethal injection -- administered by a camp official, who has grown tired of waiting for nature to take its course.
As for Mr. Gajowniczek, the man Father Kolbe saved, he survived the war -- dying in 1995 at the age of 95.
***
Anyone who's ever shoveled an icy sidewalk in winter knows there are several ways to get rid of a chunk of ice. One could seek to smash it with the shovel, scattering its broken remains all around. Or, one could melt it -- a gentler approach, converting its nature from solid to liquid.
God could have smashed and scattered us, the human race, on account of our sinful rebellion. Yet Jesus chooses the gentler way, the way of the cross. He chooses to melt the cold, hard heart of humanity. In this way, by grace, he seeks to convert our basic nature in the eyes of God from those who have sinned to those who are saved.
***
In order that we should realize the distance between ourselves and God, it was necessary that God should be a crucified slave. For we do not realize distance except in the downward direction. It is much easier to imagine ourselves in the place of God the Creator than in the place of Christ crucified.
The dimensions of Christ's charity are the same as the distance between God and the creature.
The function of mediation in itself implies a tearing asunder. That is why we cannot conceive of the descent of God toward men or the ascent of man toward God without a tearing asunder.
The abandonment at the supreme moment of the crucifixion, what an abyss of love on both sides!
God wears himself out through the infinite thickness of time and space in order to reach the soul and to captivate it. If it allows a pure and utter consent (though brief as a lightning flash) to be torn from it, then God conquers that soul. And when it has become entirely his, he abandons it. He leaves it completely alone, and it has in its turn, but gropingly, to cross the infinite thickness of time and space in search of him whom it loves. It is thus that the soul, starting from the opposite end, makes the same journey that God made toward it. And that is the cross.
-- Simone Weil, "The Distance," from Waiting for God, trans. Emma Craufurd (New York: Putnam's, 1951)
***
There's an old story the evangelist, Dwight L. Moody, used to tell, of a young Frenchman who wanted to avoid serving in Napoleon's army. He was drafted, but a friend presented himself to the recruiters to go in his place. The substitution was made, and some time later the surrogate was killed in battle.
Later, the army recruiters came by again, and tried to draft the young man into the army. "You can't take me," he told the startled officers. "I'm dead. I died on the battlefield."
This seemed an absurdity. They could see the young man standing right in front of them, but he insisted they look on the military rolls to find the record of his death. Sure enough, there was the man's name, with another name written beside it.
The case finally went to the emperor himself. After examining the evidence, Napoleon said, "Through a surrogate, this man has not only fought, but has died in his country's service. No man can die more than once, therefore the law has no claim on him."
Such was the result of the king's ransom Jesus paid for us. His name is forever written beside our own in the Book of Life.
