Friday, March 30, 2018

Dinner With Friends (A Sermon for Maundy Thursday)

Mark 14:1 - 15:15
(The Passion account according to Mark)



It was about to go down.  All of Jesus’ teaching, all of Jesus’ healings and exorcisms, the miles he traveled on foot, the loaves and fishes multiplied to feed thousands all led to this moment.  Jesus had told his disciples that he was going to Jerusalem – since they were following him, so were they.  And he warned them that in Jerusalem, he would arrested, tortured, killed.  But, he told them, there was hope: on the third day, Jesus would rise again.  Whatever that meant.  His disciples were too busy jockeying among themselves as to who was the greatest among them, and imagining those sweet thrones they’d be sitting on judging the twelve tribes of Israel. 
But, before it went down – the betrayal, the arrest, and all that followed – Jesus would have a last meal with his friends, those to whom he was the closest, his “ride or die” friends.  Except he knew them well enough that, while they were perfectly willing to ride – on his coat-tails, so to speak – none were willing to die for him.  Nobody was willing to go the distance for him.   Yet he was willing to ride and die for them.
He gathers them for one last Passover meal together.  Mark’s account begins with a foreshadowing of danger – we’re told that the chief priests and scribes, the Jerusalem religious establishment, backed by Rome, wanted Jesus dead.  While they were willing to wait until after the Passover festival if they absolutely had to, in order to avoid a riot, there was no question that they wanted Jesus out of the way.  And people in their position eventually got their way.
Before the Passover, and before what we call the Last Supper, Mark’s gospel tells us about another supper, at which Judas with the other disciples was present.  Mark tells us it was held in the home of Simon the leper.   Apparently that’s how this man Simon was known – not Simon son of whoever his father was, as would have been the custom, but simply Simon the leper.  Perhaps his family had cut him off.  In any case, given that leprosy was a dreaded, contagious disease, you may well imagine Simon didn’t get a lot of dinner guests.  But Jesus was there – likely to avoid drawing the notice of the authorities.  But it also shows that even in the final days of his earthly life, Jesus was willing to cross boundaries to associate with those whom society shunned. 
Suddenly, there was an unexpected dinner guest.  While Jesus was sitting at table, an unnamed woman came with an alabaster jar of very expensive ointment.  She opened the jar and poured the ointment on Jesus’ head.    We’re told that some at the table loudly questioned what they saw as a waste – John’s gospel names Judas as the lead instigator.  They said that the ointment could have been sold for 300 days’ wages – almost a year’s wages is what this ointment cost – and the money given to the poor.  But Jesus stopped their griping – the woman did what she could.  Since I will dead by this time tomorrow, consider it an anointing for my burial.  When people tell of this night, what this woman did will always be remembered.  The love and generosity of this unnamed woman, and not the griping and penny pinching of the disciples, is what Jesus wants us to remember. 
Apparently for Judas, this was the last of many straws.  He had followed Jesus as the others had, listened to his teachings, saw his miracles, but Judas saw Jesus going off the rails – or at least that’s how Judas saw it.  Judas thought that Jesus had to be stopped, somehow, anyhow.  After the dinner at the house of Simon the leper had ended, Judas went to the chief priests and scribes and offered to dime Jesus out.  They of course were delighted, and even offered to compensate Judas for his troubles.
Jesus wanted to gather his disciples, his friends, together for one last Passover meal together.  He sent two of his disciples ahead to make preparations.  Interestingly, Jesus had made some advance preparations of his own.  Jesus told his disciples to go into Jerusalem and look for a man carrying a jar of water, who would lead them to a furnished room.  As we read this, we likely wonder how the two disciples were to pick this person out from so many in the city.  But in Jesus’ day, carrying jars of water was generally women’s work – so this man, breaking gender roles as he was, would have stuck out in a subtle but definite way.  The two disciples found the man, who led them to the room, and the two made preparations for the dinner.
The dinner conversation got off to a difficult start:  “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me, one who is eating with me.”  Imagine that you’ve gotten together with your closest friends, for a religious festival no less, and the one at the head of the table says, “One of you is a traitor.  One of you is going to get me killed.”  The conversation later went downhill even further from there, as Jesus told his friends, his closest friends, “All of you will become deserters.”  But in between those two statements, Jesus asked his friends to remember him, and gave them a specific way in which to remember him, in which we participate tonight:  “While they were eating, he took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to them, and said, ‘Take; this is my body.’ Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, and all of them drank from it. He said to them, ‘This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many. Truly I tell you, I will never again drink of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God.’”
So Jesus knew that one of his friends would betray him, and that the rest would desert him.  We can go through almost anything so long as we have support from others.   Remove that support from others, and it is difficult indeed to bear up.  Jesus knew that he would be arrested and crucified….and that his closest friends would abandon him.  Nobody would be writing letters of support to Caiaphas the high priest or to Pontius Pilate the governor.  Nobody would be raising bail money.  Nobody would be doing jailhouse support.  No, he would be on his own.  And yet, he asked to be remembered, and he spoke of covenant – binding agreement – his covenant or binding agreement of love with his disciples, which he upheld, even though they broke it almost immediately, his covenant of love with us, a covenant that the risen Christ stands by through our repeated betrayals and desertions.
The denial of Peter and the betrayal of Judas remind us that we have no idea of the depth of evil of which we’re capable.  Just when we think, “I could never do something like that,” that is the time to be on guard, lest we be tempted to do exactly that.  And the covenant of communion, of breaking bread and sharing wine, reminds us that we have no idea of the height and depth and breadth of God’s love for us.  Jesus invited his friends to eat bread and drink wine with him, even though they would turn their backs on him that very night.  And Jesus said, later, “When I am raised up, I will go ahead of you to Galilee.”  Even though you run from me, you will come back to me, and I will be waiting for you, in love….and in the same way, Jesus waits in love for each of us.  God’s love, not our sin, has the last word.  Amen. 

Sunday, March 25, 2018

Whose Parade?


Scriptures:        Isaiah 50:4-9a               Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29
Philippians 2:1-11         Mark 11:1-19




This has been a year for parades.   Of course, memorably, here in Philly we had the Eagles superbowl parade…..remember Jason Kelce in his surreal Mummer’s costume, telling the crowd, “An underdog is a hungry dog.”  Earlier in the year, there were women’s marches in many cities across the country, including Philadelphia.   Yesterday, downtown, there was a march against gun violence.  And we’re told that there are plans for a military parade to be held in DC on Veterans Day.  Four parades, four very different messages.  
Today, we celebrate another parade.  Jesus has been making his way from Galilee toward Jerusalem.  On the way, three times, he told his disciples that in Jerusalem he would be arrested and killed.  Everything that Jesus has taught, all the healings Jesus did, all led toward this moment.
It would appear that Jesus had made some advance preparations.  Jesus sent two of his disciples into a village outside Jerusalem, to look for a colt that had never been ridden.  He gave them instructions: if someone says, “why are you doing this?”, they were to reply “the Lord has need of it, and will return it immediately.”  They proceeded as Jesus instructed, and brought the colt to Jesus.   They put their cloaks on it, and Jesus sat on the colt.  We’re told that some in the crowds threw their cloaks in front of Jesus and the colt, while others cut down leafy branches and threw them onto the road.  Then Jesus and his entourage ride into the city, with the entourage shouting, “Hosannah! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!  Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! Hosannah in the highest heaven!”  
The word “Hosannah” means “Save us!”  It’s likely that the crowds thought Jesus was going to take on the Romans who were occupying Judea.   “The coming kingdom of our ancestor David” was an appeal to the good old days, when Judea was its own independent kingdom and not just some out of the way, dusty appendage of the vast Roman Empire….perhaps today their motto would be something like “Make Judea Great Again.”  But oddly, the triumphant entry ends with more of a whimper than a bang.  We’re told that Jesus’ entourage, the crowds who accompanied Jesus into Jerusalem, were shouting, but we don’t get much of a sense of how the residents of Jerusalem responded.  Matthew’s gospel tells us that the whole city was in turmoil, with the residents asking “Who is this guy?”  We’re told that when Jesus entered Jerusalem, he went straight to the Temple….and looked around….and left the city and out to Bethany, just outside the city.   
For us today, Palm Sunday brings up lots of childhood memories – palm branches, maybe memories of Palm Sunday pageants from Sunday school.  But what Jesus did had both religious and political overtones.  His way of entering the city – humble, riding on a colt, coming in peace, with no weapons in sight – would have reminded onlookers of the passage from Zechariah that we read as our call to worship.  And the cries of Jesus’ entourage, “Hosannah!, Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” comes from Psalm 118, part of which we also read this morning.  These passages gave the Jews a vision of the ideal ruler, one who would come in peace and rule in great humility, one who came to liberate and not to dominate.   In his entrance into Jerusalem, Jesus enacted, acted out, these passages, bringing them to life, showing the people what God’s ideal ruler would look like.
At the same time, his parade was a bit of political theatre, pointing to how far from ideal Rome’s rule was.  Theologians Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan have written that, when Jesus entered Jerusalem, there were likely two parades going on.  One would have been organized by the Roman Empire.  The Passover, with its memories of Israel’s liberation and exodus from Egypt, would have reminded those celebrating the Passover of how little freedom Rome was allowing them….for all the freedom Rome allowed them, they may as well have been back in Egypt making bricks.  From Rome’s point of view, there was always a risk that the Passover would stir up some hotheads to try to take on the Roman Empire.  So, according to Borg and Crossan, in the days leading up to the Passover there would have been a military parade advancing on Jerusalem, with the local emissaries of Caesar in battle gear, with horses and chariots and spears, to remind the local population who was in charge, and to discourage them from getting any funny ideas about trying to liberate themselves from Rome.  This parade would have been advancing on Jerusalem from the west.  And from the east, here comes Jesus with his motley crew of followers, riding a colt instead of a warhorse, his toes likely dragging on the ground as he rode, his followers brandishing palm branches instead of swords, proclaiming the coming kingdom of their ancestor David.  Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem was at the same time deeply faithful to his Jewish religious tradition, and at the same time deeply subversive of those in power, both Roman power and the religious leaders who were controlled by Rome, a reminder that Rome hadn’t always been in charge and perhaps wouldn’t always be in charge.  To put what Jesus did In our terms, perhaps we can imagine a military parade processing down Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington DC, headed up with tanks, with armed soldiers marching and snapping off salutes, escorted by police in riot gear, batons thumping on plexiglass shields, with military aircraft doing flyovers…..and nearby another parade, coming from the opposite direction, passing by the other side of the White  House, consisting of some random assortment of homeless people and immigrants, some of them Muslim, carrying gardening spades – borrowing on Isaiah’s vision of swords being beaten into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks….instead of tanks, some disabled persons in wheelchairs, some parents towing small children in little red wagons, and maybe with some older children tagging along, offering a different kind of flyover as they fold up paper airplanes and sail them over the heads of the crowd.  And if that sounds a bit disrespectful….well, now you have a glimpse of how the Romans might have felt about Jesus’ parade.
As I said earlier, Jesus’ parade ended rather quietly, with an after-hours visit to the temple in Jerusalem and an exodus back to Bethphage and Bethany, right back where they started earlier that day.  However, Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem wasn’t the only thing he did that week to stir up trouble…..which is why I extended the Gospel reading a few verses this morning….if we don’t have the full story, we can find ourselves reading the Gospel for Palm Sunday and then come to Good Friday, feeling a disconnect, wondering, “What happened?  How in just a few days did we get from palm branches to crosses?”    We’re told that the next day, Jesus and his entourage went back into Jerusalem – Jesus cursed a fig tree along the way – and then went to the Temple and threw out the money changers, telling them, “My house shall be called a house of prayer for all people, but you have made it a den of thieves.”  It was what we would call an act of civil disobedience, bring business as usual in the Temple to a halt, at least for a while.  It likely disappointed some who were among the cheering crowds the day before.  They were looking for Jesus to kick out the Romans, not to rile up the Temple leadership.   It surely pushed the buttons of the chief priests and scribes, because we’re told, “They kept looking for a way to kill him.”  And, we know, on Thursday night in the garden of Gethsemane, Judas gave them their chance.
Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan give us a vision of two parades on that Palm Sunday.  Two parades with two opposing messages, two parades offering two visions of peace – one imposing peace through intimidation, the other offering peace through liberation.
Whose parade will we march in?  Which vision of peace will we line up with?  We don’t get to choose both – to line up with Jesus was to reject Rome, and vice versa.  Then as now, Jesus is a counter-cultural figure.   To line up with Jesus, then as now, is to reject much of what our culture calls appropriate, right, and good.  And to buy into much of what our culture calls appropriate, right, and good is to reject Jesus’ vision of the reign of God.
It’s not just about a parade, it’s about our vision for how to live.  Our culture tells us that might makes right and that money talks.  Jesus gives us a contrasting pattern for living.   In the bulletin I included two photos from my 2015 tour of the Holy Land.  While Jerusalem is at a high elevation compared to much of the surrounding countryside, the Mount of Olives is higher still.  Our group – consisting mostly of aging pastors, folks my age or older, some much older – followed the route Jesus took into Jerusalem.  It’s a steep downhill path, and many of us had aching joints by the time we got to Jerusalem…but it’s not nearly as steep downhill as the journey of downward mobility, the journey of self-emptying, taken by Jesus, who, as described in our reading from Philippians, “though he was in the form of God…. emptied himself, taking the form of a slave.  And being found in human form, he humbled himself, and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross!”   This is not something unique to Jesus alone.  All followers of Jesus are called, to empty ourselves, to humble ourselves….perhaps not to the point of physical death, though it will come to each of us eventually….but to be willing to let go of our own priorities and pet projects, to be willing to put to death our own willfulness, joining in Jesus’ prayer to God, “Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done.”  Thy will – God’s will - not ours.
Two parades.  Two visions for living – one offering life as a grasp for more power, more control, more wealth…..just generally more – and one offering a life of self-emptying, of radical generosity, of unconditional love.   One vision has us clinging for dear life to what we have.  The other vision – that offered by Jesus – invites us to let go and let God, to let go of the trinkets we think we need, so that our hands are empty to receive the far greater gifts – abundant life in this world and eternal life in the world to come – God promises us.
Jesus had told his followers repeatedly that in Jerusalem he would be arrested and killed – but on the third day he would rise again.  Jesus gives us the strength to face our own Good Friday moments – our own tragedies, our own disappointments – knowing that on the other side of death is new life knowing that on the other side of crucifixion is resurrection.    For us, in our moments of grief and loss, it may be Good Friday, but Sunday’s coming. Amen.