Mark 11:1-11
It was a tremendous procession.Shouts of praise erupting everywhere. Multi-colored layers of clothing splattering the ground – 2 miles of stretched-out garments. Green, leafy branches swirling about them. This was a tremendous procession. All of it, wrapped up in the frenzy of this one who was coming – this Jesus, who was now entering Jerusalem.
And it seems he was entering more than a city. He was stepping into an identity, a public one. And more than that, he was entering the hopes and dreams of these people – in the original Greek, Mark simply calls them the “leading-before ones” and the “following-behind ones.” These people surrounded Jesus with their dreams. They had themselves – invested, wrapped up in this honor parade.
It was a tremendous procession.It was a political procession.“Hosanna!” they cried. Hosanna – meaning Save us. Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! This was turning out to be much more than an honor parade. To anyone, it could have easily appeared to be insurrection. Under the occupation of the Roman Empire, this procession was making claims of a new kingdom, an alternative kingdom, a new order to things. And this new kingdom was connected to an old kingdom, which was part of the political nature of it all.
Jesus descended from the Mount of Olives, a piece of land connected with Biblical prophesy and laden with hopes of the people. It was a place where God’s redemption of Israel would be visible. And Jesus descended on a colt, an animal that represented peace. He wasn’t riding down on a white horse with sword in hand, but even this colt had political implications. Certainly, an image like this one would call to mind ancient prophesy about a coming king of humility:
“Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”
It was a political procession. It was a revealing procession. Revealing. It was an unveiling – an uncovering of what is ultimately true – a proclamation of the central truth of Mark’s Gospel. Jesus is publicly revealed to be he one he is – the Messiah, the Anointed One, the Coming One. And perhaps this is surprising. So often in the Gospel of Mark, people are completely botching who Jesus is. The disciples seem to be clueless. Peter makes that famous claim about Jesus: “You are the Messiah,” but moments later, he shows that he has no idea what that even means.
In Mark’s Gospel, only the outsiders seem to really grasp who Jesus is: a leper, unnamed women, unclean spirits. And what does Jesus do in Mark? He does something that might seem a bit odd to us. He often tells those people – those people who get it, “Don’t tell anyone.” He sternly warns them to keep his identity to themselves, to keep it a secret. But here, Jesus intentionally sets out to be publicly revealed. The first seven verses of our scripture tonight are all about the intentional preparations of what is to occur. Something was to be revealed – something was to be made known, made manifest. Perhaps it’s just as easy for us to hear this passage tonight and also misunderstand, but no one can doubt that some identity was meant to be uncovered in this event.
It was a revealing procession.It was an ironic procession.People marching – cheering. People shouting praise – offering cloaks and palm branches. Jesus is ushering in the kingdom – the true, promised kingdom - a new reality. One can only begin to wonder what’s coming next. What new, amazing things are on the horizon?
The questions can certainly be asked. I imagine those questions must have lived and breathed inside the minds and hearts of those people. But let’s not kid ourselves here. We know how this procession to Jerusalem ends, right? We’ve been taught the entire story, and it’s hard to hear “Hosanna!” as anything more than a cheap prelude to “Crucify him!” – the words that some of the people will cry in a few days time. We can’t deny it. Though this tremendous, political, revealing procession is stunning and incredible, we must remember that it is a procession that will lead to a horrible, unjust death.
It was an ironic procession.And so what do we do with a procession like this one? Is it a farce? Is it a mockery? What do we do with it, knowing where it leads next? Perhaps we read it, sympathizing with those people. We know that some may be praising a type of Messiah they will never actually experience. Some believe this Messiah will step into a concrete monarchy, overthrowing the Romans who oppress the people. We know they will be disappointed.
So what about Jesus’ intentions here? His actions to organize this procession are intentional. Are they a farce? Are they a mockery? Why did he do it, knowing where it would lead next?
The Jesus that Mark portrays isn’t ignorant about what awaits him in Jerusalem. Three times earlier in the Gospel, Jesus tries to make it plain to the disciples. In the chapter that precedes this one, he makes it pretty clear: “See, we are going up to Jerusalem,” he says, “and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death; they will hand him over to the Gentiles; they will mock him, and spit upon him, and flog him, and kill him; and after three days he will rise again.” The Jesus Mark presents knows exactly what he’s walking into, and he does it anyway. And he does it with intention. He deliberately enters the city as a King of Peace, who is ushering in a new reality, a reality of what is most true, a reality that fulfills God’s dreams for this world. It’s so true and so worth processing for, that he will choose to march to death if that is what it takes.
And so this is Palm Sunday, and this is Passion Sunday. Palms – shouts of “Hosanna!” and Passion – shouts of “Crucify Him!” These come together for one Sunday in every Liturgical Year. Full of irony, and perhaps it sounds kind of grim. But there is good news – gospel – to be found even in the difficult, tragic news that will come before us as we walk through Holy Week.
And here it is: The things that are worth dying for are worth living for. Again: The things that are worth dying for are worth living for. Jesus believed in his message so strongly, loved humanity so deeply, honored God so fervently, that the message was worth preaching, humanity was worth loving, and God was worth honoring – even if it would lead to a horribly unjust death.
Paul writes in the letter to the Philippians that Jesus, being found in human form, humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross. The message was worth preaching, humanity was worth loving, and God was worth honoring all the way up to the last moment, to the last breath. Perhaps the best truth of the gospel is that we have been loved purposefully – intentionally – to the end. Not even the threat of death could deter that love from reaching us. Even in death – the lowest moment of the low – love was found and reigned supreme. God loves you to the point of death. You are so worth it, that you are not only loved in death but in life, in life that continues and is resurrected. The things that are worth dying for are worth living for.
My Father, David, used to tell me something that G.K. Chesterton once said. Chesterton was a 20th century British writer, who was particularly known for turning popular sayings, proverbs, and allegories on their head to find greater meaning in them. Maybe you’ve heard the phrase, “If a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.” If it’s worth doing, you should do all you can to do it well. Instead, Chesterton said this: “If a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing badly.” Okay, now that sounds strange to our ears. The point isn’t to do it badly. The point is that if something is really worth doing, it’s worth doing – no matter the result. Even if it fails or appears to fail, it’s worth doing. It’s intrinsically worth it. It must be done no matter the result.
What do you believe – who do you love – so much that if you had to, you would even die for it? Now, no one wants to send themselves to their own death. I’m not saying we should go seek martyrdom in something. I’m not sure Jesus was seeking martyrdom in something. But what do you believe and love so strongly that you would die for it, rather than see it end, rather than see it die? Well, if you know the answer to that, here is the invitation for us today: Live for the things you would die for.
And the second you do that – the second we do that – we’re going to find ourselves swept up in a procession, and it will take us places that we never dreamed. And those saving places, those saving moments, will be worth it. And other things will suddenly become less important.
For instance, most people wouldn’t die for their bank accounts. So why do so many people live for them? Most people wouldn’t die for their forms of entertainment. So why do so many people live for them? Most people wouldn’t die for awards and achievements. So why do so many people live for them? There’s nothing inherently wrong with money, entertainment, or achievements. But are they worth the totality of our lives? No, of course not.
But what is worth the totality of our lives? Love? Mercy? Service? Compassion? Community? Inclusion? Health? Wholeness? Wellness? Companionship? Family? Friendship? Truth? Knowledge? Kindness? Freedom? Justice? Peace?
Live for the things you would die for. In such a way, we join the kind of procession Jesus was ushering in. We are living in and through the Kingdom of God. That reality is worth our lives. That reality is worth every breath we take, even to the end, whenever that end should come.
And tonight, we will do something worth doing. Tonight, we will bless this bread and this cup. We will bless these bags of food and the love that created them. We will join a procession that claims our lives, a procession that sweeps us up into what it truly means to live. We will live with and for others. It will be worth doing. If it will be worth doing, it will be worth doing badly. Even if we find no one to give this food to tonight, we know that the loving intentions behind our actions are worth it.
And the procession begins at this table. It isn’t simply a table of wood. It isn’t ultimately UPC’s table. It’s Christ’s table. It’s a beginning point and a returning point in the procession of our lives. Christ invites all to this table. Christ invites us all to share and to go forth as those who join him on the road.
And now, we will pray over this meal, remembering the prayers of those who suffer. We will pray on their behalf tonight. Let us sing our Prayer of Thanksgiving together. . .
- Renée Roederer, Campus Minister
On Good Friday, we consider the death of Jesus. We remember that even in the face of death, Jesus loved deeply to the very end. He continued to live for others, even forgiving them from the cross, the instrument of his own death.
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