Sermons

• Who Is Christ for You? – The Rev. Michelle Meech

  March 24, 2024

  Processions and parades are symbols. Bookends to an event. Something is beginning and we follow the procession into a space where something will take place. Or something is ending and we follow the procession out. The choir is that symbol for us, as most weeks, they process into the sanctuary as we begin worship, and then process out at the end of worship. And today, of course, we processed around the space to begin.

  What is this beginning. Why this procession? It’s a good question. Early Christians did not process. They gathered – much like we do during the seasons of Lent and Advent. They came together to join in worship. They gathered in a space to tell stories and sing. To share the holy meal around a Table, not in rows, but in a circle. To remember what love is so that they might be that love in the world. They often got it wrong, as we can tell from St. Paul’s letters to the early churches across the Mediterranean. But in love, they kept coming.

  So, what changed? How did Christianity adopt this practice? It was adopted when Christianity became the state religion of the Roman Empire. When Emperor Constantine converted to Christianity and changed the name of his realm to the Holy Roman Empire. This, of course, was the early 300’s. It was then, that Christianity and the practices of empire began to be conflated.

  You see, processions and parades were an important part of the Roman Empire. They were called “triumphs” – a ceremony that was both religious and civil since the two were intermixed in the Roman imperial cult. They worshipped Caesar as a divinely sanctioned ruler. And triumphs were held to sanctify or bless the success of a military commander. Someone who had vanquished an army and took valued items to demonstrate superiority. The Roman Empire expanded. And these triumphs were given to someone who had won that expansion.

  On the day of his triumph, the general wore a laurel crown and was dressed in regalia that identified him… always a him… as a near-deity. And he rode through the streets of Rome in a chariot or on a warhorse alongside his army and all the spoils of his war – the captives, the riches, the assets – all on display. He would then make a sacrifice of his tokens of victory, giving them to Caesar.

  It sounds noble and magnificent. Even fun. A sight to behold as the hero presented his winnings to Caesar. Roman citizens gathered around to cheer because what this was a win for Rome. A way for us to feel great. Together. As the general, our hero, offered treasures and crops. Precious metals and jewels. And people. All as evidence of the destruction of a culture so that Rome could become greater. Or, at least, feel greater. Feel more important.

  We know that Rome occupied Judea, the nation in which Jesus was born and raised. When Jesus was alive, the religious leaders of Jerusalem, who were, of course, Jewish like Jesus was, were trying to avoid trouble by going along with the Roman occupiers. They didn’t want a triumph to be given to a Roman general as a reward for destroying their culture. They had received a special dispensation to continue worshipping as Jews, instead of being forced to worship Caesar. They were trying to keep things on an even keel. Business-as-usual. Orderly. In-tact. This has been going on for almost 100 years. Since the Romans first conquered Jerusalem.

  And, as we know, Jesus did not see God being served in this kind of effort. What Jesus sees, according to the Gospel, is that God’s people – the marginalized, the oppressed, the sick… even the tax collectors, who were Jewish people being paid by Rome, and the Roman soldiers themselves… God’s people were all were suffering. All, victims of this empire. Victims of this power.

  And Jesus has spoken out about this. He has started a movement. He knows that his own people, the religious authorities, aren’t happy with him either. The Jewish leadership was resentful of his preaching and his actions because the last thing they want is a scene. And, perhaps, a little jealous of his following. They want business-as-usual. Controlled behavior.

  They don’t want anyone… like Jesus and his followers… inciting a riot and giving the Roman occupiers a reason to begin using force. A reason to have a triumph. They want to keep their way of life intact. To do whatever it takes to maintain their precious institution at the expense of the people they were supposed to be serving. Much more interested in maintaining the status quo than in serving the God of Life.

  So, Jesus having irritated the Roman authorities a bit and, having really made his own religious leaders mad, knows that he is a marked man. A dead man, if you will. Because if he chooses to make a scene, he will be forcing the hand of the Roman authorities who are getting increasingly tired of these annoying little rebellions the Jewish people keep trying to stage.

  That would risk the institution of the Temple… and all its moneychangers and its power and its precious place in Jerusalem. And it would risk the precarious relationship with the Roman authorities.

  Meanwhile, the Roman soldiers are amped up and ready to use force, to crush any rebellion. They almost want it. Because they want the triumph. They are trained to want the triumph.

  Jesus knows this. He can see it. And he goes to Jerusalem anyway. He understands that the spectacle is going to end in his death, but it will begin the bigger movement.

  If Jesus had walked away from this moment, he might have been able to live the rest of his life… quite comfortably, in fact. But a part of him, the part he had been listening to all along – holy wisdom whispered in the silence of his prayer – this heart, this soul. If he walked away, he knows he would lose his soul.

  

  Jesus Entering Jerusalem, Otto Dix

  So, when he goes to meet the crowds in Jerusalem, he asks for a small horse – a colt – rather than a warhorse or a chariot as a way of making fun of the Roman triumphs and the false glory that they display.

  Then, to mock the Roman authorities even more, the disciples begin to lead the crowds: “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”

  Jesus, who no more wanted to be called king than he wanted to die.
  Jesus, who took the mantle of both – the king and the dead man.
  Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a small, unadorned horse.

  Ride on! Ride on in majesty!  … the hymn cries. In lowly pomp ride on to die; O Christ, thy triumphs now begin over captive death and conquered sin.

  And the crowd responds with Hosannas. The crowd who comes to see Jesus is, of course, like any crowd. A mob of onlookers, really. People there to be a part of what was happening. Wanting to see and feel as though they belonged. Something is happening. Something is beginning.

  Ride on! Ride on in majesty! The angel armies of the sky look down with sad and wondering eyes to see the approaching sacrifice.

  What did the crowd really know that day? Did they really care that they were being goaded? Did they really see how they were being used by the powers that be?

  Maybe some of them were tired of the Romans and saw this as a way of making fun of them… so they joined in with the hosannas. Maybe some of them saw Jesus as a miliary hero who really would vanquish their enemy – the Roman state. Maybe some of them were just there at the gate, doing something they do everyday and joined in because it looked like fun or they were curious.

  And the disciples carried on: Mocking the Roman occupiers. Goading the crowd. Making the Jewish religious authorities uncomfortable. “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”

  As Christians, we don’t use the words majesty and triumphs and conquer and throne and king in their worldly meaning. We use them to make fun of power. To seek to undermine privilege and vainglory and wealth and the worship of worldly power. Or, at least, that’s what was intended by the Gospel witness.

  Unfortunately, the institution of church, throughout its history, has gotten so intermingled with the institution of the state, with the customs and practices of capitalism, so conflated with business-as-usual, so bound to the social mores of the day… that the church has done exactly what Jesus would have taught us not to do. In too many ways, the church has become exactly what Jesus was protesting against. Seeking to maintain our ideas of worldly glory rather than emptying ourselves of our own egoic desires.

  Because if we as the church are to use the word “triumph,” we would need to take that word and make it one that Christ could truly own by flipping the definition. If we did that, Christian triumph by its very nature would not be a taking, but a giving. It’s not a building up, but an emptying out. The “triumph” of the church is to empty itself. To give itself. To risk losing everything. To sacrifice itself for the sake of the Gospel.

  As disciples of Jesus, if we are to honor his sacrifice, if we are to follow him, we must read this story of his entry into Jerusalem as it was meant to be read. And humble ourselves in its shadow.

  We must not sacrifice love for business-as-usual to keep ourselves safe and feeling comfortable. That would be blasphemy. And this blasphemy is exactly why many, many people think Christians are hypocrites.

  Jesus was the anointed one, Jesus was Christ because he knew that if he walked away from this, he would lose his soul. Now, because we are Christ’s Body in this world, we must know that we are always in danger of the very same thing – of losing our souls.

  Getting lost in the capitalistic mindset and drawing lines in the sand between what’s ours and what’s theirs. More concerned with social mores than with honoring the dignity of every single person in their own humanity. More desirous of processions than of gathering in loving community.

  Are we more interested in maintaining the status quo than we are interested in enacting love and justice in this world?
  Are we more interested in our own comfort and privilege than in proclaiming Christ?

  These are not easy questions. But they are, perhaps, the most real, most important questions a Christian will ever face if they are truly honest with themselves.

  Who is Christ, then, if not the one who frees us from the bondage of our sin by showing us exactly what that sin looks like?
  Who is Christ if not the one who saves us from ourselves by teaching us what it means to empty ourselves?
  The question for you on this Palm Sunday: Who is Christ for you?