The Power Parade

Two parades made their way into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. From the west, Governor Pilate and his Roman garrison made its way into the Holy City to maintain law and order during the Jewish festival of Passover. From the east, an itinerant preacher named Jesus made his way into town along with his ragtag group of disciples and some very vocal locals whom they had perhaps recruited for the occasion. The first parade was all about the military power of the Roman Empire. The second parade was all about the spiritual power of the Kingdom of God. And it was almost inevitable that these two power parades would collide in the days ahead. The imperial power of Rome would win the battle of that week. But ultimate victory would be claimed by the eternal power of God.

There is little doubt in my mind that it began as a piece of street theatre. I think Marcus Borg and other scholars are right about this. It was Jesus poking fun at the pretentiousness of the imperial parade on the other side of town. A humble donkey instead of great white horses; palm branches instead of swords and shields. But Jesus’ little demonstration quickly got out of hand, in ways that surprised and perhaps even delighted him. If it began with the disciples and a few recruits, it soon got the attention of others and they joined in. I mean, there must’ve been lots of folks in Jerusalem and along the road into town who’d heard of Jesus. You know, you heal a few people, you out-argue the religious authorities, you challenge the status quo, and word gets around. So as this ragtag parade made its way down from Bethany, across the Kidron Valley, and then up to Jerusalem, people got to talking and pointing: “That’s Jesus,” they said. “That’s the prophet from Galilee.”

“Some say he’s greater than even Isaiah.”

“I heard he might even be the Messiah.

“Let’s follow him.”

So the parade got longer, and louder. And then maybe someone started to sing. Something like:

“Shout hosanna in the light of God
Shout hosanna in the light of God.”

Then more sang:

“Shout hosanna in the light of God
Shout hosanna in the light of God.”

And still more:

“Shout hosanna, hosanna,
shout hosanna, oo, oo
Shout hosanna in the light of God.”

By the time they got to the Temple, they were a pretty rowdy bunch. Maybe none of them would’ve had the courage on his or her own to all but proclaim Jesus the Messiah, but there’s courage in a crowd; there’s power in a parade. Back in the ‘60’s, folks would be marching together for racial justice and they’d start to feel like they could conquer the world. They called it the “civil rights high;” because there’s power in a parade. On the 40th Anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima, I took part in a march in Des Moines, Iowa, against the proliferation of nuclear weapons. We were singing and clapping and feeling powerful indeed, and when we reached the rally at the end of the parade, I think we could’ve kept going out to the interstate and on to Washington to demand an end to these awful weapons; because there’s power in a parade.

But it’s a peculiar kind of power; very real but not always apparent. I mean, it’s not like that parade ushered Jesus into political power, however much some in the crowd might’ve wanted that. By the end of the week Jesus wasn’t enthroned in Jerusalem; he was hanging on a cross. That doesn’t look like power. And while we might try to explain this away by claiming that Jesus knew, as he rode into Jerusalem, that he would be killed but also that he would rise on the third day and that through his death and resurrection the world would be saved, I’m not buying that. Jesus’ apparent foreknowledge of his death is probably the early church, maybe 40 years after the resurrection, reading this back into the story. They knew that the road to new life passes through death. They knew it because the Risen Christ had revealed it to them. And they knew it also because the challenges of living out a new faith in a hostile world had forced them to die to their desires for safety and security and rise to a new life of power and freedom and a hope which transcends all of the suffering and tragedy of this life. So from the perspective of 40 years later it perhaps made sense to think that Jesus had this all figured out beforehand. But the Jesus whom we’ll see in the Garden of Gethsemane this Thursday night doesn’t seem to have much of anything figured out. By Thursday he now knows that he’s not going to get away with his bit of street theatre on Sunday and his cleansing of the Temple on Monday. He knows that he is going to die. Judas is going to betray him. Jesus can see it in Judas’ eyes. But Jesus has no assurance whatsoever that anything good will come out of it. He is just like any other human being in this regard. We know in theory that the road to life passes through death. But we don’t know that in our hearts until we’ve actually walked that highway.

So, in what sense did that ragtag parade have power? In what sense was it a parade to anything other than the apparent dead-end of the Cross?

Well, maybe there was more to that parade than met the eye. Maybe, beyond the power of human vision, it stretched back into history and forward to eternity. Maybe it wasn’t just Jesus and his followers in that parade, but all the saints from every age and place. And maybe in such a parade there is great power, wondrous power, eternal power; which not even death can defeat.

Perhaps a story will illustrate my point. A week ago, Bloomington South High School was competing for the Indiana State High School Basketball Championship. Now the people of Indiana are crazy about basketball. I think they call it “Hoosier Hysteria.” So a whole bunch of folks drove up from Bloomington to Indianapolis to watch the game and cheer on the hometown boys. And Bloomington South won!

But now came the long, late-night drive back to Bloomington. You know that heavy rain that hit Toronto last Sunday morning? It hit central Indiana on Saturday night. Tired fans, heavy rain, dark night, poor visibility; not a good recipe. A friend of mine was driving through that storm. And she was not having fun. But then she realized that she was part of a great parade. There was a string of taillights as far as she could see ahead of her, and a chain of headlights as far as she could see behind her. No one was in a rush to pass anyone. It was just one long caravan of victorious parents and neighbours and friends, making their way home. If anyone had run into trouble, others would’ve pulled off the road immediately and people would’ve been on cell phones and really the danger was minimal. There was power and safety in that parade.

You know what? You and I are in a parade like that. And we are not alone. Tom Marshall is in that parade. Doreen Brown is in that parade. Matthew Baillee and Roy Webster and Jim and Gladys Hazlewood are in that parade. Tommy Douglas and Lester Pearson and John Diefenbaker are in that parade. Nellie McClung and Mary Ann Shadd are in that parade. John Knox and John Wesley and Barbara Heck are in that parade. Everyone whom you’ve loved and lost for a while is in that parade. They’re lost from our sight but not from our presence because we’re all part of that great parade that stretches from history to eternity. If you should get in trouble along the way, someone among those many saints will stop to help you. It’s happened to me and to many others in recent years, and for hundreds of years. The saints in that parade will help you along the way. And yes, the road that we’re all on passes through death; but ultimately it’s the road of life, new life, eternal life. There’s power in that parade. The power to stare death in the face and emerge victorious on the other side. Even now, a week before Easter, we know that death has lost its sting, and life will not be denied. Amen.

Text: Mark 11:8-10
Preached by Bruce D. Ervin
Palm Sunday
5 April 2009