Palm Sunday
One of the major theological shifts in my life occurred when I learned that the triumphal entry—this great parade of palms and hosannas—was a protest. Jesus rode a humble donkey instead of a war horse. He processed into town down the main way like a conquering general and yet it was the conqueror who would be conquered. Like all of his ministry, Palm Sunday was a challenge to how those around Jesus perceived the world; it is still an upside down contrast to how we assume things are presently.
You think that victory, freedom, and justice are delivered by political power or sword? I am going to show you another way.
Lots of people didn’t get it. Lots of Christians still don’t get it. Honestly, there are many days when I don’t get it.
U.S. History has always been one of my favorite subjects. Growing up in South Carolina, I had the privilege to go on field trips to important sites of the American Revolution like Kings Mountain, Cowpens, and Fort Moultrie. There was something about walking in the footsteps of freedom fighters that ignited my imagination. I realized early on that I could learn much from the past: both the events that fill our hearts with pride and those that cause us great shame. The latter is important too. I am, after all, a son of the American South.
My favorite period of U.S. History is the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 60s. Why? I think it was the closest that the Christian church in this country ever came to actually looking like Christ. The tragic irony, of course, is that many in churches did not see things that way at the time and that antagonism or compliant silence only amplified the the witness of those who were non-violently striving for equality.
Most of us think these days that we would have been on the right side of history. Yet recently reading a biography about John Lewis, I was struck at how the language used by those in power to dismiss the movement—phrases like “outside agitators” and “disturbers of the peace”—are still used to wave away those that non-violently protest today. Those words will even echo in the halls of our churches.
And those agitator and disturber labels could have certainly been applied to the first century rabbi who challenged the status quo, dined with the marginalized and outcasts, and shut down the main thoroughfare of a city with a donkey. Jesus was a troublemaker. He was a Good Troublemaker, but a troublemaker nonetheless. So despite the praise and acclaim that Jesus received on Palm Sunday, they ultimately did to him what those in power do to outside agitators: they arrested him, beat him, and killed him.
Jesus anticipated this response. He said it was going to happen. It seems to be what happens over and over again when one brings love to a knife fight. Yet Jesus never stopped. He continued to love fully and speak out passionately. When the crowds tried to place the scepter of political power in his hands, Jesus either disappeared or disappointed their expectations. When one of his followers took a sword to an enemy, Jesus rebuked his friend and healed the one who was trying to imprison him. When he was beaten, spat upon, and ultimately killed, Jesus asked God to forgive those who were inflicting the torturous pain.
This love and non-violence was not passive. He was not letting the powerful subdue him. It was a direct challenge. It was a concentrated disruption of how the world operates and the unwavering witness of God’s dream for creation.
That unwavering witness is something that haunts me and calls to me. Looking back at the Civil Rights Movement, I’m not always so sure I could have stood alongside those who non-violently strove for justice. I have a wife and children who would miss me if I was hurt or jailed. I am a “nice person” who tries to not make a fuss. I believe we should help those in need, but I drive by those begging for food on the side of the road every day. I do not always do the things I would like to do because it disrupts things too much.
Would I silently watch something unfold that I knew was wrong? I hope not. But I am sure that Jesus’ friends would have hoped to stay by his side until the bitter end. As we enter Holy Week, I cannot help but think on these things. In a world where power, money, violence, platforms, and popularity cause a constant cacophonous roar, do we have the courage to live our lives in protest? To truly live out the love of Christ?
God have mercy. Christ have mercy. And, thankfully, God is with us.