April 9, 2006
(The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday)
An Unlikely Disciple
By The Very Rev. Terry White, Dean
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The Liturgy of the Palms |
The Liturgy of the Word |
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(From The Lectionary Page) |
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If you heard me preach last year on this day, you may recognize the following story, but please be assured that this homily is not a re-run.
It was rainy, blustery early April evening in Chicago. A friend and I, both second-year seminarians, had just attended Evensong at a city parish on Palm Sunday, and now we were heading for a favorite Rush Street diner to grab some supper before heading back to the seminary. The wind was strong off of Lake Michigan, and our route required us to walk straight into it.
As we trudged through the driving rain, a figure approached us. The wind and rain let up for a moment, and I could see that a man was approaching us, his long hair and shabby beard were soaked from the rain. He wore a dirty Army surplus coat that was missing all of its buttons, and through his open coat I see several layers of shirts. He was what you and I so easily call a street person.
I felt myself go into a defensive mode, because I was certain that this man wanted money. Seminarians rarely had much to spare, and besides, it was likely that any handout would go towards a cheap bottle of booze or some worse in a contaminated syringe. So, as the man neared us, I instinctively dug my hands deeper into my pockets.
Within a few moments we were face to face, and sure enough, he stretched out a hand towards me. I was ready to say, "Nothing tonight." But he didnt ask for anything and his hand was not cupped, pleading for money. Rather, this man was handing me something. He was offering me a palm branch. He handed one to me and to my friend, and then, without a word, turned away from us and toward some other people hurrying by.
My friend and I walked across the street to our diner and took a booth near a window, and we watched the Palm Man. He offered branches to everyone who passed by. A few refused, though most at least took a palm. But usually after the recipient had walked a few steps, the branch was thrown to the ground. We watched the man hurry to pick up each discarded palm. He would wipe off the mud on his rain-soaked coat, and lovingly add it to the bunch of fronds inside his coat, which he was protecting from the rain. Eventually, the man moved on.
In all the years Ive preached on the Sunday of the Passion Ive used this story all but two or three times. I make no apologies for repeating it often, for each time something different confronts me.
This year I revisit my encounter with the Palm Man as we hear the Passion as told in Marks Gospel. The end comes swiftly in Mark's account; the story is told in few words, as if it were too painful to say more. Pilate gives up his attempts to free Jesus and condemns him to crucifixion. An execution detail brings Jesus to Golgotha where he is offered a narcotic (which he refuses), stripped of his garments and nailed to the cross bearing a sign reading: "The King of the Jews."
During the death watch, Jesus is mocked using accusations made at his trial: his threats to the temple; his power to save others and now his inability to save himself. "Let the Messiah, the King of Israel, come down now from the cross that we may see and believe" (15:32). But the reader knows that Jesus' power is demonstrated not in shedding the cross but in carrying it, in giving his life for others. (8:34-37).
Darkness envelops Golgotha and out of that
darkness comes Jesus' final lament: "My God, my God, why have you
forsaken me?" from the great Jewish prayer of suffering faith. Jesus
is stripped of his disciples, his freedom, his dignity, his life as
he gives every fiber of his being for the sake of the world. Jesus
dies with a wordless scream, splitting the veil of the temple and
igniting faith in the centurion's heart. This unlikely witness sees
in the manner of Jesus' death for others the true revelation of God:
"Truly this man was the Son of God!" (15:39). God's power revealed
not through staggering prodigies but in a selfless death motivated
by love.
Finally, Mark has an eye for the unlikely. The chosen disciples had
long fled. But standing at a distance were other faithful followers,
the women who had been drawn to Jesus in Galilee and had come to
Jerusalem with him. They would stay with him through his death and
burial, never abandoning him. Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of
Joses, would keep vigil at his burial and would be the first to
discover the tomb empty and to know that Jesus was victorious over
death (16:1-8). These "unlikely disciples'' who proved true where
others more prominent had failed, would be the ones to bring the
Risen Christ's message of joy and reconciliation to the disciples
who had failed. (Donald
Senior, C.P. Copyright 1997- 2000
Passionist Publications, Union City, NJ USA.)
On that raw Palm Sunday night years ago, an unlikely disciple came to me. When I thought he was going to ask me for money, I was hoping to avoid him. Once I realized what our encounter was about, I wished even more that we had not met, for my heart was troubled.
In this Great Week, and especially for the Three Holy Days beginning with Maundy Thursday, you and I will be tempted to avoid the intimate encounter with the one who washes feet, who speaks of love and the greatness of servanthood, who prays for deliverance but then submits his will to Gods. In those three days you and I will be confronted by forgiveness so deep that not only are executioners forgiven, but so are friends and disciples who betray, deny, and abandon Jesus. And then we will think of our own capacity to truly forgive others. It will be tempting to stay away. We must not.
The night my friend and I encountered the homeless man, we had earlier left a church which features a large crucifix facing a busy street. Engraved in the stone wall is a text from Lamentations: Is it nothing to you who pass by? That was the unspoken question asked by the Palm Man. He asked it of me years ago, and he asks me that again this morning. And he asks you, too.
A blessed Holy Week to you. And please, take very good care of your palm.
