Too Much To Do

This Sunday is Palm Sunday. Liturgically speaking, we have too much to do. First, we need to gather in time to wave our palm branches as Jesus enters Jerusalem. “Hosanna in the highest!” we will cry out. “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” Just as the crowds lined the streets to hail as God’s chosen king the one who entered the holy city on a donkey, we will line up and process into church celebrating the kingship of Christ.

 Then, in the context of the Holy Eucharist, we will hear scripture lessons that remind us that the salvation Jesus achieved for us was accomplished through his pain and suffering. “I did not hide my face from insult or spitting,” the prophet Isaiah wrote, using words that centuries later Christians would identify as belonging to Jesus. “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,” Paul wrote to the Philippians, encouraging them to accept humility and become obedient, following the example Jesus set for us.

Then, when it is time for us to read the Holy Gospel, we will start with Judas’ betrayal, move through the Last Supper, head out to the Garden of Gethsemane, and watch Jesus be arrested and the disciples scatter. We will hear Jesus interrogated by the religious council, hide with Peter in the courtyard, and see Jesus delivered to Pilate’s judgment. We will learn of Judas’ remorse, feel the religious authorities persuade the crowd to call for Jesus’ execution, and join with them in rejecting Pilate’s offer to show mercy to his prisoner. We will witness Jesus being whipped, stripped, mocked, and spat upon.

We will gather at Golgotha to see his hands and feet nailed to the cross before being lifted from the ground, and we will see him wince as the long vertical beam drops jarringly into the hole prepared to hold his cross upright so that all the witnesses can see what the Roman Empire does to traitors, runaway slaves, and seditionists. We will see the sign placed on the cross that mocks him as a royal pretender, and we will hear the passersby and crucified bandits beside him deride him as a messianic failure.

We will notice the women looking on from a distance through tear-filled eyes, and we will observe that the male disciples are no where to be found. We will hear Jesus cry out from the cross, and we will see him breathe his last. We will feel the ground shake when he dies, and we will hear the centurion acknowledge the holiness of Jesus’ death. We will see the awkwardness of his body being retrieved from the cross and wrapped in a burial shroud before being placed in a nearby tomb.

Finally, after saying our prayers, receiving Communion, singing some hymns, and being sent back into the world, we will all leave church ready for the Holy Week journey, which still stretches on ahead of us. I love the drama and pageantry of Palm Sunday, but I must confess that it feels like too much.

Over the years, some of my colleagues have argued that we should do less on Palm Sunday—that we should stick with the palms and the triumphal entry into Jerusalem and save the betrayal, passion, and death for Good Friday. They argue that it is only because Christians have become too busy to go to church on Good Friday that the lectionary has been expanded to include the entire passion story on Palm Sunday only to repeat it again later in the week. While I agree that attendance through the Paschal Triduum—from Maundy Thursday through the Easter Evening—could be better, I think it helps us to hear the story twice.

All four gospel accounts reach their climax at the cross. Each has its own depiction of the empty tomb—some more detailed than others—but all four accounts of Jesus life lead with purpose and intention to Good Friday. Each of them—Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John—describe the kingdom of God in their own way, yet, for all of them, what happens at Golgotha is the culmination of Jesus’ kingship and the fullest revelation of God’s reign breaking through into this world. If we want to know what the reign of God looks like and what it means for us to pursue God’s ways in this world, we do so in the shadow of the cross.

On Good Friday, we will hear John’s version of the passion. Because we hear that version every year, it is the one most familiar to us. Although the preacher has a choice of which resurrection account to read on Easter Day, we most often go with John 20 because that seems to follow most clearly from what we have heard on Good Friday. On Palm Sunday, however, we hear the version that coincides with the lectionary year.

This year is Year A, which means we will hear Matthew’s version, and Matthew has a particular understanding of the kingdom of God worth hearing.

All year long, our gospel focus is on Matthew. The calling of the disciples, the working of miracles, the preaching and teaching—during Year A, we hear it all through Matthew’s voice (with some passages from John thrown in for good measure). Matthew’s version of Jesus is distinctly Jewish. Scholars believe that the Christian community that received and shared Matthew’s gospel account was more thoroughly Jewish than the other gospel communities. The way that Matthew portrays Jesus reflects his Jewish identity without as much confusion from the Gentile influences that shape Mark, Luke, and John. Yes, they all tell the same story—all four accounts are accounts of the one gospel—but hearing Matthew’s version helps us understand Jesus’ identity in a fuller way.

This Sunday we have a chance to hear how Matthew portrays Jesus’ kingship—as the distinctly Jewish King of kings whose regnal authority is displayed ultimately on the cross. Although I admit that we have so much to do this week that we may not have the capacity to hear every word of Matthew’s passion narrative, I think encountering his version of the story is essential for how we understand Jesus the rest of the year. If we are going to fit all the pieces of Jesus’ life together into one whole, we have to hear the most important part, even if it means an especially long Sunday in church.

Yours faithfully,

Evan D. Garner