St. Paul’s Church in
Bergen & Church of the Incarnation, Jersey City NJ
March 25, 2018
Year B: The Sunday of
the Passion: Palm Sunday
Mark 11:1-11
Isaiah 50: 4-9a
Psalm 31:9-16
Philippians 2:5-11
Mark 15:1-47
Time to Stop Being a Bystander
One
of the ways I often approach Scripture – whether I’m preparing a sermon or just
reading and reflecting – is by trying to use my imagination – trying to imagine
what it was like to have been there as the events unfolded.
Depending
on the Scripture text, sometimes that’s easy and sometimes it’s really hard, and
sometimes even nearly impossible.
But,
today it’s easy to imagine. In fact, our whole service is designed to help us
imagine these momentous events that changed, and continue to change, everything.
So, go ahead, imagine the faces – the faces of
people amazed, confused, or even frightened by the presence of God in their
midst – imagine the sounds, the sounds of a bustling first century city as
people went about their business buying and selling, arguing and making peace, trying
to get through the day – try to imagine the smells, the smells coming from
animals and cooking and all of those people living in close quarters without
running water – try to imagine the sky, is it clear or cloudy – try to imagine
the atmosphere, is it hot or cold, peaceful or tense?
And, today’s
service is designed not just to help us imagine these scenes, but to encourage
us to imagine actually being part of these events.
And, so imagine ourselves
there – imagine that we’re right there, seeing and hearing and smelling and
sweating or even shivering, either from the cold or, more likely, from wonder, fear,
grief.
This
exercise is kind of like how Renaissance artists often painted
themselves into scenes drawn from the Bible.
Now,
I’ve talked to enough people about this imaginative reading and hearing of
Scripture to know that it doesn’t work for everyone – some people just aren’t
blessed with visual imaginations – but if ever there was a day when we can use
our imaginations – when we are invited and almost forced to use our
imaginations, it’s today, this most disorienting day, a day so confusing it
even has two names:
The
Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday.
We
began with a parade, clutching our palms, maybe imagining ourselves at the long
ago parade in Jerusalem as the city rejoiced, waved, and sang, welcoming its
king.
And,
then without much warning, we played our part in another, very different,
parade, as King Jesus is led from the garden to the cross.
Were
you there?
Where
were you?
One
of the things I can never quite settle on in my imagination is how big a deal
all of this was for the people of Jerusalem two thousand years ago.
Sometimes
I imagine the triumphant arrival of Jesus and his quick arrest and death as the
top news story that weekend – the events that everybody in the city was talking
about, had an opinion about.
But,
other times I imagine it all as a very small event – as something that,
actually, most people had no idea about – that these two parades were pretty
small and maybe even almost routine in a city that attracted a lot of would-be
messiahs, in an occupied city where the cross of Jesus would have been just one
of hundreds, all standing as clear warnings about what happens when Jews challenge
the powers that be.
Were
you there?
Where
were you?
As
for me, sometimes I imagine myself in that crowd tossing palms and spreading my
cloak and shouting “Hosanna!” I imagine myself part of the crowd, smiling and
so excited that at last, at last, the King has come to set us free!
And,
I can also imagine myself being so disappointed when this Jesus of Nazareth
turned out to be not much of a king – or, at least not the kind of king I
wanted, the kind of savior I thought I needed.
I
can even imagine myself swept up into furious frenzy of the crowd, shouting,
“Crucify him!” Kill this fraud already!
But,
lately, as I’ve imagined this scene, I’ve seen myself off on the sidelines, minding
my own business, wrapped up in my own anxieties and hopes, overwhelmed by all
the noise and the many distractions of the world, barely noticing the people
with the palms, paying no attention to yet another criminal being led to a
cross, ignoring the Son of God as he passes by.
Were
you there?
Where
were you?
In
her sermon last week, Jill mentioned one of my favorite people: the twentieth
century monk and spiritual writer, Thomas Merton.
And,
that mention reminded me that Merton titled one of his books Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander.
A
guilty bystander.
And,
you know, that’s how I see myself back in Jerusalem two thousand years ago – a
guilty bystander, one who’s barely watching, barely even noticing, as Jesus
passes by first in triumph and then, not long after, in great suffering.
A guilty
bystander: certainly not feeling able, or even willing, to be much help at all.
You know, when
those Renaissance artists painted biblical scenes, they didn’t
make much effort to be historically accurate. Instead, the artists just painted
the characters wearing contemporary styles of clothing, surrounded by
contemporary architecture, looking just like the people and places the artists
would see and know in their own time and place.
In the same way,
when I imagine Jerusalem two thousand years ago, sometimes I imagine Bergen
Avenue or Journal Square – these sometimes seemingly god-forsaken places where
Jesus continues to suffer in the people drunk or high or insane, the people
without shelter, the people hustling for a few bucks, the people with grim
faces lined up waiting for the bus, quietly resigned to their lives, their
fate.
Wrapped up in my
own anxieties and hopes, overwhelmed by all the distractions of the world,
these are the people – this is the parade - that I sometimes notice, but more
often choose to ignore, not feeling able, or even willing, to be much help at
all.
A guilty bystander
right here in Jersey City.
Today, on this
most disorienting day, we begin Holy Week, a time when we are invited to
remember - and maybe even imagine - long ago events that changed, and continue
to change, everything.
Holy Week is a
time to stop being a bystander.
For some of us,
Holy Week this year began a day early as we participated in the March For Our
Lives, either in Washington or closer to home. Even if we weren’t doing much at
this parade, it was nearly impossible to look away, impossible to ignore what
was happening – these beautiful and passionate and determined young people
saying “Enough is enough.”
At last.
Holy Week is a
time to stop being a bystander.
It’s a time to get
our feet washed on Thursday and to walk in yet another parade on Friday – this
one through the streets of Jersey City, where some bystanders will join in,
some will look on in wonder or just plain confusion, and others will barely
notice – or choose to barely notice – as Jesus passes by once again.
Will you be
there?
Where will
you be?
Amen.
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