The price of peace

Palm Sunday 

Matthew 21:1-11
Matthew 26:14-27:66

In previous years, I have speculated on the need to have the Passion readings repeated over two weeks. Why put us in the place we are going to when, all through Lent, we have been trying to avoid the deja-vu experience of hindsight?

The experience of Palm Sunday doesn't offer hindsight but peripheral vision. Next week all eyes must be on Jesus, whether they be the eyes of the crowd, the believers, the Temple or the Roman guards. This week, we get to try out what that feels like before we find ourselves standing in their place. Imagining ourselves in the melee of Matthew's Jerusalem, we are invited to observe the misdirection and misunderstandings of this tragic week. 

Jesus rarely seems to make a fuss about his travelling. We imagine him the itinerant wanderer, distracted by pleas for help and offers of hospitality. Here, Jesus is quite explicit; he enters Jerusalem as David sent Solomon, as Zechariah promises the Messiah will come to his people-

Rejoice greatly, Daughter Zion!
Shout, Daughter Jerusalem!
See, your king comes to you,
righteous and victorious,
lowly and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.Zech 9:9

a symbolism not lost on the exploited people of Israel; on the fervent enthusiasm of the pilgrims; on the impatient desires of the zealots. 

The shouts of 'Hosanna' meaning 'Save, now' and the thrown cloaks are recognition of prophecy being fulfilled. The palm branches signalling covert loyalty to a nation bowed by Roman rule.  The Messiah is here.

Who could not be swept up in the excitement of 'I was there'. 

But surely the Messiah would be on the side of the religious leaders - and he is not. Surely the Messiah would be speaking against the Roman occupiers - and he is not. And surely the Messiah would not be sitting with the poor, the lame and the children-  yet he is. 

The cloaks and palm leaves lie gathering dust, trodden into shreds of disarray - the mornings after... Perhaps this Messiah played his last trick with Lazarus; perhaps there is nothing worthwhile from Nazareth; perhaps the 'stage' is too big and Jesus has taken fright. Good for nothing except interfering with the business of the Temple then running for the hills. Another festival of disappointment.

How many of the crowd remember the continuing verse from Zechariah? 

I will take away the chariots from Ephraim
and the warhorses from Jerusalem,
and the battle bow will be broken.
He will proclaim peace to the nations. His rule will extend from sea to sea

The week will be full of confusion, sleight of hand and betrayal; so many questions. The covenant with his Father signed with tears; the procession continues into tragedy.

Did the 30 pieces of silver compensate in any way for the anointing with nard?

What is the price of peace?

In the reading of the Passion, one person caught my attention who I had not thought of before. 

Watching from a distance, no doubt holding on to each other in grief; the women. With the Mary's, another woman - the mother of Zebedee's sons. The mother of James and John, the favoured friends.  

The mother who, in Matthew's gospel, just before the entry in Jerusalem - asks for a gift. Asks that her sons will sit at the left and right hand of Jesus in his Kingdom. The Kingdom that she had, no doubt, shouted in with 'Hosanna's' of her own. In her imagining, seeing her sons as golden, victorious princes once the battle had been won.  

Does her heart sink as she looks into the faces of the two criminals; these strange thrones of suffering and the kingdom that they overshadow. What if this had been the fate of her fine boys? Would she have ever asked, knowing what she wished for?

Shockwaves of horror after horror have tormented this Lenten period, at home and globally. Surely we must be closer to realising that there is no act of retribution that will end the violence? There is no golden armoured prince who will change the world because he has a bigger sword? Jesus offers another way and it overwhelms him. He offers it anyway, he offers it still. The sword must fall, only peace will bring peace.

For those of us who have made it through Lent, one way or another, the road is not much clearer. Our involvement in the proceedings is still a choice to be made. 

The Methodist Covenant Prayer is one I find difficult to pray without crossing my fingers just a little. It echoes the prayer of Gethsemane.


I am no longer my own, but yours.

Put me to what you will, 

rank me with whom you will;

put me to doing, 

put me to suffering;

let me be employed for you, 

or laid aside for you,

exalted for you, 

or brought low for you;

let me be full,

let me be empty,

let me have all things,

let me have nothing:

I freely and wholeheartedly 

yield all things to your pleasure and disposal.

And now, glorious and blessed God,Father, 

Son and Holy Spirit,

you are mine and I am yours. 

So be it.

And the covenant now made on earth, 

let it be ratified in heaven.

Amen.

Let me have the strength to be at your side, Lord. 
Let me know the price of peace.


wordinthehand2017