A Crowd, A Kiss, A Crown

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Mark 11:7-10

March 24, 2013 (Palm Sunday) • Portage First UMC

VIDEO INTRO

It’s a long, hard climb, from Jericho to Jerusalem. When you start out, in Jericho, in the desert, you’re over 800 feet below sea level. Jerusalem, the goal, sits nearly 3,000 feet above sea level, and the distance between them is only about twelve miles. It’s a rapid ascent, but if you were traveling from Galilee in the north to Jerusalem in the south for one of the great Jewish festivals, it would an ascent you would have to make (Wright, Mark for Everyone, pg. 146). I’ve never walked it, but I do remember the first time I was in Israel, and we had spent the day in the desert: Masada, the Dead Sea, Jericho, and then we headed up a narrow, winding road that is the setting for Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan. It was easy to envision the story, because there would have been lots of places for bandits to hide. And while we were thinking about that, suddenly, we came over the top of the Mount of Olives, and there, in front of us, was the city of Jerusalem, spread out like a beautiful jewel. It was breath-taking. And in some sense, I felt like one of those first-century pilgrims, having made a long journey and having finally arrived at the place where, they believed, God lived. Jerusalem—the holy city. At long last, we were there.

For the last few weeks, we’ve been walking with Jesus along “The Way,” seeking to better understand his ministry and his message by looking at it in its historical and geographical context. Early Christians, as I mentioned a few weeks ago, were called followers of “The Way,” because they believed, as we do, that Jesus taught them the best way to live. He said, “I am the way” (John 14:6), and so to live like him means to walk in his footsteps, to do what he did, to live like he lived, to follow “the Way.” And so during Lent we’ve traveled with Jesus all over the Holy Land, and we’ve looked at some major themes in his ministry and life. But this morning we come to the final week Jesus spent here on earth, the most important week of his life. The Gospels devote more time to telling the story of Jesus’ final week than to any other part of his life. In fact, John devotes fully half of his Gospel to the last week. Mark gives five chapters out of 16, Matthew gives eight out of 28, and Luke gives six out of 24. Now, granted, the chapter divisions came later, but I give you those numbers just to get a sense of how important this final week was to the early church and how important it should be to us as well. It’s the most important week in history, and so this morning, as we head into Holy Week, as we remember the events of that final week, we’re going to spend time following in Jesus’ footsteps in and around Jerusalem. It’s a story that begins at that bend in the road on the top of the Mount of Olives—on Sunday.

Mark says they have come from Jericho (10:46), where Jesus healed a blind man. As they passed through Jericho and the wilderness that surrounds it, they would have been in the same places where Jesus was baptized and faced the devil’s temptations three years earlier (Card, Mark: The Gospel of Passion, pg. 136)—that story we explored the first week of Lent. You’ve got to wonder what might have gone through Jesus’ mind as he walks through those arid places, perhaps for the first time since he was tempted there. Is there again a temptation to run away from the will of his heavenly father? Did he hear the same demonic voice he’d heard three years before? We don’t know, of course, but even if he did, he refused to turn away from his goal. Luke says Jesus had “set his face” toward Jerusalem, which is a way of saying he was determined; he wasn’t turning back (9:51 KJV).

When they get to the Mount of Olives, Jesus sends his disciples ahead of him into Jerusalem to get a colt, and gives them instructions about what to say to anyone who asks why they are, basically, stealing a donkey. Borrowing—we’ll go with borrowing, because they plan to send it back. But isn’t it curious that Jesus has walked all this way, up from Jericho—in fact, he’s walked all over the Holy Land. There’s no indication anywhere else in the Gospels that Jesus rides; he always walks. And now, when he’s half a mile from the Temple, he asks the disciples to go get him a donkey to ride. Why? Is he suddenly tired? Is he now too good to walk? No, it’s because Jesus is trying to tell them who he is. The donkey had been King David’s choice of transportation, most likely because the donkey was much more sure-footed in the rough, rocky Palestinian terrain than a horse would have been. VIDEO: MOUNT OF OLIVES It’s a steep walk down the side of the Mount of Olives; you have to be pretty sure-footed yourself today to walk it, and today it’s paved. Then, it would have been a dirt path. So the donkey would have been safer transportation for David and for Jesus. But it’s not really about safety. Jesus intends the people to make a connection between him and King David by riding a donkey. Here’s a king in the line of David coming into Jerusalem, and the king in the line of David they were expecting was none other than the Messiah, the Savior of the world. Beyond that, there was a prophecy from one of the minor prophets in the Old Testament, Zechariah. He had said, “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” (9:9). Jesus is telling them who he is simply by the mode of his transportation: he is the king in David’s line who is coming to save his people (McKenna, Communicator’s Commentary: Mark, pg. 224; Hamilton, The Way, pg. 137).

The Gospels all tell us, then, that a crowd gathered, and they put their cloaks over the colt as a make-shift saddle, then they threw garments on the ground and waved branches (only John’s Gospel—12:13—actually says they were palm branches, a symbol of Israel. Mark only says “leafy branches”). And they surrounded Jesus as he made his way into Jerusalem. The first thing to greet Jesus in this final week was a crowd—but what size of a crowd? Well, it’s Passover time, the time when many Jewish families would come to Jerusalem to celebrate. It’s one of the highest festivals in their religious year, because it commemorates the time when their people were set free from slavery in Egypt, centuries before, under the leadership of Moses. So it’s a big deal, and some accounts say as many as 200,000 extra people could have been entering Jerusalem (Hamilton 136). The population of Jerusalem was normally, some estimate, around 50,000—so that’s five times as many people as usual in the city for Passover. Not all of those were Jewish, though. Because of the huge increase in people, the Roman authorities were always present, to make sure there was no trouble. Adam Hamilton (139) speculates that it’s entirely possible there were two other important figures entering Jerusalem about the same time. Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, would have been coming from Caesarea along with about 1,000 Roman soldiers, determined to keep the peace. Pilate was often in trouble with Rome, and he was determined not to let these Jews mess up his political career any more. The other person coming into Jerusalem was the puppet king of Israel, Herod Antipas, the ruler of Galilee. Both of these men, likely, had their supporters lining the streets, cheering them on as they entered.

That was, after all, the Roman custom. A parade. A triumph of sorts. Show the conquered people who was in charge. When a nation was first conquered, the emperor or general would ride in on a horse, leading a parade that included his warriors and his captives. The captives would be led along in chains as a demonstration of what happens to those who fight against Rome. Now, Pilate and Herod wouldn’t have had captives on this day, but they certainly would want to show their power, to make sure there were no thoughts of rebellion brewing in Jerusalem. And on the other side of town, in what was likely a smaller procession, likely smaller than most of the movies portray it, comes Jesus, riding a donkey, followed by his “warriors” (twelve fishermen called to be disciples) and his “conquered people” (ordinary, common folks whom Jesus had healed and set free). He comes in the same form as Pilate and Herod, but he comes not in power or force but with unrelenting love (McKenna 226). And he comes, not with victory on his face, but tears.

Did you remember that? This so-called triumphal entry is a time of deep pain for Jesus. In Luke’s Gospel, we’re told that Jesus pauses somewhere along the route, looks over the city of Jerusalem, and weeps. He looks down the halls of history and sees the day when Jerusalem is destroyed, and his heart is broken because they have put their hope in their walls and in their city and in their acts of righteousness rather than in the one who has come to bring them hope and salvation and peace (Luke 19:41-44). Today, there is a small teardrop-shaped chapel sitting along the Palm Sunday route called Dominus Flevit, Latin for “The Lord Wept.” This small church invites worshippers to remember this moment, to view the city today as Jesus did then, and to let your heart be broken by the things that break God’s heart. Others in the crowd may have seen this moment as a triumph, but it was a triumph marred by brokenness. As people cry out to Jesus as king, he is wiping the tears from his eyes (Card 137).

So there are lots of things going on here. The route is not unusual; folks came this way into the city every year for Passover. Jesus himself has probably come this way before. But today, he’s on a donkey and people are spreading out their precious garments for him to travel on. You didn’t do that for friends or even respected members of your own family. Remember, this is a dry and dusty environment. The garments would likely be torn up if you did this. And you didn’t tear branches off of a tree just because you were happy to see a city, or happy to see someone coming into the city. It’s a desert; every plant was valuable, and you don’t destroy them. But you did spread out your garments and you did wave leafy branches if you were welcoming a king (Wright 147). And you do sing if you’re welcoming a king. Now, granted, the words they sing are from Psalm 118, and may have been normal greetings at the time of Passover (Card 137). But these are directed at Jesus specifically. They are recognizing him as a king, as royalty in the line of David. So let’s see if we can capture some of their enthusiasm this morning. If you have a palm branch wave it in the air; we’re going to shout this antiphonally, which means back and forth. One side to the other.

Hosanna!

Blessed is he who comes in the

name of the Lord!

Blessed is the coming 

kingdom of our father

David!

Hosanna in the highest heaven!

Now, imagine shouting that all the way down the mountain, back and forth, waving branches, and the energy is building, and the excitement, no matter how large the crowd was or wasn’t, is growing, and they get to the city, and they go in the gate, and they head up to the Temple, and Jesus…well, Jesus looks around, then leaves town, goes back to Bethany to stay the night. You’ve got to think they were disappointed. They’ve just basically proclaimed Jesus as the new king of Israel, they’re expecting him to come in and maybe take on Pilate or Herod, run out the Romans, and establish his kingdom. And, instead, he goes home to sleep. You’ve got to think they’re wondering: what kind of king is this Jesus?

That is the question, isn’t it? And it’s not a question he answers on Sunday. In fact, in many ways, he spends the rest of that final week answering that question. What kind of king is this? Monday, Jesus comes back into Jerusalem and he goes back to the Temple. There, he finds a market set up in the Gentiles’ place of prayer. In other words, the Gentiles who wanted to follow the Hebrew God had no place of quiet, no place to pray. Instead, they are surrounded by money changers and people who are selling “unblemished” animals suitable for sacrifice. They were surrounded by merchants who were taking advantage of people, who would change your everyday currency into Temple currency (for a small fee) so you could pay the Temple tax, who would sell you an animal you could use in the sacrifice because yours would probably not be good enough, especially after you had traveled so far. It was a “den of robbers,” Jesus says. They were taking advantage of the poor and the priests and religious leaders were letting them do it and approving of it. So he runs everyone out, reminding them this was to be a place of prayer. What kind of king is this? Well, he’s one who cares about the people rather than the religious systems. On Monday, he made the religious establishment mad at him. In fact, Mark says, they “began looking for a way to kill him, for they feared him, because the whole crowd was amazed at his teaching” (11:18). I imagine some in the crowd thought maybe now was the moment. Now was when he would take over. And so they watched as Jesus went back to Bethany for the night. What kind of king is this?

On Tuesday and Wednesday, Jesus is back in the city, teaching in and around the Temple courts and engaging people in conversation. Most anyone who wants to talk to him is able to. But the things he is teaching are controversial. He talks about his authority, and won’t really tell the religious leaders where it comes from. He talks about taxes, and how you should give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar but also make sure to give to God what is God’s. He talks about the most important things in life: to love God and to love others. “There is no greater commandment than these,” he says (12:31). And he warns the people about the teachers of the law, how they do so much for show rather than to actually serve or please God. “These men,” he says, “will be punished most severely” (12:40). And then he talks about the end, and as I’ve said before, it’s often hard to tell when Jesus is talking about the end of Jerusalem, that event in the year 70 A.D. when the Romans destroyed the city, and when he’s talking about the ultimate end. It actually doesn’t matter, because he also warns us against trying to figure out when the end will come. No one knows, he says, not even he knows (cf. 13:32). But what’s interesting in all this teaching is how systematically Jesus has offended everyone. For those who find their power in the Temple system, Jesus has said their lengthy prayers and ritual observances will not get them closer to God. For those who want to rebel against Rome, Jesus has advised paying the tax. For those who want everyone to follow every little law to the smallest letter, he says it’s just important to do two things: love God and love others. Every single group in Jerusalem finds themselves on the wrong side of Jesus’ equation by Wednesday night. Some of them begin to firm up plans to get rid of him (14:1-2). But not once does Jesus make any sort of move to try to throw out the Romans or take over the throne of Israel. What kind of king is this? Certainly not the kind we expected.

Wednesday night, Jesus attends the Next-to-Last Supper. You’ve probably heard of the Last Supper, but this is the one before that, held at the home of Simon the Leper in Bethany. He probably should be called Simon the Former Leper. Jesus probably has healed him; is it possible he was the one out of ten who came back to thank Jesus (cf. Luke 17:11-19)? Either way, he wouldn’t have a home in town nor have guests for dinner if he still had leprosy. So they’re having dinner, when all of a sudden a woman comes in. She has a jar of expensive perfume, and she breaks it and pours it over Jesus’ head, which in that day was a sign of honor, a sign that she recognized God’s presence in Jesus. It was something done to priests or to kings. You can just imagine the shock in the room. Jesus has had his feet anointed before, that time by a sinful woman, but this is very extravagant and intimate. The perfume may well have been part of this woman’s dowry, her hope of getting married, and she gives that all over to Jesus. Can you sense the smell of the perfume filling the small house? I can. Last Sunday after worship, a small group of us gathered to anoint a member of our church and pray for healing, and I managed in the process to drop the bottle of anointing oil, which then spilled all over Susie’s office, my clothes, and spattered on those who had gathered. My hands smelled all day like that oil, and Susie’s office still smelled like that on Monday. It filled the place, just like this perfume filled the room. The disciples grumble about it, and how the perfume could have been sold and the money given to the poor, but Jesus tells them to leave her alone. “She has done a beautiful thing to me” (14:6). Mark says it was this act that caused Judas to give up on Jesus and to agree to betray him (14:10-11).

Even though Judas was the only one who decided to profit by betraying Jesus, I can’t help but think he wasn’t the only one disillusioned at this point. Jesus is not the king they thought he was. Jesus isn’t anything like they thought he would be. This week has not gone like they imagined. That’s why, I believe, when Peter, on Friday night, says, “I don’t know this man you’re talking about,” I don’t think he was lying (cf. 14:71). I think Peter really didn’t know who Jesus was anymore. I doubt any of them really knew. What kind of king was this?

That confusion only deepened on Thursday. Most of the day was probably spent in Bethany. Jesus knew once he left his friends there, he wasn’t coming back. So it’s likely he spent the day with them, one last time. He sends two disciples, Peter and John, into the city early to make preparations for sharing the Passover meal together (cf. Luke 22:8). And when evening came, Jesus gathered them together and shared one final meal. But even then, he’s still upsetting them. He upended the liturgy and began talking about his death and about how one of them would betray him. I can’t imagine the confusion, fear and frustration that was present in that room that night. He took bread, broke it, blessed it, and handed it to them, saying, “Take it; this is my body.” And then he took a cup, gave thanks, and passed it to them, saying, “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many” (14:22-25). Forever, he gave us a reminder—bread and cup—more than a reminder, actually. He gave us symbols we can taste, touch, smell, feel—things we can hold onto that constantly remind us of his great love for us. And after he had done that, he took the disciples that remained (Judas had left) and went out to the Garden of Gethsemane.

Now, we’re going to look more closely at his time in the Garden on Thursday night, but after he prays, he wakes the disciples just as Judas arrives with the religious leaders and a crowd armed with swords and clubs. They’re coming out armed against a man who never carried a weapon other than the whip of cords he used to clear the Temple. Are there people in this crowd who were part of the crowd on Sunday? Some people will tell you no, that they’re two different crowds, but I’m not so sure. Jesus is not the kind of king they expected; their hopes and dreams have been dashed, broken beyond repair. Is it possible some are angry enough with him at this point for failing to do what they wanted him to do that they come against him after crying “Hosanna” on Sunday? Haven’t you known people like that? They prayed and prayed and prayed for something to happen, and God didn’t come through. God, they say, failed them, and they turn their backs on him. Is it that much of a stretch to think about people taking up clubs and swords against this one who failed to be who they thought he ought to be? When we try to define Jesus by our own expectations, we’re going to be disappointed at some point. He is not who we think he is. He’s not who we demand he be. He is not controlled by our expectations, our wants, our desires. He is Lord, which means we are the ones who are called to conform our lives to his expectations. We’re the ones called to walk his way, not the other way around. That’s what he’s been saying for the last three years to these people. Would we have gotten it any easier than they did? Let’s not rush to judge them, because we can just as easily turn on him like they did.

And in the midst of that rabble, a man steps out from the middle. Judas has followed Jesus for three years, and he goes to Jesus and greets him with a kiss (14:45). A sign of affection. A greeting, in that culture. A sign of respect. And, in that garden, a sign of betrayal. Did Judas expect Jesus to fight back? Did he hope he would force Jesus’ hand? Did he want Jesus to escape and to show his power? We don’t know. Any attempt to guess Judas’ motive is pure speculation. The Gospel writers don’t feel the need to justify Judas’ actions like we do. Judas simply kisses Jesus, allows the rabble to take him, and realizes what he has done. The crowd has no more use for him. Later, he will hang himself—a tragic end to a tragic story.

The disciples run off and the crowd takes Jesus back to face a kangaroo court. It was illegal to have a trial like this at night, but they have to get a verdict in so they can meet Pilate in the morning. And so they spend the night finding witnesses, people who will testify against Jesus. Now, the religious charge is that he was blasphemous, but they know that won’t fly with Pilate. He couldn’t care less about their religious squabbles. So when they approach Pilate, they charge Jesus with being a threat to Rome, and in fact when Pilate is close to releasing Jesus, someone cries out, “If you let this man go, you are no friend of Caesar’s” (John 19:12). That’s enough to stop Pilate, and he eventually, though reluctantly, agrees to crucify Jesus. It is history’s worst injustice—a completely innocent man condemned to die by one of most painful and horrific methods possible. Jesus is beaten by the soldiers, and given the only crown he ever wore on this earth: a crown of thorns. The crowd led to a kiss which led to a crown—a crown of painful thorns that represented every hurt, every bitterness, every broken part of this weary old world. His crown, thorns; his throne, a cross. And the question that has been hanging out there since Sunday comes back on Friday: what kind of king is this?

That is the question that each of us has to answer. Who is Jesus? What kind of king is he? C. S. Lewis many years ago famously said Jesus was either a liar, a lunatic or Lord of all. The sorts of things Jesus said and did define him, and put the choice before us, especially during this final week of his life. What kind of king is Jesus? He’s a king who shows us The Way. He listened to the praise of the crowd, he received the kiss of a traitor, and he wore a crown of suffering. He died so that he could take our sins on himself and make us right before God. He gave his life so that we could be set free from our sin, our wrongdoing, the ways we have broken our relationship with God. The final week of Jesus’ life, what we call Holy Week, is a story of love—God’s unrelenting love going to the full extent of self-giving so that we could have hope, salvation, and life. What kind of king is he? For me, Jesus is a king who gives direction and meaning to my life. He has for so many years, ever since I bowed my head and asked him to live in my life when I was in fifth grade. I’ve not always gotten it right. I’m not perfect. But when I look at the cross, when I realize again what he did for me there, I have to ask myself how I can keep turning away. Doesn’t what he did for me on that cross deserve me giving my life to him? Jesus is a king worth living for. Jesus is a king who shows me The Way. Jesus is a king who only asks me for everything because he gave his everything first. Jesus is a king to whom I daily swear my allegiance. What kind of king is Jesus for you?

There’s a song by Keith Getty and Stuart Townend that, for me, sets the tone for this week as I walk in Jesus’ footsteps toward the cross:

O, to see my name written in the wounds

For through your suffering I am free!

Death is crushed to death, life is mine to live

Won through your selfless love!

This, the power of the cross!

Son of God, slain for us!

What a love, what a cost,

We stand forgiven at the cross!

As we enter this Holy Week, what kind of king is Jesus—to you? Let’s pray.