Sermon given by Rev. Frank Clarkson, March 24, 2024.
It’s Palm Sunday, the day in the Christian tradition that remembers the symbolic story of Jesus coming into Jerusalem with his followers to celebrate the festival of freedom called Passover. It’s the start of Holy Week, when Christians remember Jesus getting into trouble with the authorities, then betrayed by his friend, being arrested and killed.
We just sang
O (one) of many prophets
who come of simple folk
to free us from our bondage,
to break oppression’s yoke:
Palm Sunday is often described as “Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem,” and seen as a cause for celebration. But this has never made sense to me. What’s there to celebrate? A prophet and rebel, beloved by the people, stands up to the imperial authorities and gets killed for it. Maybe the celebration is because of how the story ends? Maybe, but we’re not to Easter yet.
I know some of you, for your own good reasons, have written off the Christian tradition. And I think I understand why. This tradition that started with a Hebrew prophet and teacher allied itself with imperial power, and became more about buildings than people, more about obedience than liberation; and given what’s going on these days, it’s only getting worse.
But still—I hope you know that the Christo-fascism of these days is a betrayal and hijacking of the faith that birthed our Universalist and Unitarian traditions. I hope you know that there are faithful Christians who are as progressive and peace-loving and justice-seeking as you are.
So I get the problems with Christianity. And again I ask you to consider the Jesus story. This brown-skinned prophet and troublemaker, who helped and healed people, who had such a close relationship with the Divine, he was so filled with that Spirit, that people couldn’t leave him alone—they wanted some of that Love, some of that inspiration and hope, some of that juicy life energy and spirit.
A couple of days I received an email from a UU colleague, sharing a letter from Palestinian Christians titled, “A Call for Repentance: An Open Letter from Palestinian Christians to Western Church Leaders and Theologians.” These leaders, living in the midst of Israel’s war that’s causing so much death and suffering for people in Gaza, they write
“…we are disturbed by the silence of many church leaders and theologians when it is Palestinian civilians who are killed. We are also horrified by the refusal of some western Christians to condemn the ongoing Israeli occupation of Palestine, and, in some instances, their justification of and support for the occupation. Further, we are appalled by how some Christians have legitimized Israel’s ongoing indiscriminate attacks on Gaza, which have, so far, claimed the lives of more than 3,700 (now 32,000) Palestinians, the majority of whom are women and children.”
Then they get theological:
“We reject all theologies and interpretations that legitimize the wars of the powerful. We strongly urge western Christians to come alongside us in this. We also remind ourselves and fellow Christians that God is the God of the downtrodden and the oppressed, and that Jesus rebuked the powerful and lifted up the marginalized.”
Theology matters; theology can serve to liberate and to oppress. My teacher Carter Heyward says it plain: “The only theology worth doing is that which inspires and transforms lives, that which empowers us to participate in creating, liberating, and blessing the world.”
In this month when we are exploring images of the divine, the invitation is to do theology on the ground, right where you are. To ask hard questions about and of the Holy: Not just “Who are you?” and “What do you look like?”, but “What do you stand for?” and “Whose side are you on?” and “How do I follow your will, and your way?”
On this day when people around the word are remembering the story of Jesus coming to the seat of imperial power, leading a ragtag parade with people waving palm branches and shouting, “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” (Mark 11:9), let’s consider the images and symbols of this parade.
It’s like a protest march, the people who are living under the heel of the Roman Empire standing up and proclaiming their freedom. But you know that soldiers are standing by, looking on, ready to pounce if things go too far. And here comes their hero Jesus, riding on a donkey.
Let’s consider the donkey. The Romans rode horses, often armored, which were seen as weapons of war. And also symbols of wealth and privilege. By contrast, the donkey is a beast of burden, often thought of as stubborn and slow, not the brightest animal. But biblical images of the donkey have portrayed it as a symbol of humility and peace, suffering and service.
As Mary Oliver observes, an appropriate animal for this sad and sacred duty:
Never had he seen such crowds!
And I wonder if he at all imagined what was to happen.
Still, he was what he had always been: small, dark, obedient.
I hope, finally, he felt brave.
I hope, finally, he loved the man who rode so lightly upon him,
as he lifted one dusty hoof and stepped, as he had to, forward.
I’m thinking of a man I follow on Instagram, his name is Chris Eyer. Among other things, he’s a a former US Marine and a practicing Buddhist. He’s also a mule packer. He lives in Montana and leads pack mules carrying supplies into remote wilderness areas. And as you can tell from his pictures and posts, from his account called muledragger, he has a poetic sensibility and the perspective of a philosopher. On Martin Luther King Day, he shared photos from Rev. King’s funeral, in which mules were pulling the simple wagon carrying King’s casket, with these words:
“Every year I remember that it was a three and half mile journey from church to college. Silent except for the sound of 100,000 mourners weeping and 8 mule hooves walking. No more perfect animal could have pulled that imperfect wagon to return Martin Luther King Jr. to his final resting place.”
It’s not hard to see Martin Luther King, Jr. as a Jesus figure in the 20th century. This theologian, pastor, and prophet who fought for justice, who stood up against oppressive power structures, and was killed for it. Might we see the humble mule, and the lowly donkey, as symbols for the divine? As invitations to the kind of world God wants us to live in? Where the mighty and the powerful are brough love, where the meek inherit the earth?
Do you know the difference between donkeys and mules? I had to look this up. Donkeys are smaller, and have a flatter back. Mules had a slightly rounder back, and are the size of horses, which makes sense, given that mules are the product of a male donkey mating with a female horse. But both are down to earth animals—hard working, humble, loving and devoted creatures. What would a donkey- and mule-like spirituality look like? Kind of like Jesus?
Just as when I use the name God I’m not imagining a man, or proclaiming my faith in, or my support for, the patriarchal church, when I speak of Jesus I’m not imagining a king or ruler, but rather a soul friend of the people, a courageous trouble maker always on the side of love and justice and peace.
The message of Palm Sunday and Holy Week is that we meet God at the margins. In the out of the way places, among the common folks. And that living a life standing up to the powers that be, as Jesus did against the Roman Empire; and as Martin Luther King, Jr. did against segregation and racism, against the abuses of unfettered capitalism and the military industrial complex, this comes at a cost, sometimes a great cost.
Roger Cowan reminds us that the story of this day, and this week, is still being acted out today. That the way to Easter always passes through trial and tribulation. That the winding way to the promised land passes through the wilderness (Michael Walzer). So where so we stand? With whom will we cast our lot?
And so we come on our donkeys,
Some from Detroit and some from Tokyo and even a few from Seoul.
With horns blaring and brakes screeching,
We enter the city, the holy of holies.
We know what Caesar wants:
Testing ranges and new arenas while the homeless haunt church basements
And the poor shuffle in the streets.
But we march to a different drummer.
Not many rich, not many mighty.
A vagabond crew in a strange land,
Whose ways are not our ways
Nor thoughts our thoughts.
But let us be of good cheer.
Let the word go out.
The donkey is mightier than the missile,
And flowers have been known to split a rock.
This week moves inexorably toward Friday.
It is Caesar’s week.
But it is God’s world.
And so we take heart and rejoice. (Roger Cowan)
Consider the donkey. Consider Jesus. Messengers of God from the underside; humble, subversive, faithful to the end. Inviting us to join them on their liberating and life-giving way.
Now and forever,
Amen.