On Palm Sunday, churches all over the world ring with the singing of “Hosanna!” This exclamation is taken from Psalm 118 (v.25). In the psalm translation I use for my daily Morning and Evening Prayer, “Hosanna” is translated as “O Lord, grant us salvation! Lord, grant success!” St. John Paul II, in a reflection on this great liturgical psalm, translates it as “Please, save us!” “Hosanna!” is a heartfelt prayer to God to rescue us from those who oppress us and threaten us. In another context, it’s a cry of praise for the time when God rescued us from danger.
Scripture scholars tell us that Psalm 118 was part of a group of psalms (113-118) that were used as hymns of praise for Passover, one of the major Jewish religious festivals. Psalm 118 was sung during a ritual victory procession: the king, accompanied by his followers, enters Jerusalem and proceeds to the mount of the Temple (the House of God). As they process through the streets of the city, the psalmist sings of a great victory, during which the king was beset by foes who beleaguered him, but God rescued him and made him victorious over his enemies. When the procession reaches the gates of the Temple, the priests admit the king and his followers. Once inside the Temple, a joyful victory celebration ensues, with a song of praise to God who rescued them.
Palm Sunday is unique among the liturgies of the year in that there are two different Gospel readings: at the beginning of the celebration, the deacon or priest reads a Gospel passage at the back of our church, after the palms have been blessed. Then, after a procession through the church that recalls the joyful victory procession of Psalm 118, during which we sing “Hosanna!”, we celebrate the Liturgy of the Word, which includes a second Gospel reading, the Passion of Jesus according to the synoptic Gospel author of the church year (this year is Luke).
Each year on Palm Sunday, the first Gospel tells the story of Jesus’s entry into Jerusalem. In all four Gospel accounts of this episode, the echoes of Psalm 118 are unmistakable. This reading is a story of people who are immersed in the scripture and the public prayer life of their community. In Matthew’s, Mark’s and John’s accounts of Jesus’s entry, the people cry “Hosanna”, just as they do in Psalm 118. In addition, in all four Gospel accounts, the people cry a variation of, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” This also is a direct quote from Psalm 118 (v.26). It seems clear that the followers of Jesus were re-creating the Passover festival victory procession: his glorious entry into the royal city would be the start of a triumphant procession to claim the throne.
Today’s second Gospel reading, the Passion account, tells the outcome of that procession: to all appearances, all the peoples’ hopes and plans have been dashed. The priests, rather than welcoming Jesus as king, arrest him as a criminal and put him on trial. And Pilate, the man who represents the Roman Emperor in Jerusalem, doesn’t relinquish the throne to Jesus; instead, he sentences him to death. Rather than taking possession of a kingdom, Jesus is nailed to a cross.
To much of the world, it probably appears that Jesus failed in his mission. But we who have been rescued by God know the truth: what seemed to be defeat and death was victory and new birth into a kingdom of wisdom, power, peace and justice. St. Paul famously described the cross as a stumbling block for Jews and foolishness for Gentiles, and yet it is precisely Christ crucified that Paul proclaimed (1 Cor 1:23). Paul sums it up in the magnificent hymn that is today’s second reading: because Jesus obediently accepted death on a cross, “Every knee should bend, of those in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” Christ’s moment of failure and death is, paradoxically, his moment of triumph. The king’s victory procession reaches its goal – for those of us who have been initiated into the truth of Christ’s reign.
Today, we still sing those words from Psalm 118, the same words that Jesus’s followers sang when he entered Jerusalem, when we sing the Sanctus (“Holy holy”) at the beginning of the Liturgy of the Eucharist at mass: “Hosanna in the highest. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord”. We continue to celebrate the victory of Jesus, the victory of the cross, during which God comes to save us by offering himself for us. Jesus’s self-sacrifice saves us. Hosanna!
I have heard many a homily about the fickleness of people; about the crowd singing Hosanna to the Lord, and then less than a week later shouting, "Crucify him!". I have never been convinced that it was the same people. And I can't help it, I hate the part in the passion readings where the congregation had to say "Crucify Him!" We used the shorter bracketed version of Luke's passion narrative this morning.
ReplyDeleteWe sang "All Glory Laud and Honor" (to the tune St. Theodulph) which I love singing. We used to sing it to the Fulda tune sometimes, but St. Theodulph is classic.
Now I have to figure out where to put my palm so the tomcat won't eat it. He has been known to jump to the top of the piano to get palms. They don't do his digestion any good.
Only he or she who is without sin should skip the "crucify him!" The rest of us, for whose sins Jesus died, should wonder what we would have been shouting at the time. And, to be honest, I probably would have shouted what everybody else was shouting. May as well face up to it now rather than later.
DeleteI do agree that we are probably talking about two different crowds. There isn't a homilist in the world who can't milk gallons of guilt from the assumption that they were the same people. But if you look closely at Luke, the crowds today, Palm Sunday, were from his traveling troupe of Galileans. Friday's crowd was probably conservative Judeans who knew which side Rome wanted its butter on.
That's funny, I was going to say that Friday's crowd was probably the liberal Twitter mob :-)
DeleteI've probably snoozed through the previous 57 or years of Palm Sunday homilies, because I truly don't remember what was preached in previous years. But I can see a sort of theological unity in saying 'We welcomed Christ; we betrayed Christ'. We are the Galileans; we are the sycophants of Herod and the Temple crowd.
I didn't know liberals had Twitter mobs. I thought we all consulted Rachel Maddow and acted accordingly. :-) I've heard that theological unity so often I sort of figured it is standard fare. But preaching on Palm Sunday is a perfect way to produce total gridlock in the parking lot, so most churches don't.
DeleteAs I noted, we had an out-of-place homily, hence gridlock. To make it more fun, we have two lanes out of the parking lot. An SUV was parked in one of them. I wondered aloud what kind of moron was so damn important he should park where people were trying to get out. And was told by my ever lovin' that I don't know what was going on in that person's life. I do know what was going on in the parking lot, and I do have a sneaking suspicion of entitlement. But ushers are rarely edified on Palm Sunday or Easter.
I was at two masses this weekend. At the first one, when it was time for the homily, the priest said something along the lines of, "Let's pray in quiet contemplation for a few minutes about what we've just heard." At the second one, the priest (a visitor) spoke for just a couple of minutes, drawing a nice contrast between the Roman military processions through Jerusalem, with horses and swords, and the procession of Jesus's followers, with palm branches. Then he noted that the former came from the west, where things get darker, and the latter from the east, where light dawns. And he said, 'No matter how dark it seems, there is always a light." I mentally gave that insight an application to contemporary national politics, but that's just me.
ReplyDeleteAfter the entrance, our celebrant said there wouldn't be a homily, so... and went on to preach as long as a homily. As a result, at our conclusion, we had double occupancy in the pews as the folks from the next Mass came in and sat where they saw empty seats during Communion. So the first shall be unseated and the last shall beat the living daylights out of those who came behind. And you should have seen the crash at the doors as the folks for the next Mass entered while the folks from my Mass tried to exit.
DeleteWe do it every year.
But the good news is: The snowbirds have gone home, so the hymnals are back in the pews.
In Chicago, we're getting about 3 inches of snow today, so our pews were surprisingly empty. Maybe they all flew back to Florida and went to church at Tom's parish.
DeleteAfter the Mass, the socializers continue on another ten minutes aquackin' in the aisles. I have nothing against this per se, but while they're in the Church, their cars are in the parking lot. I wish they could space the Masses an extra fifteen minutes apart.
DeleteGrumpy Cat(holic).