Palm Sunday (B)
Living in our multimedia society, we cannot help but notice how many people, near and far, are in great need. News reports bring to us people who have endured great poverty, famine, disease, war, and natural disasters of all kinds. Local reports tell us of the needs of people much closer to home. Many of us get a steady stream of form letters and emails, requesting our help for some great need or other good cause.
Most of us are already doing something to help. We give of our time, talent or treasure to various charities and causes. We may volunteer at food pantries, soup kitchens, thrift shops. We may visit people in nursing homes, hospitals or prisons. We try to help relatives and neighbors who may be facing a crisis of some kind. We see celebrities devote themselves to certain causes and try to rally support for them.
We usually take on such a cause or charity with very good intentions. We truly want to help. At the same time, however, we may hope (however secretly) to be recognized for our help. We like to be noticed and appreciated in some way, even if admitting to it – or getting the recognition – embarrasses us in some way. We will feel at least a pinch of disappointment if our efforts are ignored. It can be difficult for us to hang in there and remain faithful to a cause without getting some kind of recognition or affirmation at least once in a while. We may even try to make ourselves indispensable to our cause so that we can’t help but be noticed. Sometimes, being faithful to a good cause requires us to be emptied of our need for continual praise. That may be a real challenge for us, at least at times.
At other times, the challenge comes to us from a different place. We may hesitate to get openly involved in any good work. We may tell others (and ourselves) that we have no time for anything else. We may find some other reason or excuse. But here, the temptation is different. If we put ourselves out there, we expose ourselves to public view. People may see not only our good intentions but also our limitations: the quirks that embarrass us, the faults we don’t want others to see. For such people, placing themselves openly in some public cause is itself an act of self-emptying. They can no longer feel tempted to see themselves as perfect or better than others. They lose the shield of anonymity. They become exposed to the possibility of failure or rejection. While people in the first group have to sacrifice the need for praise for a higher cause, these people have to sacrifice the fear of failure or embarrassment for a higher cause. Neither is easy. Both require self-emptying.
In our reading from Philippians, we see Paul proclaim that Jesus emptied himself for us, even to the point of death on a cross. Jesus’ self-emptying is easiest to see when we contemplate him on the cross. He has shed any need for power, honor, wealth or pleasure (by usual earthly standards) in order to commit himself utterly to the Father’s will and to our own salvation. On the cross, he has no praise. He is reviled by most. Mary and a few others look on, silently sharing the pain. Whenever we may feel tempted to need that constant recognition for some good we are doing, it is good for us to contemplate the cross. Here we see Jesus giving us the greatest gift imaginable, and getting no praise or “likes” whatsoever for it. It is pure love on his part, a pure desire to do what is good for another, with no thought at all for what it in it for him. Jesus’ sacrifice for us on the cross has strengthened and inspired many in their own commitment to the needs of others around them.
It’s important to remember, however, that Jesus’ self-emptying didn’t happen on the cross alone. The cross is a symbol, so to speak, of Jesus’ entire life. This is who Jesus is. Everything he did in his earthly life was a part of this self-emptying.
We have seen how Jesus’ self-emptying on the cross can strengthen the commitment of those who feel tempted to have praise for their good works. But what of those who feel tempted to not put themselves out there? Here, we look to Palm Sunday and its aftermath.
Passover is near. Jesus is going to Jerusalem. He could have entered the city inconspicuously, like any pilgrim present for the feast. No. He chose to enter in a way that would announce to all who he really was. He comes into the city seated on a colt – just as the kings of Israel did after winning a victory. A colt, and not a majestic warhorse – as a means of announcing that the king’s trust was in God, and that it was God who won the victory through the king. Jesus is doing the same. He enters the city without the protection of the Roman legions. He has no weapons. He is totally vulnerable. Yet he announces to all who wish to see who he is. He is the true King, the Messiah. He does this, knowing what the result will be.
There is more. In Mark’s account, Jesus returns to Jerusalem the next day and drives the money-changers out of the Temple area. Don’t see this as merely a moment when Jesus “lost it” and reacted out of anger. His opponents didn’t see it that way. In John’s version, they challenge Jesus: “What sign can you show us for doing this?” They understood what was going on. By disrupting the selling of animals for sacrifice, Jesus was – if only briefly – stopping the constant activity of animal sacrifice in the Temple. This was a prophetic act, announcing that the Temple itself would soon cease, at least in the way that it had been understood. No, Jesus now points to himself as the true Temple. Jesus’ own sacrifice would do what all these animal sacrifices sought to do – achieve reconciliation between God and humanity, and, in so doing, reconcile the scattered peoples of humanity. This, too, was a dangerous and provocative act. It was likely the proverbial “last straw”, as far as the Jewish leaders were concerned. Jesus obviously knew this. Yet he did this anyway, faithful as he always was to doing the Father’s will. He offered his life to announce the truth. Jesus thus empties himself of the safety coming from hiddenness, from anonymity, and proclaims clearly who he is and who God is.
This kind of self-emptying, in my opinion, is as relevant to us today as that first kind, on the cross. We can feel tempted to remain hidden, as far as our faith and good works are concerned, so that our weaknesses and flaws are not exposed. But there is more. In our polarized society, we tend to identify ourselves more with our “tribe” – conservative, progressive, moderate, alt-right, alt-left, or whatever – than with our Catholicism or our Christianity in general. This is as true of Church leaders as it is of the most humble churchgoer. We want to impress our tribal peers and fit in.
There is a problem with this. All such tribes are merely of human origin. As such, sooner or later, we will all find that we will have to choose between fidelity to our tribe and fidelity to the Lord. This will happen more often than we care to admit. We will feel the temptation to be quiet about such aspects of our faith so that we will stay anonymous, unseen, accepted in our tribe. We will prefer “stealth mode”. A the same time, however, we will feel tempted to be very critical of those who are not in stealth mode – even if we agree with what they are trying to do. They are challenging us, and we don’t like it.
Just as Jesus showed a different side of self-emptying by being willing to announce, in an open and undefended way, who he really was, so too, each and every one of us are challenged at times to do the same. Just as Jesus did so, knowing that his sacrifice would bring reconciliation to the world, so too, our willingness to differ from our tribe when the Lord’s teaching is at stake also makes us potential agents of reconciliation among the scattered tribes of our own day. We witness that there is One to whom we owe a higher allegiance, and we do so specifically as an act of love for God and for others. We may also find ourselves rejected, at least for a while. We may be called on to embrace some sliver of the cross. In doing so, we give ourselves over to the Lord, who can then offer others the grace of reconciliation through our small acts of trust, love and obedience.
On earth, we may belong to a number of ‘tribes’. Let us never forget to whom we truly and entirely belong.
A note on the above photo: This is the cross over Thomas Merton’s grave at the Gethsemani monastery in Kentucky.