Religion and Faith on Palm Sunday

Back What more can be said on Palm Sunday? Wave your palms! Welcome Jesus, again. Isn't it so predictable? Doesn't it sum up the repetitive simplicity of rituals, going through the motions again of joy we may not feel? Isn't it acting? Yet, as we know at different points in our lives, it can be joyful in itself to wave the palms. It is joyful to remember all the past Palm Sundays. And it is renewing again to remember the great contradiction between the welcome Jesus received and what happens to him on Good Friday.



This is a three-part sermon. The first part is about the difference between religion and faith. I will quote the noted theologian Mike Bloomberg on this subject. Second, I will tell a story about a ceremonial ritual that became a transformative ritual. It did occur around a life stage, but it became a moral and spiritual step as well. It occurred at a funeral involving another church, not this one. Third, I will read a poem. On holidays I am often prompted to turn to the poets to capture some of the depth of perspective over time.



The New York Times quoted Michael Bloomberg as he returned from his trip to the Vad Yashem monument to the Holocaust victims in Israel. The Bush Administration had chosen the Mayor of New York City to be our country's representative to this ceremony, a mixture of civil religion and perhaps genuine religion to which dignitaries from all over the world attended. Mr. Bloomberg followed the script properly, but downplayed his religiosity. When asked about this, as the Times suggested, he may have said too much: "I believe in Judaism. I was raised a Jew. I'm happy to be one-or proud to be one." Then he paused and added, "I don't know if that's the right word. I don't know why you should be proud of something (such as ethnicity or background, is the implication). It doesn't make you any better or worse. You are what you are."



Earlier in the article, the reporter noted that although the Mayor was Bar Mitzvah'd and raised in a kosher home, neither of his daughters were Bat Mitzvah'd. The Mayor also said, frankly, that despite his big donations to Jewish charities, he was not very religious. "I've always believed that God will, number one, look at you based on what you did, not whether you followed a set of ceremonies laid down by somebody else." (3/17/05, p. B-3).



Perhaps my eye was caught by this article, as I had distinguished last week between rituals that are ceremonies affirming one's public identity, where one is dressed up and formal, honoring one's accomplishments, and rituals of transformation, where one is for a while stripped of one's titles and achievements and is moved on the inside to release and rebirth. There are also transformative experiences, like feeling comradeship during an emergency, that capture the intense equality and are sacred in the sense of being outside of ordinary time.



For Mr. Bloomberg, religious rituals are outward ceremonies and he does not want to be a hypocrite. These ceremonies ring false for him. But I suspect he has deeply enjoyed political ceremonies, and I know he has enjoyed academic ceremonies, as he likes being recognized at events at my and his alma mater, Johns Hopkins University, where he has been a major benefactor.



I believe that Mr. Bloomberg could justify more of his pride in being a Jew if he felt more of a believer, a more religious one. As it is, he sees the moral contradiction in lifting up an arbitrary accident of birth-this is an honorable moral intuition that moves him to affirm the universal value of people, whatever their backgrounds. And it may detach him from the ability to enter into the transformative ceremonies and worship of his own faith. God is thus only a moral judge that one may encounter after death, not a living presence in one's life.



My point here is not to disparage Judaism. Many Christians, Muslims and others have the same views as Mike Bloomberg: be a good person. It does not help sometimes when there are two conflicting goods-tragic situations that may reveal a largely unconscious belief system. I believe that any witness to Jews or people of other faiths must be a moral witness above all. But it must be rooted in our own genuine faith experiences rather than a pride or superiority that can always tip toward hypocrisy.



But now, and this is my second point, there are times when a ceremonial ritual becomes a transformative one, when the externals of religion become the internals of faith.



I was doing the funeral for a man from another church who had lived a long life, who never married, had many friends whom he outlived, and who distrusted ceremonies himself-though he did join the church he was raised in and attended when he liked the minister and, in that way, found the worship genuine. He was a wonderful free spirit, even a trickster in many ways. He took care of children, fixed bicycles for them, loved music, taught Sunday School, was deliberately unpretentious, was a great story-teller... Earlier in his long life he had become the god-father of a boy in the neighborhood whose father had abandoned his mother. He remained a friend of that boy all his life, as he became a man, stood by him at his wedding, celebrated this man's children, and many other things.



Now it is the time of the funeral and the godson has made the arrangements. His god-father's death was expected, and this godson is quite familiar with death and funerals. He was also frustrated by all of the loose ends that were left, partly because his god-father refused to have a will. Thus he was dry-eyed at the visiting times the day before and he expects to fulfill his duty that day without incident. But then he begins to think about all the things I just mentioned, how wonderful his god-father was, how generous, and now how gone.



Boom. He falls apart. The hymns are now moving, the prayers keep his heart open, the tears well up, true grief is occurring. He sees how much he has lost. True thanksgiving comes. This is a very intense process, no set of formalities. The relationship, not all the achievements, comes into focus. So let us never underestimate the power of mere religion and ceremonial ritual, even if it does not always catch fire.



For the third part of this sermon, I turn to a poem. A poem is sometimes a word ritual. Especially on holidays, I am drawn to poetry to give all the perspective over time that I need to try to do justice to a transformative moment or event in history. The revelation has gone through so many prisms and sheds so much light one can only allude to some of it. So here is my own weak exegesis by poetry of the Palm Sunday entry by Jesus into Jerusalem:



Holy City Speaks:

Jerusalem, fatal bride of prophets, answers Luke 19: 41-44



Jerusalem to Jesus, on this our wedding day,

You break off our engagement, for what you will not say.



The people all surround you, the clamor is quite loud,

Though you ride upon a donkey, your manner is un-cowed.



I longed for a Messiah, we truly knew you'd come,

My gates were held wide open, we dreamed you would be home.



Ignore the Roman legions, invade the sacrificial round;

This day of visitation casts hopes upon the ground.



There were no fine arrangements, save prophecy fulfilled;

You are the Son Beloved, Annointed One we killed.



You preached our wedding sermon, the wine became your blood;

Our night within the garden, with violent men is flood.



Your palms of peace unveil me, my women cry for loss;

My leaders all betray you, our fears become your cross.

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Now violent men still flood me, my walls become anew a fence,

Crusaders, bombers, Likud; hatred remains the best offense.



Your once-joyous resurrection is mocked and crucified;

So many torture victims, all prisons can not hide.



I still await your coming, you Christians hear me cry;

My Jewish legions rule me, my Muslim quarters die.



Who is the Lord's anointed? Is power his only name?

Or is there yet a peacelord to overturn all blame?



We are each Jerusalem, real city torn apart.

Can we not repeat your passion, on the stages of our heart?



My leaders still are liars, the wrong one still is freed,

Yet your truth keeps coming; can the crowds take heed?



Quiet as your Pilate witness, before my rulers then,

When we walk to tend (anoint) your (broken) body, I find you rise again.



Amen.
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