Palm Sunday of The Passion of The Lord Archives - Page 3 of 3

Scripture makes it clear that serving God almost inevitably brings hardship, rejection, and pain. Moses experienced it, as did Jeremiah and other prophets. People are often resistant to seeing the world from God’s perspective and living accordingly because it involves conversion and sacrifice. In this respect, Israel was no different from anyone else. In this passage from Isaiah, God’s servant experiences that typical rejection, even though he is speaking a word to the weary. The fact that he is bring good news to the people does not protect him from their violence. Yet the servant remains faithful, firm in his trust in God and sure of the divine goodness of his mission.

In his letter to the Philippians, Paul addresses a tendency among this community to seek their own interests or form “parties,” forgetting that they are all of to be “of the same mind, with the same love, united in heart” (2:2). They can do no better than to look to Christ himself as a model of humility and selflessness. It was Christ who, rather than relying on his “equality with God,” humbled himself, undergoing a shameful and painful death for the good of others. It was Christ’s humble love and obedience to God’s will for all creation that led to his glorification by God, who established him as Lord of all in heaven and on earth. In the same way, the Philippians should “shine like lights in the world” (2:15) by imitating the humble Christ who served others rather than himself.

Two unique aspects of Luke’s Passion account, both at the Last Supper, are worth briefly mentioning. The first is the placement of the quarrel among the apostles about who is the greatest. In the context of the Last Supper, the argument takes on a particular poignancy as Jesus prepares to perform his greatest act by becoming the least. There remains among the apostles, even now, a failure to grasp what Jesus is about. Shortly after this, Jesus warns the disciples that going forward they will need to carry protection (swords) because they will be “counted among the wicked [Jesus].” In response, someone points out there are two swords in the room already, after which Jesus abruptly ends the dinner (suggesting that perhaps he was speaking truthfully about the danger but not literally about the swords?). The warning here is that, far from being regarded as among the greatest, the apostles will be condemned and threatened for even speaking Jesus’ name. There will be no glory for the followers of Christ, only danger and misunderstanding.

When I was about five years old, I remember trying to lift my dad’s bowling ball. I put my middle two fingers and my thumb into the holes of the ball and pulled up. It would not budge. My wrist hurt. Then I remembered my dad say, about lifting something that was heavy, “Go low.” So I stretched out my hands to get under the ball in order to lift it. It rolled to the right on the rack. I just missed smashing my little finger. I was small. The ball was heavy.

As I read today’s story of Jesus’ passion and death, it weighs heavily, like a bowling ball in my heart. What more can be said? Jesus died. Words feel too light, more like tossing around a ping-pong ball.

At the meal, the disciples are bouncing about as they argue about who will be the greatest. They are buoyant: they still see palm branches—Jesus is famous—we are important! They do not get the weight of what Jesus is saying. His words do not fit with their ebullience. The Son of Man must suffer in order to redeem the world. What is he talking about?

Jesus knows. It weighs on him in the garden. He allows himself to be humbled as much as a human being possibly can be humbled: shamed by a flogging; hung on a cross with the despicables outside the city walls. He is left to die, a nobody. Nowhere. Not important.

On the cross, Jesus “goes low.”

He stretches out his arms to get underneath the ball of the world, in order to lift it, to set it free. He redeems it all, no matter how sordid, no matter how heavy, no scrap left out. The weight is heavy. The weight is lifted.

Consider/Discuss

You and I, we are too small to lift the weight of the pain and suffering, the injustices and hardness of heart of the human race. We need a Savior. Holy Week is a good time to ponder the weight that Jesus carried. We will move liturgically through each moment of Jesus’ humiliation. Can you feel as he felt, pray as he prayed, move as he moved? What is it like to go that low?
How do we carry the weight of our own lives? Sages of the ages tell us that we can suffer selfishly—rebel and complain—and thus shift our own burdens to others. Or we can “go low,” bearing with our suffering as Jesus did, so that the burden may be easier for others. What does it mean, on a daily basis, to share in the sufferings of Christ, to be like him in bearing one another’s burdens?

Living and Praying with the Word

Jesus, this feels like foolishness. Emptying yourself, taking the form of a slave, becoming obedient to the point of death—how does that work? Why did you do that? If you were God, you could have come down from that cross and smashed the lights out of all of those politicians who maneuvered you toward death. Yet you didn’t.

We are small; we don’t really get it. We still frolic about as though this core of Christianity, this Paschal Mystery that “you died because you love us,” was a light little plaything: something that we have heard before, something that we just say, something that we take for granted. Deepen our understanding of what it means to walk the way of the cross, so that when we come to Easter, we see how much you have lifted for us. You died because you love us. Show us this week, Lord, what that really means.

Scripture Study for

Jesus “Goes Low”