3/21/21 “An Anticlimactic Ending” by Nancy E. Petty
Mark 11:1-11
We all like a good ending. The more dramatic, the better. We live for that big turning point that, at last, propels the story into an ending that we revel in. The hero or heroine prevails and we cheer. Good wins over evil and we cheer louder. Justice triumphs and we feel that all is right in the world. But what of those anticlimactic endings where we are left hanging, longing for closure that wraps the story up with a neat bow tied on top? We don’t like to wait for that moment. But that is exactly where the gospel of Mark leaves us today with the story of Jesus triumphal entry into Jerusalem.
“In Matthew’s [version of the triumphal entry] the whole city is in turmoil when Jesus enters. He goes to the temple and drives out those who are buying and selling. He overturns tables and chairs. In Luke Jesus weeps over Jerusalem and then enters the temple where he drives out those who were buying and selling.” (Michael K. Marsh) Two vivid portraits of Jesus taking on the corruption and injustice in the temple in dramatic fashion—turning over tables and driving out those who were exploiting an unjust economic system. And the portrait of a heartbroken Jesus, weeping over the city. These are unforgettable, climatic images.
But then there’s Mark’s gospel. Mark’s gospel leaves us with these words: “Then he [Jesus] entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.” According to Mark, Jesus made his triumphal entry into Jerusalem riding on a borrowed colt, observes all that is happening, and then he leaves. A rather anticlimactic ending. No turning over the tables or driving out the money changers, that day. No weeping over the Holy City.
We have done with this story what we have done with the Christmas story. We have taken bits and pieces from each of the gospels and we have told these stories in dramatic fashion. We’ve combined the angels and shepherds and stars and wise people into one big dramatic Christmas event. With Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem we tell of this big parade imagining hundreds of people spreading their cloaks along the dirt road leading into the Holy City shouting their Hosanna’s, Jesus riding on a mysterious, never before ridden donkey, and once arriving in the city we tell of Jesus going into the Temple in an angry fit overturning tables and causing chaos. We forget that each gospel is telling the story not in a liner fashion or giving an accurate detailed account of the facts of a particular day but rather they are telling the story from their particular perspective, including some details and leaving out others, of what they think is important as it suits the goals of their narrative.
For whatever reason, Mark’s Palm Sunday account doesn’t give all the drama of Matthew and Luke’s account—the turmoil in the city or the weeping over Jerusalem or the scene in the temple. Mark doesn’t even mention palm leaves being waved. In Mark’s account the folks greeting Jesus as he enters Jerusalem spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. And the temple scene comes the next day in Mark’s account. Mark simply says in his account Jesus rides into the city, looks around at what’s going on and then leaves for Bethany for the night.
Why Bethany? Bethany is located near Jerusalem, approximately 2 miles outside the city, and is the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus. The gospel of John tells us that Jesus has recently raised Lazarus from the dead in Bethany—an action that prompted the chief priests and Pharisees to plot Jesus’ death. It was in Bethany that Mary anointed Jesus feet with expensive perfume and wiped his feet with her hair. And when Judas criticized her for using the expensive ointment, Jesus told him to “Leave her alone.”
Bethany is in itself a rather insignificant village with just a dusty street or two and a few simple houses. But it is a place of affection for Jesus. It is there that his friends welcomed him when so many others rejected him. They gave him a place in their homes and hearts. Bethany is often translated, “house of welcome.” But the local people of Bethany would tell you that Bethany means “the house of the poor.” In Mark’s gospel, as Jesus is facing what will be his last week on earth, he retreats to this place—the place where he knows he will be welcomed and cared for; the place where he will spend the night with the poor for whom he will give his life. It begins to make sense to me why Jesus, after observing what lay before him, he would choose to retreat to a place where he would be among friends and the poor. Wanting to be with friends and those we care about when life has us feeling our most vulnerable, maybe even second guessing ourselves, knowing what is about to happen, is understandable. Right?
I get that this event was part of a much larger movement—a political movement in which Jesus was taking on the dominate systems of power. We know, thanks to the historical scholarship of Marcus Borg, what was taking place on the other side—the west side—of town: a demonstration of the power of the Roman empire with cavalry on horses not borrowed donkey’s; leather armor and helmets and weapons not common folks cloaks and branches cut from the fields. I understand that a social justice movement was taking place on this Sunday and Jesus was the focus of that movement. It is clear from a historical and theological context that Jesus is responding to the political narrative of the day and that he is leading a movement to oppose the injustices of the dominate political system that kept people oppressed. It is clear that his teachings and the movement he was leading was threatening that dominate system and the system was ready to silence him. We should never overlook that or downplay the real reason that he was murdered by the state. He challenged the power structure and that power structure silenced him, or so it thought. By the time he rode into Jerusalem on that colt, he had to know the risks and what the outcome would likely be.
And, the prophetic courageous movement leader Jesus who rode into town on a donkey in a subversive act of defiance was also a vulnerable human who, after observing what was facing him, retreated to his friends for support and comfort. In Mark’s version of the story, we are left to imagine a Jesus who knows what he must do, but who also knows that the temple insurrection will set in motion irreversible forces that will accelerate to his death. And so, for one night, he goes to be with people he trusts, who love him, who will do what they can to protect him.
We encounter this story of Palm Sunday in a year that has made visible our human vulnerability. COVID 19 has drawn our attention to our human fragility and has brought us face-to-face with how quickly our daily lives can change. It has shown us just how dependent and interdependent we are on one another. In profound ways we have realized how significant relationships and community are to us as we have had to physically distance from one another. In many cases our entire support systems have disappeared and we have been left feeling lonely and isolated. In the presence of a real threat to our lives, feeling scared of what might happen, we have felt an intense vulnerability.
Reading Mark’s account of the day Jesus rode into Jerusalem on that colt with the shouts of Hosanna ringing in his ears and seeing the turmoil before him I have wondered if he was scared. I know, we like to think that Jesus didn’t get scared. After all, he is the courageous prophet leading the movement that is challenging the powers that be. But even for Jesus, the week ahead had to be a bit scary. It would be understandable, human, if maybe he was having some doubts, some questions, and just wanted to get away, regroup, think of other options. We’ve all done that, right? Faced with difficult situations that left us feeling vulnerable and frightened we have retreated.
Part of me wants to think, “No way, not Jesus. He didn’t back down in the face of fear. Never.” But what does it do to us spirituality and what does it say about our theology to deny Jesus this human vulnerability? Is it that our faith is shaken if we think that maybe Jesus went to Bethany because he was having doubts or some questions or maybe because he was just too tired? Does it cause us to question his mission and purpose and think maybe he was having second thoughts?
It is possible that this would be a better, more faithful Palm Sunday sermon if I just focused on the political aspects of what Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem represented. Especially in the context of our own political situation and the moral and spiritual implications for people of faith today. But I chose to believe that there is an important lesson for us in Mark’s anticlimactic ending.
What is that lesson? The justice work we are called to do: to stand up to and against the oppressive dominate powers will require us taking the time to observe what is happening and then taking the time to find the support and care we need to face the challenges that we will inevitably be called to face. Jesus models this for us over and over again as he retreats for prayer and support at the most critical times in his ministry. On numerous occasions, when the crowd pressed around him, he would retreat to a safe place and call on his support before once again engaging in work before him. Mark’s gospel is reminding us that we need Jesus’ Palm Sunday pause before facing the events of our own holy weeks. We need to embrace our own anticlimactic endings before facing the more dramatic endings that we will be called to face. It is the only way to face our Jerusalem places. In order to do the work before us we need Bethany—we need to spend time with our friends and the poor who always open their homes and hearts to those who befriend them and fight for their rights.
I end with this real life story that illustrates this lesson. Our friend and colleague Patrick O’Neal was one of 7 Catholic activists, known as Kings Bay Plowshares 7, who were arrested for invading the Naval Submarine Base in Georgia on April 4, 2018 carrying out a symbolic act of protest against nuclear weapons following the prophet Isaiah’s command to “beat swords into plowshares.” At trial, the seven were barred from citing their religious motivations in their defense. Judge Lisa Wood prevented all mention of the Religious Freedom Restoration Act. The seven were also prevented from mounting a “necessity defense,” claiming that lawbreaking was necessary to prevent the far more severe crime of nuclear war. They could also not mention international law or treaties restricting nuclear weaponry.
On October 24, 2019, a federal grand jury found the seven guilty on three felony counts and a misdemeanor charge. Each received prison sentences ranging from 33 months to 18 months. Before reporting to prison, Patrick reached out to me to ask if she could use Finlator Hall for a “going to prison” gathering. In the days before reporting to prison, he wanted to spend one evening with his friends and those who had supported him in following his faith convictions, even at the risk of prison. Of course, I said. And although the pandemic required the gathering to be a zoom gathering, nonetheless, one evening, a couple weeks before reporting to prison Patrick’s friends gathered to offer their prayers and support. It was his Bethany night.
It takes courage to go to Jerusalem. And it also takes courage to go to Bethany. On this Palm Sunday, may we find the courage to pause in Bethany and then, as day breaks tomorrow, have the strength to take action in our own Jerusalem places.
