stare it down

Yesterday was Palm Sunday, or if you follow the lectionary, the Sunday of the Passion, and on this Sunday, we are used to a lot of action.  It's busy, it's occupied, there is a focus on things happening.  Rapid action, boom boom boom.  If it's the Sunday of the passion, it's all action, Christ being led away to his death, being crucified for the sins of the entire world, being nailed to a cross, being beaten and scourged, and finally being lanced through the side by Saint Longinus.  All that happens.  And if it's Palm Sunday, it's the triumpal entry of Jesus Christ into Jerusalem, moving into the space surrounded by crowds, waving palm branches and shouting Hosanna to the son of David.  These things are all action packed, which is why the most striking thing comes in the stillness.

The stillness is at the end of the Gospel reading that we had from Sunday, the reading about Palm Sunday from the Gospel of Mark. 

Jesus entered Jerusalem, and went to the temple.  He looked around at everything,

but since it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the Twelve.

 After the rush of Palm Sunday, the crowds, the hosannas, the palms, the cloaks, you might almost miss this moment, but it's an important one, it genuinely is.  It might be hard to see, but it's there, as large as life.  And it's important because of what it signifies, and that, my friends, is the total dedication to seeing the mission through.  

If you've never seen it, there's a great Batman movie out there that isn't the Dark Knight, it isn't Batman V Superman Dawn of Justice, it isn't Batman and Robin; it's Batman:Mask of the Phantasm.  Beginning to end, it might be my favorite Batman movie ever.  For those of you who don't know, in the '90s there was a Batman animated series that had a fascinating art deco aesthetic, lots of firm lines and hard edges.  It was moody and brooding, and presented Batman in a serialized, 1940s crimefighting way, locked in a space and time that obviously never existed, with old aesthetics alongside computers; sort of like retrofuturism or future past.  The Mask of the Phantasm exists in that universe, and has Bruce Wayne (who is Batman, spoilers) dating a woman named Andrea.  There's a scene that happens later on in the movie, a flashback before Bruce goes full Batman, where he sees thugs accosting a vendor, and he feels as though he has to step in.  Andrea wants to stop him, but Bruce is compelled to act. Here's the scene.  Let's watch it together, then discuss.

Okay, there are a few things I need to talk about here.  First of all, I love love the narrowing of the eyes moment there.  Bruce Wayne saying to Andrea 'What do you expect me to do, just stand here?'  There are crimes being committed right in front of him, and Bruce can't just stand there and watch it happen.  But it's the narrowing of the eyes, the focus, the determination, the single-minded purpose behind what he does.  This firmness allows Bruce to defeat the majority of the thugs, knocking them out and tackling them as he does.  But if you keep watching, close to the end of the scene, when a thug is driving towards him with a baseball bat, the eyes stop being narrow, the focus goes away.  Bruce's eyes widen as he look over towards Andrea who is concerned, who is troubled, who wants him to stop being involved so he can stay safe.  In that moment, wide eyed, Bruce is struck with the baseball bat, and the confrontation is over.  The thugs ride off with the loot, and Bruce is defeated.  

This is the moment in which he knows that he has to choose.  He can't stay in a relationship with Andrea and be a crimefighter.  As long as there's someone waiting for him, as long as someone cares, as long as he has someone who is watching for him to get home every day, he can't go out and fight crime.  He has to choose, one or the other, and that's all.  The eyes show it: narrowed and focused he can deal with his mission, but wide-eyed and concerned, he can't possibly keep to the plan.  His loss is caused by the divided loyalties, the lack of purpose.

And this is where the Gospel reading comes in.  That moment of stillness at the end of the Gospel reading, Jesus staring down the temple, looking at it with a single-minded purpose, setting his face like a flint towards that space, knowing that that, for sure, is where his death is going to spring from, that dedication is intense.  For those of us who know where the story is going to to (again, spoilers), Jesus is going to be sentenced to death after his role in clearing the temple.  Once he comes back to the temple (which happens the next day after the Palm Sunday reading in Mark), he overturns the tables, casts out the moneychangers, and drives out the den of thieves.  And in that passage, after he harrows the temple, it says 'When the leading priests and teachers of religious law heard what Jesus had done, they began planning how to kill him.' Once Jesus returns to the temple, once he overturns everything, the die is cast, and it's essentially game over for him.

On Palm Sunday, when he walks up to the temple, that's the last time that he will have the chance to turn back.  He won't have another shot, won't have another chance, that's the end of it, it truly is.  After he has overturned the tables, he won't have another shot, his enemies will be seeking his life, and seeking to destroy him.  Jesus has said many times that he has to be killed, that he has to be slain, he must be executed at the hands of sinful men, and his disciples try to talk him out of that mission.  Look at Peter in that passage, trying to talk Jesus out of fulfilling his mission, trying to talk him out of doing what he has to do, and Jesus telling him to get behind him.  That seems an awful lot like the interaction between Bruce Wayne and Andrea, doesn't it?  The difference ends up being that the narrowing of Bruce's eyes stops, while the setting of the face of Christ like a flint towards what he must do continues, all the way to the cross.  

Palm Sunday is a wonderful day partially for this reason - that Christ enters Jerusalem with single-minded determination, knowing that it will be his last time entering that city.  Every step he takes towards that city, whether on a donkey or on foot, shows his determination towards what will inevitably kill him, what will lead to his death, what will lead to his corpse being taken down from a cross and he keeps going anyway. That purpose, that will is what we are lacking, which is why we need him.  If we could, by our own reason or will believe in Jesus Christ or come to him, then the problem would be solved, and we actually woudn't need him at all.  If we could just choose Jesus, could choose God and his commandments, if we could set our faces like flints, narrow our eyes and just get the job done then the problem would completely go away.  But we can't, and we don't.  We are wide-eyed like Bruce Wayne in that scene, with our concerns split, troubled about many things.  We don't have the will to stare down the temple, to commit, to move towards what has to be done for our salvation.  We are always going to be doubleminded.  Palm Sunday shows us why we need Christ.

He rides towards his death.  He stares down the temple, he endures the arrest, the cross and shame, he does not speak up in his defense, but like a sheep before its shearers is silent.  He moves towards the cross, does not despise the shame, and carries the mission, the plan of salvation out to completion.  We didn't do that, and we weren't ever going to.  But that's why we have always needed him.  We did not choose him, but he chose us.  At Palm Sunday, as every Sunday, we remain grateful that he could will and do that wonderful work that we were unable to do.  To see things through, and to complete the mission.

But what about me?

You can tell when someone wants something from you, because they're people who rarely call you, and then when they do, all of a sudden, and they exchange a quick couple of words with you before all of a sudden saying something along the lines of this 'Okay, so the reason I'm calling is.....'

And then they give a reason.  A favor they want, a need they have, something they need you to do for them.  That's the reason they called, and that's why they weren't exactly 100% interested in what you had to say right off the hop.  There was something that they wanted out of this exchange, and that was the focus from the get go.  The asking of how you were doing, that was just so much deception, really, and just a means to an end.  How quickly can the conversation be steered into you giving them what you want?

Now, this is similar in many ways to what happens between Jesus and the 'sons of thunder' in the gospel reading from Sunday.  In the Gospel reading, Jesus tells his disciples that he is going to die, he is going to be killed, he is going to be slain, and removed from the world.  He is going to be spat upon, beaten, killed and then is going to rise.  James and John, when they hear this, sort of immediately segue into 'so, Jesus, about us for a second.'  Jesus gives them the platform that they're looking for, letting them explain themselves 'okay, what is it that you want to say?' 'Grant us to sit, one on your right, and one on your left, when you come in glory.'  In other words, now that Jesus has gotten it out of the way where he has told his disciples that his work is about to be fulfilled, that he is going to be killed, that he is going to be slain, they sort of turn that into talking about what they are going to get out of the deal.  Jesus, as he does, answers their question with one of his own 'can you drink of the cup that I drink? Or be baptized with the baptism with which I will be baptized?'  And they responded 'we can.'

Of course they answer that way.  Can you drink of that offered cup? Sure.  Why not.  That sounds easy enough.  It's easy to say that until you know what's in the cup, or how much it holds.  This is a similar sort of question to what we have in weddings in our church you know.  In our church ,we have our couples go through vows, commitments, they make promises to one another, in the sight of God and the congregation.  And this is the sort of promise that they make, and they actually don't know what they are promising, not really.  They think they do, of course, in the same way that James and John thought they knew, sure we can drink that cup, no problem.  No difficulty at all. 

But when couples get together, when they get married and promise to stay together in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, and when you're all fancied up to ya-ya, when you're wearing special underwear that you're probably expecting to see each other in later, when you're in the middle of a party that you have been building up to for months, it's almost an iron clad guarantee that you'll say 'sure, I can drink of that cup, no problem.'

If you were to know that one of your children would die, if you would know which of you would get sick and how sick they'd get, if you would know when your spouse would get Parkinson's disease, or Alzheimer's, if you would know when cancer would set in and the money would run out, would you drink that cup? Would you drink of that cup if you actually knew what was inside?  Based on the divorce rate here in this nation, I would say that people wouldn't. People break up for a number of reasons, but because people get sick, because the money runs out, because people aren't having fun anymore, those aren't rare reasons.  They're shockingly common.  And this is a matter to really take carefully.  Can you drink of that cup? Can you follow through with your promises? 

When Jesus asks James and John if they can drink of the same cup, and be baptized with the same baptism the answer that they give is that they sure can, don't worry about it. That seems like an obvious conclusion, but we already know they can't .  we have the perspective to know that James and John are going to leave, they're going to run, they're not going to be crucified to the left and right of Jesus, that honor belongs to bandits and insurrectionists.  They are about as good at following through with that promise as we are to following through with any of our promises, marital or otherwise.  We don't keep our word, we don't stick to our covenants, we don't follow through with the promises that we make, which is why the vague threat that Jesus makes in this passage is so important.  He promises James and John that they will drink of that cup, that they will be baptized with that same baptism, that will happen.  But that isn't a threat.  It's a promise.

The thing is, that we are bad at keeping our end of the bargain.  we are people who make a wreckage out of promises and dust out of covenants.  We have made countless deals, given our word countless times, and disappointed countless people.  This is how we do things in the world, how we have always done things, we have made promises and failed at keeping them, entered into covenants without knowing the details, this is who we are.  But this is why the cup, the baptism are promises, not threats.  Think about Jesus in the Gospels, asking God if the cup of suffering could pass from him.  That cup didn't pass from him, it didn't pass to anyone else.  In the garden, it became clear that the cup was going to rest with Jesus, and he would have to drink it to the dregs.  That was his job, his role, his duty, and he fulfilled it.  And instead of drinking that cup, instead of drinking the cup of suffering, the wine mixed with gall, James and John were given another cup.  They were given the cup of salvation, the cup of the body and blood of Christ the cup of salvation.  It's the same with baptism.  Jesus was baptized in the Jordan, and when he came up out of the water, it was with the sin of the world on his shoulders.  All that sin was washed off of people like James and John, and clung to Christ. 

They drank of the cup, they were baptized in the baptism, and we are too.  This is because we are in a new covenant with God, a covenant not guaranteed on our obedience, on our follow through, but instead based on the work of Christ.  He gets the gall, we get the glory, he gets the dirt, we get the divinity.  And this is part of why we need the sacraments so much, because Jesus knows who weak our faith is, how we need a sign, we crave it, we require it, we need the guarantee of the covenant, and that's what our sacraments are.  They're marks, signs of the fidelity of Christ. When we say the words of institution, we repeat the promise of Jesus, that this is his body, his blood, that he is giving us as a mark, a sign, of the forgiveness of our sins.  We need this in such powerful ways.  Baptism saves us through the water and the word, communion forgives through the body and the blood, this is the way through which Christ continues to show his constancy to his end of the covenant, and this is the only end that really, genuinely matters.  If we could drink that cup of gall, all the way to the end, then it would be possible for us to ascend to the left and right hand of Christ.  Instead, because only Christ can drink that cup, can make peace and mediation between man and God, we gain his forgiveness and his salvation.  He doesn't say to those who are at his side on earth that they will be at his right or left when he enters his kingdom, but instead, he tells them of a completely one-sided covenant.  A covenant based on what he has done, on how he has borne the sins of the world.

Today, you will be with me in paradise.

The remainder

There are four basic math signs.  +, -, x and /.  There's a quick math lesson for you there.  Of the four signs, three of them make sense.  If you multiply, there's a straight answer.  If you add, there's a straight answer.  If you subtract, there's a straight answer.  If you divide, all bets are off.  You can divide by zero, and break logic.  You can divide by the same number and always get one.  You can get into the realm of imaginary numbers, all that stuff.

But the biggest brain buster of all is the issue that comes up when we first do long division, and that is the issue of the remainder.  And what is the remainder? None of the other math signs have that.  You don't add 5+3 and have 7 remainder 1.  But in division, that most accursed sign, we do.  The remainder is the matter that always seems to stand in the way, it's an impediment between you and the right answer, you know.  We all want the right answer to be tidy, to be neat, with no additional threads dangling off of it.  You want the answer to be a number.  No decimals, no fractions, no remainders.  That's what you want, and the sign of division doesn't allow it most of the time.

Consider the story of Jesus in the Temple.  We're used to the image of our Lord making a whip out of cords, driving the moneychangers from the temple, and scattering their coins.  We're used to the idea of him clearing out the animals, and driving the sacrifices away.  This is all good, it's all common knowledge, that's all fine, to be sure.  But, like with any good story of division, what's the remainder? What's left after he's done all of that.

Well, think about the things that don't get driven out, and  the things that remain.  Because for the people like you and I who would spectate this event, it's good to not stop when you get to one answer, and to continue to go until you find the remainder.  Ask yourself, when you read this passage, what it is that doesn't get driven out.  The answer is fairly clear, if you look at what happens after everything is removed.  For in this passage, we see the scattering of the coins, the driving out of the animals, and then we see people asking Jesus by what authority he does these things.

People.

Yes, there are people left in that space after the great expulsion. Now, I know that we want to think about math problems as tidy, but this is one of those points in which we have a remainder.  Jesus plus moneychangers plus coins plus animal sacrifices plus people minus moneychangers minus coins minus animal sacrifices equals?

Jesus and people.

All those things that people had brought in to obscure the line between them and God, all those things that they had brought in to take the place of an actual relationship with God, all the things that they hide behind to make sure that they never have to be too honest with the other people who are there, and with God.  Think about the coins at the temple, what the moneychangers were dealing with. They were serving up coins in much the same way as they do at chuck e cheese, where you have to deal with their tokens. You have to bring your money, change it to chuckie change, and then use it there, no refunds.  You can't use real tender at a chuck e cheese, and they won't take it in any of the machines.  They do take your money for food and drink, though, beer too, but not for the machines.  Those just use magical chuckiebux.  The temple was the same way.  If you had regular Caesar money, it was no good in there.  Can't bring the things of the world into the temple.  You can only use temple money.  The sacrifices, the same way.  You can't bring your sins into the temple, you have to offer up sacrifices and oblations to get away with it.  You have to hide and cover over your sinfulness, and pretend like everything is just fine.  There's a real break at the door that says that you're doing okay, you don't bring the stuff of the world outside into God's holy house.  After all, what would the people say if they knew what you were up to?



So, you drop your life at the door.  You dress well, you look good, your kids are reasonably well behaved for the duration of the service.  You hold hands, and smile.  Things are good, or so you want everyone to think. In all actuality, though, nothing is anywhere near as good as you're making it out to be.  Things are falling apart, the relationships are not as strong as they should be.  The marriage is hanging on by a thread, the kids are getting into all sorts of trouble,there are addictions, pornography, licentiousness, it's like we're living on gin lane over here, but we all sort of want to hide that. We all sort of want to drop all that at the door, and not bring it into the church.  Change the money, buy the sacrifices, and divorce yourself as much as possible from the things that actually happen in your life.  That's a big desire that you want to have, and you don't want to be the only one in church that has problems, you know. 

Everyone else looks pretty good.  Everyone else looks fine, they all seem to have their lives together, whether in church, on social media, on social media, or on social media.  Happy families in pastel shirts and jorts, everyone looking good, looking happy.  People go to a lot of effort to look good, and something strange happens when that happens, which is that you feel as though you have to keep up.  So you only post the good stuff, you only show the best, you only display the absolute best parts of your life and nothing else, because everyone else is, but you for some reason don't feel as though they're faking it, or just showing the best of their lives.  Which they are.

At the end of the Gospel reading, it says something profound about Jesus, which is that he didn't need anyone to tell him what people were all about, because he knew what was in men.  He knows what you're all about.  If you leave your real problems at the door of the church and refuse to admit them to yourself, to God, to anyone else, then the only person you're hiding it from is the people around you, who are all doing it too.  This is a real, serious problem that is going to affect you, and it is going to lead to you desperately clinging on to your sin, because you figure that church is no place for that kind of nonsense. 

But I want you to look at this picture.  Look at this picture of Jesus in the wilderness (it's a lent picture, clearly), and tell me what you see.

You know what I see? Only Jesus.  With nothing else.  No distractions, no clamoring, no moneychangers, no coins, no animals.  Just Jesus, or as we Lutherans would say, Christ alone.

When Jesus drives everything out of the temple, he does so to remove everything that people were using to hide behind.  All that veneer of respectability was driven out, chased away, scourged with whips.  Everything people were hiding behind, everything that they were using to have that aura of doing well, all that got violently pushed away, and only Christ and the people were left.  Nothing else.  Can you imagine what that would be like? To go from noise and clamor to deafening silence? To have the bazaar replaced with just Jesus alone?

Well, friends, that's what this time of year is all about. For most of the rest of the year, you can hide behind your respectability, because the cross of Christ seems awfully far away.  It seems like it may as well be a long time ago in a galaxy far far away for what it matters.  It purports to deal with sin, but heck, most of us don't have any sin, so it can't be that big a deal, right?  But Lent, it drives all those masks away from you, it smashes the coins, the sacrifices, all those exchanges that you make at the door before you go in, and leaves you with only you, only Jesus, and only the cross.  Worried about what would happen if you actually did confess your sins? Why? Jesus already knows what's up, the reading today is quite clear about that.  Scared of what would happen if everyone found out? Hopefully the illusion would be shattered, and you'd realize that they were lying just as much as you were. 

This time of year, all the distractions go away, all the illusions vanish, all the excuses disintegrate, and you're left with only you, and only Christ.  Cling fast to that, because in the temple, in the church, that's really all that matters, that Christ Jesus came to save sinners.