Sunday of the Passion (Palm Sunday): April 1, 2007.

Luke 19:28-40

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Philippians 2:5-11

Luke 22:14-23:56 or Luke 23:1-49

Very few Sundays of the year present the variety of potential emphases and themes that this one does. Recent liturgies include at least two, beginning the service with the "Procession with Palms" and the Gospel reading about Jesus' entry into Jerusalem, but transitioning quickly to the solemnities of Holy Week with the reading of all or part of the passion narrative for the year. In addition, at least some congregations retain the longstanding custom of conducting the Rite of Confirmation (or Affirmation of Baptism) on this day--a remnant of the ancient practice of catechesis during Lent and then baptism and first communion at the Easter Vigil. And, of course, secular calendars remind us that this year, to top it all off, it's April Fool's Day.

Of all these options, the one that dare not be omitted is the passion narrative. The Epistle reading tells why. The only way to the fullness of exaltation for Jesus was through the rock bottom of humiliation, as he gave up all divine prerogative through human birth and (what's worse) became a slave and (what's worst) died on a cross. To be sure, every Sunday is a "little Easter" (so that we observe Sundays in Lent, not of Lent), but this of all Sundays provides an opportunity to articulate clearly Luther's theology of the cross. An overemphasis on, say, Palm Sunday can undercut that opportunity. But the procession into Jerusalem can be turned to good purpose by saying, in effect, that Jesus may have "gone up to Jerusalem" and started the week (as we start this day) on a "high," but it was all downhill from there, as far down as death on a cross.

Since the days of Bernard Duhm (and who could resist citing "Dr. Duhm"?), Isaiah 50:4-9a has been read as the third of four "Servant of YHWH" poems in the exilic section of Isaiah (cc. 40ff.). With this poem, the task of the Servant takes a sharp turn for the arduous: while the Servant's calling remains centered on mediating God's justice and light to the nations (as in 42:1-4; 49:1-6), it comes with a stiff price, including torture and degradation (50:6). In the context of the four Servant poems, this text prepares the way for the fourth and final one, 52:13-53:12, to be read on Good Friday.

Tragically, not merely ink but blood has been spilled over the centuries in polemics between Jews and Christians over the identity of the Servant. While there are no facile solutions to the question, it is fair to say that, in fact, the original referent was Israel, as stated plainly in 49:3 (cf. 41:8f. and 48:20). In the context of the most traumatic event in Israel's history, the fall of Jerusalem in 587/6 B.C. and the ensuing exile, the prophet makes the audacious claim that Israel was suffering not merely for its own transgressions but also for the sins of the world (cf. 40:2: "she [Jerusalem] has received from the LORD's hand double for all her sins"). However, when read through the overtly Christian filter of the New Testament, we see that the Servant's vicarious work finds its climax and ultimate expression in Jesus (cf. Acts 8:30-35, regarding the fourth poem).

In the context of the aforementioned theology of the cross, our focus necessarily moves past this exegetical debate to the realization that the Servant is a model for God's servants in all times and places. As such, we note first that faithful service begins with listening (especially when one reads v. 4a with the Hebrew and against most English translations: "The Lord GOD has given me the tongue of those who are taught"; cf. v. 4c). Interestingly, the text does not specify to whom the Servant listens. The logical and likely implication is, of course, to God, but it is equally possible (and, in the end, essential) that those who would serve listen to those whom they intend to serve. The point is reiterated when the poem continues with the specifics of the mission: "that I may know how to sustain the weary with a word." If one is truly to help the weary with a word, one has to know why they're weary. The gospel is indeed universal, but it is never "one size fits all." (Similarly, note the arguably intentional ambiguity in v. 5a: the Hebrew literally reads, "The Lord God has opened to/for me an ear." Whose ear? It could be the Servant's or it could be God's. Or both--because both must be open for the Servant to do the work of sustaining the weary.)

The reading concludes in the style of many of the individual laments in the Psalms (including today's Psalm 31) and the very similar "confessions" of Jeremiah, with a statement of confidence that, despite all the torture and degradation, the LORD has the final say. and that verdict is one of vindication of the Servant.

The organic connection between the Servant and all later servants who bear his name is reiterated in the introduction to Phil 2:5-11. As has been widely observed, vv. 6-11 are likely an early christological hymn, inserted by Paul at this point. It is his lead-in that is not to be missed: "Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus" (v. 5). Twenty-first-century Americans, with their hyperindividualism and "most toys" standard of success, have difficulty with even the thought categories that Paul is advocating, of renunciation of privilege and deference to others' needs (vv. 3-4). Holy Week is the best possible time to bring to bear on the consciousness of us all (ourselves, as well as our hearers) the notion of an alternative that, if taken as task, will turn our worldview and our values upside down. In fact, as we'll see, of all possible Holy Weeks there's no beating Year C, the Year of Luke, to demonstrate from the climactic events of Jesus' own life this divine inversion of priorities.

Luke's passion narrative strikes a fine balance between the deserted, agonized Jesus of Mark's Gospel and the exalted, triumphant one of John's. As such, it's a fitting partner with readings that emphasize both the downs and the ups inherent in faithful service. As always in the Gospels, it's the little things that make the point. (Here and throughout these reflections, I acknowledge the influence of my colleague Fred Niedner, who kindly permitted me to sit in on his Gospels course in the fall semester.)

For example, both Matthew and Mark place the dispute among the disciples over greatness just before Jesus' "Palm Sunday" entrance into Jerusalem (Mt 20:20-28; Mk 10:35-45). Luke moves the incident to the following Thursday evening, soon before Jesus' arrest. Luke omits the request of James and John for the seats of honor in the kingdom but includes a promise that all twelve will "sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel" (22:30). Then, instead of discussing specifically who sits where, Luke shows us who gets the places of honor: "criminals, one on his right and one on his left" (23:33). Only Luke places the disputation between those so situated at the climactic moment: one calls to Jesus to aid his escape from the cross (a literal theology of glory), while the other accepts the cross and asks only to be remembered (23:39-42). It is the latter who receives the promise of a place in Paradise (23:43).

Similarly, only Luke includes three words of concern for others on that fateful Friday. Jesus speaks to the women weeping for him as he bears the cross (23:28-31), prays forgiveness for those killing him (23:34), and, as noted, comforts his fellow victim of Roman "justice." The purpose of raising these Lukan distinctives is not to suggest an absence of concern for others in the other Gospels (cf. Jn 19:26f.) but to highlight that it's an especially high priority in Luke. And the outcome of such an approach to life is that others are brought together, even despite themselves, as with Pilate and Herod Antipas (23:12).

Finally, having cared for his friends, his enemies, and his fellow in suffering, Jesus is able to let go of his servant vocation and yield himself into the care of God: "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit" (23:46). As my colleague Walter Wangerin, Jr., has so artfully depicted the moment in his novel Jesus (Zondervan, 2005), the Son hearkens back to an evening prayer that he learned as a child, Psalm 31, and speaks the first-century Jewish equivalent of "Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take."

"Therefore God also highly exalted him," as St. Paul says (Phil 2:9)--but that's next Sunday's story. GCH