Faith Works 3-27-10
Jeff Gill
Palm Fronds Above and Below
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You may well know that this Sunday is Palm Sunday. The first of the events recorded in all four of the Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John) that begins the final week of Jesus' public ministry is a triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Jesus rides into the city evoking all kinds of signs and symbols from Judaic tradition to say that he was fulfilling what the Torah and the Prophets had promised, from the humble animal he rode to the Psalm 118 chant of the crowd.
We tend to turn fairly quickly in church to the fact that it's this same crowd, so to speak, that will be calling out "Crucify him!" in mere days.
But before we go there, I want to stop and think a bit about those palms, and what they mean. In the traditions of the wider church from Augustine through Alexander Campbell to Tom Wright today, there's the reminder that each story and key element of the Biblical narrative has a practical, contextual meaning, and also a symbolic, spiritual level of understanding, then both triangulate a new meaning into our time and place. So the donkey Jesus rides isn't a parade float because they didn't have those back there (don't laugh, kids don't know that, and it helps to explain it), and it also ties Old Testament scripture from the Hebrew prophets into the New Testament gospel account, making us think about what it means to celebrate Christ's entry into our own lives.
And there's the palms. They have the same sort of layered meaning that kicks up some dust we have to sort through for modern comprehension. There's a quick note that is often made in Sunday school materials or in preachers' sermons, as to the fact that palms were laid in the roadway to mark the procession of a king or great leader in triumph, so doing this for Jesus was a message to the Roman authorities that they couldn't mistake about how the crowd looked to him as the promised one, the Moshiach, God's anointed.
Why, though? Why palms? Well, think about ancient near eastern roads, even in a capital like Jerusalem. They aren't paved with asphalt or striped for passing lanes: they're dirt. More to the point, they're either impassable mud, or they're dust. Thick, heavy, choking dust, and the passing of a cart or the running of a pack of dogs could raise up a cloud that dimmed the sun.
If someone was about to pass by that you honored, that you respect, that you want to see clearly, and they have a large crew of fellow celebrants with them, then you're going to have a problem. They're going to kick up huge clouds of dust, and not only will you not be able to see them, but you can't say to your friends "Hey, look there, this is the one I was telling you about!"
It's all dust.
So your response is to go to the date palms nearby, climb up to their spreading tops (or pay a child a shekel to climb for you) and tear off as many fronds as they can reach. The green branches with their broad flat leaves will be crushed and soon enough dust themselves, but for that first passage over them, the dust below will be held at bay.
There's another thing, though. Those palms can come back, even if only a couple of the highest leaves are left to draw the sun for strength (and no farmer's child would ever be so foolish as to strip every leaf off a single palm), but it takes a while. A year at least, maybe longer to get the level of shade you had before. You can't just do this every week for the latest singer in the marketplace who passes by.
You will lose your shade, a bit of your own comfort, and set yourself up for a hard stretch ahead if you choose to make this act of honor in your own stretch of road. Should you do it? Who will pass by next?
Or do you want to sacrifice your spot of cool ease to help others to see this person; someone you think, you suspect, you believe to be the Christ of God?
The shouting draws nearer, the kids up in your palm tree look down, asking with their eyes, "well, do we or don't we?" What would you sacrifice to help others see the man on the donkey more clearly?
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