In a time that feels like the opposite of peace, where our news and social media feeds fill us with visions and stories of division, dissonance and devastation, we need the image, the truth and reality of Jesus’ non-triumphal entry more than ever. An entry symbolizing and embodying radical peace that not only has the power to transform the world but, more importantly, our hearts.
TranscriptLast week I attended one of the discussion groups at the aged care facility where I work. A group that chews the fat, reminisces the past and heartily debates the future all over a glass of wine or a shot of whiskey. On this particular occasion, one of the residents (half way through his own glass of wine mind you) asked me how I felt about my homeland, Canada, becoming the 51st state. A question that has been poked at me one too many times this past month. A joke I wish I could laugh at or have a calm response to after having a glass of wine myself – but alas, no drinking at work. And so, in lieu of falling into despair or rage at this dear resident who was only trying to get my goat (mission accomplished) I turned the question on him: how did he feel about the current state of the world? Now this man, a man well into his 90’s, responded by saying that it feels like it did back in England, a childhood marred with fear – where he remembers his mother waking him up in the wee hours of the morning to hide in a bunker as bombs fell from the sky while wondering if he’d ever see his own father again. They say history repeats itself. They say we should listen to our elders. Maybe if we did, history wouldn’t have to repeat itself. But it’s not just the lessons from the 20th century we seem to be forgetting; this is true across all human history, at least in the West, and true in all the stories we read in the Bible. We find ourselves constantly forgetting and then remembering (often when it’s too late) that peace is not only hard-won but hard-kept. We forget that peace is, in fact, a state that we actively choose for our world, our countries, our societies, our churches, and ourselves. A state, it seems, that is becoming more elusive not only in our world but within ourselves. For one of the biggest crises of our time, a crisis that continues to remain hidden in the shadow of the cost of living or the demise of Western democracy, is the mental health crisis. At no other point in history have we seen youth struggling as much as they are now with depression, anxiety, loneliness and suicide, with over 40% of young Australians experiencing a mental disorder. In other words, peace of mind and peace on earth has always been elusive but now, like at other points in history, it seems to be evaporating. Wind the clock way back and this was the state in which Jesus was living too. A time where peace was elusive, where a ‘false peace’ ruled the land instead. A peace instituted by the Roman Empire called the Pax Romana – that is, a peace enforced by imprisonment, murder or, worse yet, crucifixion if anyone were to challenge or disrupt the rule of the Empire. A peace that kept the power, the privilege and wealth within the cloisters of the 1% – that is, Caesar and his right-hand men (and I can guarantee they were men) – while everyone else, some 95% of the population, were living paycheck to paycheck, starving or starving to death. And with this context in the forefront of our minds, we meet Jesus today on the Mount of Olives, where he tells his disciples to get him an unridden colt to ride into Jerusalem with. An image echoing and fulfilling the prophecy preached from Zechariah where the Messiah will come riding not in pride or prestige, as Caesar would, but on a lowly colt. A humble entrance to bring an end to unrest through the kingdom of God — the peace of heaven — coming to earth. And so, when the multitude of disciples see this scene, with Jesus fulfilling scripture passed down from generation to generation, their natural instinct is to strip, to take off their cloaks. Now, I thought it would be less offensive for us to be waving palm branches today. You’re welcome. But as it is, a multitude of disciples lay their cloaks on the ground to line the path for Jesus’ humble and non-triumphal entry. As he makes his way down the mountain, the disciples break into joyful noise, singing, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest heaven!” Some Pharisees in the crowd tell Jesus to stop his disciples – we don’t know if they’re embarrassed or afraid for Jesus’ life (both are probably true) – but Jesus responds, saying, “If these were silent, the stones would shout out.” In other words, this is not only the right response to Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, it is a response instinctually embedded not only in humans but in the whole creation, stones included, in the face of God’s peace coming to earth. And so our scripture today is a joyous and a hope-filled one. But it is also a story of deep paradox, for it seems like the Pharisees and Jesus are the only ones in the know that this joyous and hope-filled entry is only the beginning of the path that will lead to something more heinous than you and I could ever truly imagine: the cross. But this is often the way of peace – a word that sounds soft, supple and spineless. A word that avoids disagreement and dissonance. A word we use in church so often that it’s lost its chutzpah. “Peace be with you,” we say smiling at one another, as polite, mate-worthy Australians. But nothing could be further from the truth. The Greek word for peace, Eirene, comes from the word eiro — to join or bind together. A force that brings together that which has been separated or divided. It’s in this union where we get the resulting feelings of Eirene — that is, a sense of harmony that is not just the opposite of war but is what it means to be joined and bound to God independent of outward circumstances. Peace, in other words, is not only meant to transform us into harmonious beings but is the very adhesive that binds us to God. And it’s controversial. It’s controversial in a world that literally profits off division, dissonance, and unrest. It’s controversial in a world that worships Caesar — the ceaseless rat-race and capital at all costs — corrupting our relationship with creation. But it’s in its controversy, in its radical subversion of the status quo, and in its inability to shut up where all the transformation lies. And so it’s not a coincidence that we meet Jesus today on a mountain — a place that was symbolically understood as where heaven and earth meet, or rather, where they are bound together. And as Jesus is coming down this mountain, something deeply instinctual releases in the disciples gathered. They throw off their cloaks and, for many of these disciples, this would have been the only thing that they owned. The only thing shielding them from the elements, and giving them their last bit of worth in a society filled with shame and poverty. And yet, they, like Mary who poured 300 denarii worth of perfume on Jesus’ feet, do know what’s going on, perhaps even more than the Pharisees. They see and they know that Jesus, not Caesar, is the king long awaited since the proclamation from Zechariah. And so they shout, they proclaim, laying everything on the line, laying all they have at the feet of the true king’s peace and glory coming to earth. A peace that kisses and binds itself to their here and now despite their destitution, despite drawing dangerous attention to themselves and to Jesus, and despite the threat and the inevitability of the cross. For this king, riding on a borrowed, unridden colt, is bringing a peace that transforms. A peace that saves. And a peace that liberates. No Pax Romana. No Caesar or his right-hand men. No tax collectors and their tariffs. The only peace there is, is the one that binds us and brings us into the fold — the liberation and salvation of God. And so there’s power in this symbol, in this entrance, in walking, marching, protesting, rallying, laying everything down, laying everything on the line and shouting the way of Christ’s peace that will not be silenced. It may seem innocuous, it may seem ineffective, but it is the way, the truth and the life of the one we follow. This past week we saw this way of protesting and proclamation in over 1400 demonstrations across America, where instead of palm branches, placards and posters waved in the air by the hundreds of thousands standing up against the false peace of their president. Today at 1pm on the Princes Bridge, we’ll see this way of walking and rallying with religious and non-religious folk alike advocating for peaceful asylum for refugees. We saw this way of laying everything on the line during the height of Nazism, where people like Dietrich Bonhoeffer bound themselves to true peace to participate in liberation not only for Jews, but for the world — which ultimately led to his execution. We saw it in Jesus, the one who was fully bound to God, leading the way of peace in his ministry, in his triumphal entry into Jerusalem. And we will see it next week in the washing of the disciples’ feet, at the Last Supper, and on the cross. So will we be ruled by the false peace of our governments, our societies and even our own church? Will we stand on the sidelines and keep the concept of Christ’s peace safely locked away in the confines of our minds, and in the comfort of these pews? Or will we let the reality of Christ’s peace transcend our bodies, transform our hearts — despite embarrassment, despite danger and despite death — joining with the stones in praise, proclamation and protest of the one bringing a peace more liberating and more salvific than we could ever imagine? May we be brave. May we be bold. And may it be so.
by Rev Alisha 
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