Let’s face it…

the world in which we live is an utter mess.

The brutal and bloody-minded bombardment of the West Bank continues…

with the international community seemingly unable and unwilling to hold Israel in check…

or to account.

Meanwhile, the war in Ukraine continues…

as does the civil war in Sudan—

in which more than eight million have been displaced—

and in Yemen…

and in Syria…

and in Myanmar…

and in Haiti.

Not to mention tribal conflict in Papua New Guinea.

And, of course, let’s not forget what’s happening, still, in Iraq, Iran, and Afghanistan.

And who knows what’s happening in other parts of Africa!

Add to that the continual tensions in the South China Seas…

and sabre-rattling by the North Koreans.

There’s state-sanctioned oppression—

with people being detained…

and tortured…

and, simply, disappearing—

in places like Cambodia and West Papua…

and, no doubt, in many other parts of Africa, Asia, and South America.

Add to that the rampant poverty of much of our world;

the growing wealth disparity;

the continued exploitation of cheap and expendable labour in the Third World;

and the whole-scale destruction of vast areas of virgin rainforest in the Amazon, Southeast Asia, and parts of Africa.

As a result, there are more displaced persons—

asylum seekers… 

and refugees— 

than at any other time in human history;

far more, even, than following the Second World War.

Meanwhile, in Saudi Arabia, ordinary people can be sentenced with punishments of up to a thousand lashes…

simply for—

in the judgment of the Religious Police—

insulting Islam;

while the levels of violence against women in places like India… 

and many parts of the Pacific… 

is truly sickening.

Even in a fairly stable and affluent country like ours… 

people feel increasingly disillusioned with the political system…

which seems to become more combative… 

shriller… 

and nastier with each passing day;

and any sense of bi-partisan agreement and cooperation—

like happened even a generation or so ago—

is simply relegated to a naïve past. 

And there seems to be nothing that we can do to change that… 

or to reset the parameters.

 

In the face of all of that…

it’s hard not to be disillusioned and despondent.

And, in our disillusionment and despondency…

it’s almost natural that we yearn for some power or force—

something beyond or outside of ourselves—

to intervene…

to help us out…

and to make it all right.

As Dietrich Bonhoeffer reminds us…

in our exasperation and distress… 

our religiosity makes us “look…to the power of God in the world”;

we try to use God as “a Deus ex machina”—

that is, like a theatrical plot device—

as one who will miraculously, abruptly, and unexpectedly intervene… 

in order to resolve an unsolvable problem.

And, in a sense—

although it might not appear as such on the surface—

that’s also what is going on this morning…

in our reading from Mark’s Gospel…

in the story that we know as “Palm Sunday”.

Here, we have Jesus approaching the city of Jerusalem…

seemingly in the manner of a triumphant and conquering general or king.

And yet, it’s important to picture the scene as it’s described for…

and as it would have been heard by…

a first-century audience.

Here we have a rag-tag collection of peasants and social riff-raff— 

including beggars and prostitutes—

at least some of whom would have been stooped or deformed…

with missing teeth;

and most, if not all, dressed in badly patched and threadbare tunics and worn-out sandals…

dirty and dishevelled…

but jumping and dancing like they were possessed or drunk…

and acclaiming Jesus as Messiah—

as the One who would restore the Kingdom of David…

and cast out the hated Romans…

and their own upper classes who silently sided with the brutal occupiers.

And yet, this Jesus, whom they acclaim was another poor peasant— 

just like them—

most likely wearing an equally worn and threadbare tunic…

certainly not elegantly dressed in a purple robe and crown.

And, rather than riding a snorting, stomping black stallion in glistening armour…

he sits astride a smallish young donkey…

which, the author insists, had never been ridden before…

meaning that it would have been stopping and starting in fits and jumps…

kicking, and bucking, and braying… 

and careering all over the road;

while the rag-tag rabble waved olive branches…

and threw their tattered cloaks on the road like some sort of red carpet.

The whole scene— 

as the author crafts it—

is so surreal and absurd that you would think that it was written by a modernist French playwright.

 

On the face of it, then, it clearly seems to be a parody of political power.

And that parody is even more poignant when you realise the context—

that the author crafted this scene in the direct aftermath of the revolt against Rome…

and the destruction of Jerusalem and its Temple.

The people of Israel in Jesus’ day…

did, indeed, yearn for a powerful political leader to throw out the Romans…

and to restore David’s kingdom…

but that had failed dismally.

The capital…

and the glorious Temple itself…

lay in ruins.

This scene needs to be read and re-imagined in that context.

As such… 

this scene of a first-century piece of street theatre… 

critiques all of our pretensions of power.

And it clearly asserts that our yearning for someone with strength and power… 

who will rise up and intervene… 

and sort out the problems of our community and our world…

by means of armies and might and the exercise of power…

is futile.

That is not the solution.

That is actually part of the problem.

 

But, in so deconstructing and critiquing the pretensions of political power…

this scene also deconstructs and critiques our images of God.

If power and might can’t save us…

then neither can a powerful and mighty God.

As Bonhoeffer reminds us—

contrary to what we yearn for—

the Bible repeatedly points us to a powerless God…

and, he declares, “Only a suffering God can help”.

Or, to put it another way…

the theologian, John Caputo, suggests that seeing God as an absolute Being actually diminishes God.

It just creates a God who reflects the human need for stability;

a God who simply personifies our insecurities, our needs, and our fears.

Rather, he suggests, we ought to think of God as “the great perhaps”;

as the One who calls…

who allures…

who inspires…

and, even, who threatens;

not acting or doing in a human sense—

in the sense of active agency—

but inviting us to action.

 

The surreal and satirical parody that is Palm Sunday… 

not only mocks all of our pretensions to power…

but it mocks all of our efforts to take comfort in an interventionist God.

God, it proclaims, is the One who comes to us…

not as a powerful king…

but as a carnival clown…

inviting us to see our faults and foibles;

God, it proclaims, is the One who comes to us… 

not in power…

but powerless and alone…

and empathetically embracing human suffering;

God, it proclaims, is the One who comes to us…

not to rescue and save us…

but to invite us to save ourselves.