Palm Sunday, Year B, April 5, 2012

O God, grant us the wisdom, the strength and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may, and cost what it will.

Holy Week – beginning with Palm Sunday – is often a time when we hear and are encouraged to identify with failure – failure of trust, failure of faith, failure to stay awake and alert, failure to pray, the failure of truth, failure of government, the failure of troops charged with keeping the peace, the failure of religious leaders, the failure of crowds of people. Most of the time in our Palm Sunday services, in a practice that goes back 1000 years, the congregation is expected to take the part of the crowd that shouts “crucify him.” I have to tell you I don’t like that practice at all.

My own close identification with the many failures has led me to dread Palm Sunday the way I dread stories with unhappy endings. I love the parade part! When I was young, the Palm Sunday parade made me feel giddy – which I think is the point. It’s knowing too much that dampens my enthusiasm now – that makes me feel guarded. In later years I’ve thought, “if I could only figure out how to take the parade right out of the church before the rest of the service starts – you know, just keep walking down the street – so I wouldn’t have to participate a liturgy that hammers the message that it was somehow because of us that Jesus died, that presses us to claim the guilt of the mob as our own.

It’s not that I don’t think that you and I are capable of and in fact guilty of missing the mark – of sin – in really big ways. We certainly are. We could spend useful time getting a better understanding of how crowds turn ugly and angry in order to learn to participate in preventing the often deadly effects. But I believe that wallowing in remorse is not how God would wish any of us to spend our days. So I want to know if it’s possible to listen to Mark’s passion narrative in a way which will refresh, renew, and re-invigorate us? How might listening to Mark’s passion narrative get us in touch with the creative and redeeming and inspiring power of God, even in the midst of violence and chaos all around us to sustain us through this holiest of weeks? You know, when we walk out of here in somber silence at the end of our service, I wish for us to have stronger resolve to be peacemakers.

For me, the creative and redeeming and inspiring power of God is most clearly exemplified in the stories of the women which bracket the passion narrative in Mark. The story of the anointing woman in Mark is very rarely read aloud in church. We are much more familiar with John’s version of the woman who washes Jesus’ feet with her tears and wipes them with her hair. But Mark, most likely written a generation before John, contains what I believe is a more historically accurate account, certainly more scandalous.

Mark’s story of the woman anointing Jesus’ head is only an optional extension of the reading on Palm Sunday every three years when the already very long Passion Narrative is scheduled to be read! (I opted to include it this year.) The two versions of the woman acting in a subservient way and anointing Jesus’ feet in Luke and John get read on Sundays in the lectionary. Furthermore, artwork depicting a woman anointing Jesus’ feet is bountiful, while artwork depicting a woman anointing Jesus’ head is almost non-existent. I bet if I’d asked you before the service today if you knew the story of the woman who anointed Jesus, chances are, if you said, “yes,” most of you would have told me about the woman anointing Jesus feet. We can’t remember the story of the woman anointing Jesus’ head because most of us never learned it in the first place. We don’t remember the story of the woman anointing Jesus’ head because it does not get told in memory of her, in spite of Jesus’ Gospel promise.

It’s not that the version in John of Mary of Bethany anointing Jesus’ feet is without merit. (In John, it is a beautiful precursor to six days later when Jesus washes his disciples’ feet. According to John, Mary of Bethany has shown Jesus how it’s done.) It’s not that John’s version isn’t good, it’s just that I’m with Jesus in wanting you to remember the woman who anointed his head. In a sermon that my professor Joanna Dewey preached, she said “In Jesus’ time a host might anoint ….a person on the head to call that person to God’s service, to consecrate her or him, and to empower that person to carry out God’s service. Elijah was instructed to anoint Elisha. In earlier times, priests were anointed. Above all, kings were anointed. It was the function of a prophet to anoint the sovereign, to announce God’s choice as Samuel anointed Saul, and later David…[This] woman was a prophet.”[1] I want you to remember this woman and any woman who has been bold and extravagant in her love. I want you to remember this woman and any woman who has been prophetic in her work. I want you to hear and identify with your own capacity to enact bold and extravagant, even wasteful, and prophetic love.

The end of the passion narrative in Mark tells of the most faithful witnesses: Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joses, and Salome were there among many other women. Mark tells us that they watched the horrible scene of these crucifixions from a distance and adds that they “used to follow him and provided for him when he was in Galilee…” What’s interesting is that the Marys and Salome have not made any appearance in the narrative before this point. Whatever you think you know about Mary Magdalene, you didn’t learn it from the Gospel of Mark. Yet, Mark’s hearers must have known Mary Magdalene – must have known James the lesser and Joses, must have known the Salome who provided for Jesus when he was in Galilee because no other explanation about their identity is offered. Salome is not named in any other part of the New Testament. However, the name Salome is frequently mentioned in extracanonical Gospel traditions and other early Christian literature[2] where Salome is sometimes described as Jesus’ biological sister, sometimes as disciple. And it’s possible that there were two Salomes associated with Jesus since Salome was a very popular name in Jesus’ time. In any case, here she is, with the Marys, unwilling or perhaps unable to avert their eyes from the agony of Jesus on the cross. They were unwilling, I think, to abandon him.

What drew my attention was the description “these used to follow him and provide for him.” The Greek word that is here translated “follow” also means to “go along with” – to accompany someone who is taking the lead in determining the direction or route. Sisters or companions or both, here are women who have provided for Jesus – provided meals, I imagine, provided comfort and rest, provided money. Think of what it means to provide for someone. And the Greek word that is here translated “provide” is the same word that is other places translated “deacon.”

Mark says “And there were many other women.” There were many other women who stood with Jesus – women who had come up with him to Jerusalem and who stayed to witness the unspeakable shame and pain of those being crucified. Many – a great number of other women who chose not to flee, who looked on with continuity and attention, with a sense of understanding, of recognition. This is the first time in Mark’s Gospel that a large number of women has been mentioned – in fact you could count on one hand the number of times that many women are reported gathered in the Bible. If it weren’t only women, the Gospel writer would have said a “large crowd” right? The size of the crowd of women must have been remarkable – literally – or else it wouldn’t have been mentioned.  Any one of the women (apart from those named) would have been unremarkable alone – it was the number that created the powerful witness.

These women were the eyewitnesses to Jesus’ death and to the place where his body was laid, according to the story. There are at least three things to remember about being an eyewitness. It takes at least two named witnesses to provide legitimate testimony – which is probably why the evangelist names some. Indeed, each of the four evangelists name at least two women in the death and burial place accounts. The second is that witnessing is not passive – it is doing something. It is noticing – taking something in – registering. And finally, there is not point to witnessing unless an account is told. These women stuck together, they noticed, and they told what they had seen.

So my radical request is this: as we reflect on how Mark’s passion narrative might refresh, renew, and reinvigorate us, I’d like to invite every single one of you to identify with one of these women – these faithful witnesses this Palm Sunday. Why is that radical? Well, for several reasons. It seems highly unusual to me to receive an invitation from the pulpit to be refreshed and inspired by a disciple of Jesus on Palm Sunday. The second reason is that while women are often encouraged to think ourselves included in the term “men,” men are not often invited to think themselves included in the term “women,” (even though the word men is right in the word women)! And it’s radical because it goes to a root (which is a meaning of radical), to a most basic principle and purpose of the Gospels: to inspire and encourage us to live more fully into the abundant love of God. The abundant love of these women IS the abundant love of God.

Think about these women and remember times when you have accompanied and provided for the well-being of one you loved. Imagine yourself in the future, loving in a bold, extravagant, wasteful, and prophetic way. Imagine remaining a steady presence when your beloved endures the worst imaginable humiliation and suffering. Think about these women and remember how powerful it can be to gather, to choose not to flee or to be alone. Imagine looking on with continuity and attention, with a sense of understanding, of recognition when hope appears to be lost. Think about these women and remember times when you have been persistent in seeking after truth. Imagine refusing to avert your eyes or to walk away from unspeakable pain and suffering. As we enter Holy Week, I invite you to stand with these women – stand along side them to remember and imagine, and indeed to embody – to become — the abundant love of God.

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