The Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ according to Matthew 26:14- 27:66

 

The Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ according to Matthew 26:14- 27:66

 

The heart of Judeo-Christian worship is remembrance. Holocaust survivor, Elie Wiesel, famously said, “If anything can, it is memory that can save humanity… Memory is not just a way to honor the past, but is a shield against evil.” Memory is a gateway to creating a better future for us all. This is especially true of our reading different accounts of Christ’s Passion each Palm Sunday, and John’s Passion on Good Friday: to guard against sentimentalism and to remember what is always at stake to risk, year after year, day after day, following The Way of Jesus.

 

For instance, we tend to think the Passion begins with the rag-a-tag parade into Jerusalem during the week of Passover – a political satire of the ways in which kings and emperors would enter major cities on a white steed, with many armed soldiers, and great pomp and circumstance. Branches and garments of a beleaguered populace, Jesus on a donkey, people chanting, “Hossana!” was easy to be overlooked by the crowds of people from all over the ancient world crowding the streets of Jerusalem for Passover.

 

But as Matthew tells the tale, Christ’s passion begins all the way back in the beginning – in Bethlehem, the City of David, the child’s great-great-great-great-grandfather. The empire wanted him dead, he of whom it was said was born to be King of the Jews. King of the Jews was Herod’s job. Herod, who set out to have the child hunted down and killed, along with all his aunts, uncles, and cousins – all the children under the age of two were to be killed. The trauma must have been insurmountable. Joseph is warned in a dream that they would hunt the whole family down, so he takes the child and his mother to Egypt to hide, safe from the clutches of the Caesars and Herods of the Empire. Years later, when he eventually returned, and began to teach people, heal people, people, and love people, the hunt-to-kill Jesus was revived.

 

As one listens to Matthew’s Passion, we will see that indeed, the very crowd that shouted “Hossana!” and welcomed him to the festival, will later turn sour, egged on by Pilate. Pilate who offers a choice. “I can release Jesus Barabas (that is Jesus son of the father), or Jesus who is called Christos, or Messiah.” Barabas had led an armed insurrection that had promised liberation from the Empire by way of the sword. Whereas, Jesus Christos taught liberation through love of God, neighbor, and even love of enemies. The crowd sees more promise in the sword and ask for Barabas. It seems that we always do, generation after generation. The Way of Jesus Christos just seems too difficult and takes too much time and effort. We try to forget how futile is the choice for violence. Yet, we continue to make that choice right down to the present day.

 

Pilate wants to pass the buck. He tries to avoid blame by washing his hands. If we remember, we have heard all this before: “The woman made me eat it…somebody else is responsible…I was only following orders…I was not in charge…I heard the people and did what they asked.” Such excuses echo throughout history. In Jerusalem that day, the chief priests and leaders of the people were afraid. Afraid that if they tried to intervene, they would be next. They remember that the Empire had been hunting this man since he was a child. Pilate’s wife issues a warns him of a dream she has had, thus further complicating things even further. Pilate, who had given up smoking just the week before lights up and takes a long drag, and wonders just why he lobbied for this job in this God-forsaken province in the first place.

 

Then Matthew, and only Matthew of the four evangelists, portrays the crowd shouting out, “His blood be on us and on our children.” Pilate is relieved. For centuries Gentile Christians have felt relief. And yet, no single verse in all of scripture has caused more heartache, damage, and death. Wiesel would be appalled at how many people today have never heard of the Holocaust; how many deny it ever happened. Let alone do they even know the long history of anti-Semitism this one verse set in motion. Years ago, I met someone who grew up Jewish in Baltimore, and who had to run home from school Holy Week every year with Christian classmates chasing him ready to beat him up for being responsible for the death of Jesus. That was probably fifty or more years ago. On one day two weeks ago, a man drove his car into a Michigan synagogue with the intent to kill Jews, while the same day another man walked into an ROTC class at Old Dominion University and began shooting, killing the instructor and critically wounding two students perceived to be related to our current military intervention in the Middle East with our current and only ally, Israel. In the Middle East, memories last for centuries. For many, the Crusades seem to have happened just a few years ago, just a generation ago.

 

Scholars have tried to understand why Matthew included this one verse. Did the crowd really shout this? Was it to indicate the fulfillment of some ancient prophecy? Or, did he really mean it literally, as if to say, “We will take the blame, but only for one more generation; the generation of our own children?” One verse continues to fuel anti-Semitic violence throughout the ages.

 

The Passion narratives seem to highlight what Hannah Arendt, listening to the testimony of Adolph Eichman, called “the banality of evil.” People in Jerusalem that day, people from all over the world, just went about their business. No one spoke up on behalf of Jesus called the Christos, the Messiah. The centurion, and other Roman soldiers, who had been tasked to handle Jesus, mocked him and cast lots for his clothing. And yet, are the only witnesses who may have said, “Truly, this man was God’s Son.” Surely Matthew means this to be ironic! Because this is not a story meant to convey that Gentiles got it, and Jews did not. We are meant to dig deep and ask ourselves what would we do had we been there that day? Would we go along with the crowd? Would we run off and hide with the disciples? Would we cast lots for his clothing with the soldiers? Simply go about our business in the marketplace to prepare the Passover meal?

 

What do we think when we hear the crowd choosing Barabas? What do we feel and say when our own leaders and crowds choose the sword over the love of God and God’s Son over and over again? Do we speak out when someone tells an anti-Semitic “joke”? Or, makes an anti-Semitic slur? Jesus was a Jew, through and through. He was in Jerusalem for all the appointed festivals. He invites one and all to live the Way his Father wants us to live – to love God, to love neighbor, and even to love and pray for our enemies. And our prayers for our enemies ought not to be for “overwhelming violence of action against those who deserve no mercy,” as was the prayer in the Pentagon this past week. As we listen to this Passion account of Matthew’s with compassion for Jesus, may we remember that “If anything can, it is memory that can save humanity.” To remember, that every moment of every day there are those who die on the cross with our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Who ought to speak out on their behalf? Archbishop Desmond Tutu used to say that to be silent or neutral is to side with the oppressors every time. And what we need most to remember is that the Cross was not the end of the Empire’s hunt to silence Jesus, and that three days later, Jesus’s resurrection was the beginning of a new and better future for all humankind, should we remember who we are and whose we are.