Lectionary Commentaries for April 2, 2023
Sunday of the Passion (Palm Sunday)

There’s an inherent incongruity in the juxtaposition of this lengthy report of Jesus’ trial and crucifixion and the procession of the palms that may accompany its reading.

[If you are looking for a commentary on Matthew 21:1-11, please see this 2019 Palm Sunday commentary by Greg Carey.]

The reports in Matthew’s gospel of Jesus’ conflict with the chief priests and the elders culminates with his arrest and trial before Pilate, and ultimately his death at the hands of Roman officials. This gospel record presents a picture of Jewish religion that is restrictive and repressive. Daniel Migliore calls it “the dark side of religion,”¹ and contrasts the positive aspects of Jesus’ ministry—the teaching, healing and works of compassion by Jesus and the responses of the common people, with that of “the official defenders of the faith and the law of Israel … who act as the prosecuting attorneys”² at Jesus’ trial.

Yet, the chief priests and the elders cannot be made to shoulder the full blame for Jesus’ arrest, trial, conviction and death. Pilate, as the representative of the civil government under whose rule the people live an oppressed life, also bears responsibility for such a miscarriage of justice. He suspects, or even believes, that Jesus is innocent and is even warned by his wife about the possible consequences of being party to an unjust verdict against “that innocent man.” But he refuses to take a stand for justice and instead shifts the decision and the responsibility to the crowd. His questioning of the crowd is not a sincere attempt to see justice done. It is a scheme to pass the buck away from himself. It is a common practice in both church and society as responsibilities are passed from individuals to committees.

In the case of Jesus, the committee of the gathered crowd passes judgment without demurral of even those who might have benefitted from Jesus’ actions during his ministry among the people. It is an example of the evil and injustice that work to convict the innocent. Matthew does not name the disciples, but one wonders where they, or the crowds that had been healed, fed, taught or empowered by Jesus to overcome their troublesome life situations, might have been. The crowd is vocal and gives Pilate an “out,” an opportunity to wash his hands, even literally, and plead his own innocence.

Jesus pays the price, is condemned, mocked, and crucified, yet he remains silent. His only outbursts of sound are appeals made to God as the curtain closes on the scene. Along the way, instead of the acclamation that was the response to his entrance into Jerusalem, this crowd derides him for his claims as God’s son. And his divinity is recognized by a human voice only as nature proclaims the mystery of death being overcome by life as the tombs are opened and the once-dead are brought back to life.

This lengthy text seems incongruous applied to a day that is typically devoted to the celebration of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. For the worship service where it is presented, it offers an opportunity for the hearers to pass the blame for Jesus’ death to Pilate, to the temple authorities, or the crowd, as we who claim the name Christian in our day stand on the sidelines, certain that in real time, we would do better, be better, act better, in a way that shows us fully on the side of Jesus and ready and willing to proclaim his innocence loudly, regardless of the consequences.

On the other hand, it offers the preacher an opportunity to name our own collusion with the various groups then and now who act deliberately or in collusion with those who would victimize today’s innocent. In times past and even today in some circles, this text has been used to support anti-Semitic beliefs. Even without that extreme and erroneous interpretation, it may cause a sense of discomfort or guilt about times when we have been silent in the face of injustice, sided with the mob for our own protection, washed our hands to avoid our responsibility when a decision required that we stand against the crowd, or even that we waited until after the evil was done, before we took a stand for truth and justice.

As human beings we too often try to justify the wrongs we support and find ways to claim our innocence, dismissing the guilt and shirking the responsibility to do good as followers of Christ. The palms we wave should not be used to dispel the stench of evil that accompanies our collusion with those who seek to pervert justice and show their power over others. Instead, we must use them to call others to join with us in naming the wrongs and seeking justice for those who cannot or will not speak for themselves.

One may well ask why Jesus did not speak out on his own behalf. Jesus knows that the cross is his destiny. He knows that as Son of God he has the omnipotence of the divine. Yet he chooses not to exercise his divine power in the face of human wrong, because of his commitment to take our sins upon himself. And God seems silent also just when Jesus seems to need him most. Jesus breaks his silence only to cry out to God, seemingly in despair. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” is too often our cry in the face of our own experiences of oppression and injustice when it seems that our cries go unheard and our appeals to God are unanswered. As we consider this text, we are called to recognize ourselves in all the human roles it portrays. In humility we must recognize the various places where we stand and ponder not simply what we would have done differently, but also what opportunities we are being given to seek justice in service to Christ for the building of the kin-dom on earth.

Notes

1. Daniel L. Migliore, Matthew 27:11-26, Theological Perspective, in Feasting on the Gospels, Matthew. Volume 2 Chapters 14- 28, (Louisville, Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013), p. 326.
2. Migliore, 326.

Can Jesus’ followers abide with the reality of his crucifixion? Can we?

Matthew’s passion story brings out several unique emphases. Together, some of these features confront readers with the awful nature of Jesus’ fate—and with our reluctance to deal with it. Yet Jesus abides with us all. He feeds us all.

Before we turn to exegesis, let us acknowledge where many Christians abide, those who will hear our Passion Sunday preaching. Some folk glory in the grim details of Jesus’ suffering. The Gospels do not dwell on these points, taking for granted that ancient audiences understood the brutality of flogging and crucifixion. But some believers participate in the grisly spirituality of Mel Gibson’s film The Passion of the Christ and amplify what Jesus endured. There is no good news in the degree of Jesus’ suffering.

More of us Protestants minimize the brutal reality of Jesus’ death. The crosses we hang in our churches and around our necks are empty, a quiet affirmation of the resurrection. We are eliminating blood language from our hymnals, and I generally endorse this trend. We say things like, “Jesus died to show God’s love for us.” Frankly, I do not understand how Jesus’ death demonstrates love—at least not apart from the entire story of Jesus as Emmanuel (Matthew 1:23), come to heal us by living and dying among us. We stop short of appreciating with Paul that Jesus’ execution amounts to a scandal (often translated, “offense”; 1 Corinthians 1:23). We would avoid the full horror of the cross.

I understand. I didn’t make it through the film 12 Years a Slave.

Matthew does not amplify the horror of the cross, but the Gospel does show us how it looks when Jesus’ followers cannot endure witnessing it.

Judas provides our first example. It does no good to conjure up explanations for Judas’ betrayal. Matthew presents it as a matter of greed, all but unimaginable. Judas approaches the chief priests and offers: “What will you give me if I betray him to you?” (26:15). The story suggests nothing good about Judas or his motives.

Jesus subtly identifies Judas during the final meal (Matthew 26:20-25). Here Judas singles himself out: “Surely not I, Rabbi?” As reprehensible as Judas’ behavior has been, Jesus serves him along with the rest of the Twelve. The Twelve will all fail Jesus, but Jesus will not fail them.

Alone among the Gospels, Matthew returns to Judas (27:3-10). Luke’s tradition concerning Judas occurs in Acts. Judas, Matthew reports, repents. The repentance seems genuine, as Judas abandons his thirty pieces of silver, but it also happens way too late. Jesus already faces Pilate. When Jesus’ arrest is a theoretical matter, Judas is all too willing to assist—for the right price. But when Jesus has already been arrested and abused, his death imminent, Judas cannot bear the burden. So he hangs himself. Judas cannot follow through on his bargain because he cannot tolerate Jesus’ unmerited suffering, much less his own role in it.

Judas alone betrays Jesus, but Jesus’ male disciples all abandon him. At the Mount of Olives Jesus tells them they “will all become deserters” (Matthew 26:31). Like Judas, Peter singles himself out: “Though all become deserters because of you, I will never desert you” (26:33). In Gethsemane, Peter, James, and John cannot even stay awake to keep Jesus company in his distress (26:40). Of course the disciples all flee—Peter too—when Jesus is arrested (26:56). Like Judas, they cannot bear Jesus’ fate. We imagine they also don’t want to share it. They are not up to the crisis.

One anonymous disciple would avert Jesus’ fate in a different way. He draws a short “sword” and wounds a member of the arrest party, a person enslaved to the high priest (Matthew 26:51-54). His is an impulsive courage, short-lived. But this act of violence also betrays an aversion to endure Jesus’s arrest, suffering, and death.

Peter has promised he will not desert Jesus. Jesus says Peter will deny him, if not desert him (Matthew 26:34). Readers often overlook that Peter has supposedly abandoned Jesus before he sneaks in to overhear Jesus’ interrogation. Having fled with the rest, Peter, like Judas, revisits his failure. We find Peter in the courtyard of the high priest, a distant witness to Jesus’ interrogation and humiliation. At this safe distance Peter might remain with Jesus to the end, were he not identified by two enslaved women and some bystanders. Having denied Jesus three times, Peter leaves the scene to weep alone (26:69-75). He will no longer observe Jesus’ ordeal.

At the cross none of the male disciples remain with Jesus. But “many” women do, most unnamed and three singled out (Matthew 27:55-56). These are Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joseph (probably not Jesus’ mother), and the unnamed mother of James and John. In contrast to the Twelve and other male disciples, these women bear witness to it all.

Even Pilate wants to distance himself from Jesus’ fate. Pilate’s wife has already warned the governor that Jesus is innocent, advising him not to get involved in Jesus’ death (Matthew 27:19). He protests to the crowd, somewhat weakly for one who embodies Caesar’s presence: “Why, what evil has he done?” (27:23). He even washes his hands and proclaims his own innocence (27:24). Pilate may flog Jesus and hand him over to crucifixion, but he will not witness the final events.

Passion Sunday asks that we pause to witness an atrocity. Jesus, God with us, humiliated, tortured, executed, and buried. But if we want to appreciate what it means for God to dwell with us in all the glory and all the horror of our condition, it is time to sit still and hear this story. Jesus stays with us, however uncomfortable that makes us.

A repeated refrain throughout scripture is that those who should listen to prophets frequently do not. Kings are perhaps the most obvious offenders (for example, 1 Kings 11:37-39, 14:7-14; Amos 7:10-13; Jeremiah 36:20-26; 2 Chronicles 24:19) and the people of God are the next (for example, Jeremiah 7:27-28; Nehemiah 9:26; Luke 16:31). Lest we fall into an anti-Jewish trope, we should note also that followers of Jesus are no less likely to have problems responding properly to God’s prophets (for example, 1 Corinthians 14:26-33a) and/or listening to the false ones (for example, Matthew 24:11; 2 Peter 2:1-3; 1 John 4:1). Thus, while pharisees and other Jewish contemporaries of Jesus may have the reputation for persecuting God’s messengers, it is undoubtedly true that across history, more of God’s prophets have been martyred by “Babylon” (in other words, gentile imperial power) than by Jerusalem (see also, Revelation 18:24).

The first reading for Palm Sunday is another occurrence of this leitmotif. In Isaiah 50:4-9a, as well, we are presented with a prophet who is abused by his hearers and to whom no one listens: “I gave my back to those who struck me, / and my cheeks to those who pulled out the beard; / I did not hide my face / from insult and spitting” (Isaiah 50:6 New Revised Standard Version).

Given this persistent theme dispersed across the canon, I find it remarkable that so often our response to God’s command, “Listen to the prophets!” is righteous indignation. Many of us are quick to answer, “Yeah! How come no one listens to me?” Indeed, as is the case with listening in general, we are far more sensitive to those times when we are ignored than we are to those times when we do not hear.

The truth is that scripture admonishes people for failing to listen to the prophets far more frequently than it faults them for unsuccessfully being one. This might be surprising for some preachers and for many in our congregations. It is a compelling sermon indeed to tell people that prophets are rare, and that prophetic truth is faint. In such a setting, merely encouraging people to speak the truth (rather than to do anything) can feel sufficient. But that is not what God calls us to. To be clear, should we have the truth, I believe we should speak it to power; if we see injustice, we should shout tirelessly to dismantle it. But these prophetic acts need an audience, and for some of us (especially if we are relatively well off), in these situations hearer might be our assigned role more often than speaker. This can be difficult to accept because it is humbling. Like Naaman, the Aramean military commander who sought healing from Israel’s God, we would rather God honor us with a miracle or a noble task than assign us a humiliating act of obedience that no one will see (2 Kings 5:9-14).

I teach Hebrew Bible/Old Testament courses at a seminary. In one of my units on the biblical prophets, I ask my students: “According to the Bible, are prophets born or made?” It is the kind of question that does not really have a correct answer, or rather, it has more than one. Arguably, both kinds of prophets can be found in scripture. What often intrigues my students as they search for these answers, however, is how frequently people do not ask to be prophets in the Bible, and further, how often they seem not to want the job once they have it (for example, Jeremiah 20:7-18; Isaiah 50:4-6; Luke 22:42). Being a prophet of God usually involves a degree of suffering and for many it is not a role they would have chosen, had they had the option.

If we understand both suffering and being ignored to be fundamental qualities of playing the role of prophet according to the Bible, our consciousness might expand to realize that today God’s prophets are everywhere. They speak of injustice, inequality, and violence but few listen. They suffer and have only God to vindicate them (Isaiah 50:8). Thus, for those of us who are fortunate enough not to be counted as one of God’s prophets, merely passing on their message is not enough. Worse, we can garble it. It is like that old, silly game, “telephone”: When the unperturbed are trusted to carry forward a testimony of injustice, we cannot help but hear only what we expect to hear and repeat only what we think should be said.

Some may wish to blame the rise of social media for this widespread preference for playing the prophet rather than for doing the hard work of justice. Admittedly, thanks to technology, it is easy today for anyone to speak publicly about inequality and societal wrongs, even if they never do much more about the issues than that. I am less certain, however, that our phones and feeds have changed us that much, at least in this particular way. As scripture reminds us, there have always been those who would much rather talk about justice than do it, especially when the enactment of justice would destabilize their own comforts. Likewise, even as technology gives us more ways to get our message out, it also provides those in power with more tools for ignoring those whom God would have them hear.

In the end, the way forward is the same as it has always been: Listen to the prophets and worry less about whether others perceive us as being one of them. God’s prophets surround us in our communities, in our families, and in our memories of those no longer with us. We can recognize them because they look like the speaker in Isaiah 50:4-9a. In faith, we can trust that God vindicates them. But in the meantime, will we attend to them? Will we listen to what God is saying to us through them? Or will we ignore them like so many others, and thus eventually be worn out like a garment and eaten up by the moth (verse 9)? And if that is the fate we choose, did we ever even really want to be a prophet to begin with?

Jesus’ words in Luke 23:46, incorporating the words of Psalm 31:5, “Into your hands I commit my spirit,” forever tie the psalm, along with Psalms 22 and 69, to the passion narratives of Jesus of Nazareth.¹

But there is much more to this psalm. It is located in Book One of the Psalter’s collection of Davidic psalms and is classified as an individual lament, in which an individual cries out to God in the midst of a perilous, even life-threatening situation. Laments typically consist of five elements:

1. an invocation, in which the psalmist invokes the presence of God as she cries for help
2. a complaint, or lament, in which the psalm singer tells God what is wrong, the situation in which she finds herself that prompts the words of the psalm
3. a petition, in which the singer tells God what she wants God to do to alleviate the oppression that she feels
4. words of trust, in which the psalmist recalls times in the past when God came to her rescue or to the rescue of others
5. an expression of praise, in which the psalm singer acknowledges the good provisions of God for her.

The five elements of a lament psalm do not follow a strict pattern in each occurrence of a lament, but rather they move fluidly back and forth as the psalm singer presents herself before God in supplication, perhaps reflective of the inner turmoil she is experiencing in the process of working through what is causing the distress.

In Psalm 31, the elements of lament occur as follows:

1. Invocation: verses 1, 5, 9, 14, 17 (“O LORD”)
2. Complaint or lament: verses 9-13 (verse 9: “my eye wastes away from grief …”)
3. Petition: verses 1-2, 15-18 (verse 15: “deliver me from the hand of my enemies and persecutors”)
4. Trust: verses 3-8, 14, 19-20 (verse 3: “you are indeed my rock and my fortress”)
5. Praise: verses 21-24 (verse 21: “Blessed be the LORD, for he has wondrously shown his steadfast love to me”)

The focus verses of Psalm 31 for the Sunday of the Passion include words of complaint/lament in verses 9-13, brief words of trust in verses 14-15, and words of petition in verses 15-16. In verses 9 and 10, the psalm singer cries out to God about oppression that has caused a wasting of her eye, her soul, her body, her bones, and, indeed, her very strength. In these words, we feel and see the physical devastation that comes with unrelenting distress and oppression. An interesting phenomenon of the laments in the book of Psalms is that the oppressors and adversaries are rarely named (a notable exception is Psalm 137). Rather, they are nameless, faceless others, the timeless “every person” depiction of oppressions that humanity has encountered and will encounter for all time, thereby allowing readers/hearers to place themselves in the midst of the psalms’ story worlds.

The psalm singer continues her complaint/lament in verses 11-13, moving outward from the devastation that has come upon her personally as a result of what the oppressors have done to a recounting of how the oppression has affected her life in society. Because of what the oppressors have done to/said about her, she says that she is “the scorn of my neighbors, an object of dread to my acquaintances” (verse 11). She “hears the whispering” as “they plot to take my life” (verse 13).

But utter despair does not have the final say in this selection from Psalm 31, or, indeed, in Psalm 31 as a whole. In verses 14-16, the psalm singer mingles words of trust in God to care for her in the midst of the situation in which she finds herself and words of petition to the God who she is confident can deliver her. She declares in verse 14, “You are my God,” and in verse 15, “My times are in your hand.” In verses 15-16, she petitions, “deliver me from the hand of my enemies … Let your face shine upon your servant,” and “save me in your steadfast love.” The psalm ends in verse 23 with an admonishment: “Love the LORD, all you his saints. The LORD preserves the faithful …”

Psalm 31, a typical lament psalm, is fitting as a lectionary reading for the Sunday of the Passion. It describes the anguish of one who is oppressed in body and mind and in the society in which she lives, one who cries out to God to right the wrongs brought upon her—the words “O LORD” occur ten times in the Psalm. But cries of lament do not dominate the psalm. In fact, the only complaints/laments are found in verses 9-13, and they are surrounded on either side by words of trust in God and/or petition (verses 3-8 and 14-20). J. Clinton McCann writes, “In short, Psalm 31 is a prayer that teaches us about trusting God, both in dying and living.”² Richard Clifford adds that the psalm singer “is writing about something more than deliverance from a specific crisis. The canvas is broader—life before God, which consists of multiple dangers, deliverances, and thanksgivings.”³ And James L. Mays offers appropriate summarizing words. He states that verse 15’s, “My times are in your hand,” “does not mean it depends on God how long I live, but my destiny (the occasions when things happen that determine my life) is in the hand of God. … In the mouth of Jesus the sentence is surely a profound interpretation of his entire life.”⁴

Notes:

1. Commentary first published on this site on April 5, 2020.
2. J. Clinton McCann, Jr., “The Book of Psalms,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary, vol. III, ed. Leander E. Keck (Nashville: Abingdon, 2015), 391.
3. Richard J. Clifford. Psalms 1-72. Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries (Nashville: Abingdon, 2002), 161.
4. James L. Mays. Psalms, Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1994), 144.

For the Palm/Passion Sunday preacher, Philippians 2:5-11 might not emerge as the most immediate candidate for the basis of a sermon. Nonetheless, when held together with the Gospel account, the Christ Hymn of Philippians 2 can present a powerful theological reflection on the significance of Jesus’ work and eschewing of oppressive power.

Origins of the Christ Hymn

There has been much debate about the origin of the Christ Hymn. Some have amassed good reasons for suspecting that it was a pre-existent composition that Paul adapted for his own use. Others, by pointing to connections between the hymn and other parts of Philippians, have suggested that the hymn is original to Paul.

While such debates are intriguing, the origin of the hymn is, in some ways, inconsequential. Whether Paul adapted it from another source or wrote it himself, the text still offers an important articulation of the theological significance of Christ’s work. Read alongside of the Gospel reading for today, this text can expand the particularity of the story of Jesus in Jerusalem such that it connects with a cosmic worldview in which heavenly, earthly, and subterranean knees all bow in recognition of the cosmic Christ’s lordship (Philippians 2:10-11)

Equality with God

One of the most important claims of the Christ Hymn is that Jesus “did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited” (Phillippians 2:6). Many commentators have labored over an explanation of the Greek term harpagmos, translated in the NRSV as “something to be exploited.” This term, otherwise sometimes translated as “booty,” “plunder,” or “a seizing,” connotes something that is received as a prize for the exertion of exploitative power.

While an exploration of the term harpagmos is certainly important, it is just as important to explore what this suggests about Jesus’ own view of equality with God. That is, as the text explains, Jesus is, in fact, “in the form of God” and has status as God. In other words, Jesus’ definition of what it means to be a god is coming not from a human but from one who is, in fact, already a god. Unlike the Roman emperors who claimed godhood for themselves or had such status applied to them, Jesus qua God defines godhood not as an ascent to power but as a refusal to use exploitative power for personal gain. This does not mean he denies his godhood; rather, he provides a definition of what that status means.

As the Christ Hymn articulates it, then, Jesus’ own view of what it means to be equal to God is contrary to the prevailing views of both Jesus’ and our times. That is, while more prevalent perspectives could take a “might makes right” viewpoint that celebrates the use of exploitative power, Jesus’ perspective (as it is articulated here) is that being equal to God is precisely not making use of oppressive power, even when that might be a tool at one’s disposal. Thus, true equality with God is the denial of the use of exploitation.

The statement in Philippians 2:6 that points to Jesus’ equality with God is not the only place where this idea appears in the Christ Hymn. Rather, Jesus’ equality with God might be underscored by the subtle connection to Isaiah 45:22-23. In that text, God declares, “I am God, and there is no other … To me every knee shall bow, every tongue shall swear.” What God claims for Godself (in other words, lordship, the receipt of obeisance) in Isaiah, God bestows on Christ here in Philippians (2:10-11). Through an allusion to Isaiah 45, this text in Philippians 2 emphasizes Jesus’ equality with God.

Christ’s singular sacrifice

As has been noted, the Christ Hymn both explicitly in Philippians 2:6 and implicitly through an allusion to Isaiah in 2:10-11 highlights Jesus’ godhood. As such, the nature of Christ’s work that is described is the work not of one who holds human status (though the text does not deny his humanity) but as one who maintains status as a god. The text celebrates Jesus’ work and highlights the glory that he receives as a result. That is, the hymn is about the work of Christ, not the work of humans.

It is important to note that this passage contains only one command to its audience: “Think about this” (Philippians 2:5). That is, while Paul celebrates Christ’s self-emptying and subsequent glorification, he does not command his audience to pursue similarly self-sacrificial actions. While some preachers may be tempted to use this text as the basis for a sermon on the importance of self-sacrifice, it is important to note that this is not the direction that Paul goes. Rather, Paul simply invites his audience to reflect on Christ’s work.

Paul’s approach here may be far more helpful, both theologically and pastorally. Theologically, limiting the focus on the singularity of Christ’s work is in keeping with the glorification of Christ over all others (verses 9-11). That is, Christ’s work, as described in Philippians 2:6-8, is something that he, and he alone, is able to accomplish. Using this description as an excuse to encourage a particular behavior among those who are not Christ, could have the theological effect of cheapening the unique aspects of Christ’s sacrifice by seemingly suggesting that this is work that anyone could do.

Beyond the theological importance of viewing this passage as a description of Christ’s work and not a set of imperatives for Christians to follow, keeping the focus on Christ also has powerful implications pastorally. For historically marginalized and oppressed audiences, a message that encourages self-sacrifice and the willingness to face death (as Christ did) can be problematic, harmful, and antithetical to the gospel. As has been noted already, the text is at pains to highlight the ways in which Christ is equal to God. In other words, Christ alone can enact the kenotic self-emptying that is described here. The good news of the text, then, might be that Christ condemns the use of exploitative power, both for himself and by humans who would wield such power to oppress others.