Thomas J Parlette
“A Bit of Street Theater”
John 12: 12-16
03/24/24, Palm Sunday
Golf is a sport that is known for some great nicknames.
Jack Nicklaus was The Golden Bear.
Ernie Els was The Big Easy for his height and his slow, smooth swing, easy-looking swing.
Craig Stadler was The Walrus, because with his enormous moustache and sizable girth, he kinda looked like a walrus.
And then there was Arnold Palmer, simply known as The King.
Baseball is not far behind in the nickname department.
The immortal Babe Ruth was The Babe.
Mark McGwire and Jose Canseco were once known as The Bash Brothers for the home run hitting.
Frank Thomas was The Big Hurt.
David Ortiz was known as Big Papi
And then there was Reggie Jackson, known as Mr. October, because come World Series time, he brought his best.
But I have to say, one of the best all-time nicknames in history has to be “Lionheart.” King Richard 1st of England earned that name because of his courage in battle. He was a fearsome warrior and led a crusading army to the Holy Land to try to recapture Jerusalem. He very nearly succeeded.
But there were divisions in the ranks, and the Third Crusade fell apart. The French and the Germans didn’t get along with the English. Kind Richard left for home, and it was then that his adventure really began.
Passing through Germany in disguise, his identity was uncovered. The German Emperor Henry VI threw him into prison. Henry declared he wouldn’t let Richard go until the people of England had raised the staggering sum of 150,000 marks. At today’s price of silver, that would be around 17 million dollars.
It was literally a king’s ransom. When the King is in prison, the people pay the price.
All over England, money was collected to buy King Richard out of prison. Taxes were increased by 25%. Gold and silver treasures from cathedrals and abbeys were confiscated and melted down to raise money.
Finally, there was enough. King Richard went free, and his return home has been celebrated as the final scene of every Robin Hood ever made. (1)
When Jesus entered Jerusalem, he too was hailed as a king. And, like Richard the Lionheart, Jesus would soon be thrown into prison.
Yet, for Jesus, there was no ransom – neither asked for or offered. They hauled him before the chief priests and the scribes, and eventually before the Roman Governor, Pilate.
Jesus didn’t cut a very kingly figure in Pilate’s courtyard. They stripped him and beat him. The only crown he wore was woven from pieces of a thorn bush.
Pilate, being a practical sort of politician, saw no advantage in treating Jesus as a visiting head of state, despite what the people had been calling him as he entered the city. Had there been anyone willing, or able, to raise a king’s ransom for him, the governor might have taken a different approach. But this country rabbi who rode into town on a donkey had nothing. As far as Pilate was concerned, he was just a troublemaker and insurrectionist. Pilate had learned to nip these Judean revolutionary movements in the bud. And so, he offered the mob that cruel choice – Jesus or the bandit, Barabbas. They chose Barabbas. King Jesus went to the cross.
It had all looked so different just a few days before. The sun was shining, the crowds were cheering, and the people were running to catch a glimpse of him, calling out: “Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord – the King of Israel!”
What was on Jesus’ mind that day, as he allowed the people to make such a fuss over him? Usually, Jesus was pretty low-key, often directing his disciples not to say anything about the things he did. But now, amidst the cheers, Jesus didn’t contradict them. He didn’t say – “Me, a King? – no, I’m not the King you’re looking for.” No, he let the demonstration go on. He received the cries of adulation. He let the people lay their cloaks down on the road before him, a gesture of deference offered only to those of the highest rank. He let them go on waving palm branches, a politically provocative act, because palm branches had been the symbol of the Maccabean rebellion a century before. That revolt had succeeded for a brief time in throwing the foreign overlords out of Jerusalem.
But this demonstration at the city gate was clearly not a serious invasion of Roman-held territory. Jesus had no army following behind him. He wore no victory wreath of victory on his head. He wasn’t riding a mighty war-horse, nor steering a chariot as you might expect a conquering hero to do.
No, Jesus was perched atop a donkey like some country bumpkin, his feet almost dragging on the ground. And, as you may know, donkeys don’t’ always travel in straight line – they kinda go where they want. And sometimes, they stop altogether, dig in their heels and have to prodded along. Very likely, there was laughter in the crowd that day, as they watched this Nazarene rabbi make his zigzag way down the street.
But despite the laughter, Jesus knew what he was doing. He was making it clear that he was no high-and-mighty general. He was a man of the people. Everyone could see that. But he was also doing something else that day. He was likely poking fun at the powers-that-be. He was gently mocking those in charge.
Jesus’ triumphal entry has been called an exercise of revolutionary street theater. Merriam-Webster dictionary offers this definition of Street Theater: “A form of theatrical performance and presentation in outdoor public spaces without a specific paying audience, that often deals with controversial social and political issues.” (2) The drama of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem certainly fits that definition. Everybody back then knew what a kingly parade looked like. The Romans specialized in that sort of spectacle. Pontius Pilate himself undoubtedly climbed into a chariot at regular intervals and showed off the power of his troops.
Everyone knew about the victory parades the Romans liked to mount after vanquishing their enemies. Those parades were famous for their pageantry. There were thousands of soldiers, marching rank-on-rank. You could hear them coming a long way off, with the beat of drums, the blare of trumpets, and the thunderous footsteps of legions marching row upon row. Each unit of men marched behind an imperial standard, a symbol perched high atop a pole. Often, that symbol was a brass or gilded Roman eagle displaying the letters “SPQR”- Latin initials that stood for “The Senate and the People of Rome.” (3)
Back towards the end of the procession, there were huge war horses – snorting, stamping wild-eyed beasts bred for battle. They looked like they could break free at any moment and storm threw the crowd. Riding atop one of those horses, or perhaps rising in a chariot pulled by two or three horses, was Roman general, with a gleaming breastplate and a shiny helmet under his arm so he could display the olive wreath on his head – a symbol of triumph.
Behind the general would be the battle-hardened troops, leading disheveled, defeated, prisoners of war. They had the wild look of a hunted animal in their eyes, for they knew they were not long for this world. After this parade ended, so would their lives – in a painful, violent act.
Yes, the Romans knew their parades. They knew how to use them to show their power. The Romans knew that this kind of parade was an effective tool for communicating to the conquered people – “We are in command here. We are the Masters. The Emperor in Rome has power and glory like a god, and we are his chosen emissaries.
And it worked. The Romans may not have said, “All the world’s a stage,” but their parades – effective stage presentations that they were – bore the unmistakable message: “All the world… is Rome’s”
But, Jesus little bit of street theater was no competition for the Roman machine – as seen by the fact that Pilate sent no soldiers to bar his way. This was but a minor disturbance, a little kerfluffle at the edge of the city. The citizens who witnessed it were amused by this man who dared to make fun of the Roman overlords, but when you’re an overlord, you’ve got to be able to take a little ribbing now and again.
No doubt there were informers in the crowd, roman agents hiding in the crowd to gauge the level of rebellion in this demonstration. But nobody really took it that seriously. But Jesus name had been noted. The Romans would keep this guy on their radar. And when, the next day, this same Jesus caused a disturbance at the Temple, disrupting the business activities going on there, well, something would have to be done about this man Jesus.
Throughout this bit of street theater, Jesus makes it clear that he is a different sort of King.
He is not the conquering king, riding into the city in triumph. No, he is a Suffering Servant King, just like Isaiah wrote about – “one who sets his face like flint,” then lays down his life for his subjects.
Every other King dispatches soldiers into battle – to fight for his honor and the honor of the nation. But Jesus enters the battlefield – the city of Jerusalem – alone and unarmed, riding an animal of peace.
Every other King plays the high-stakes game of thrones. Jesus is disarmingly simple and direct. He says what he means, and he means what he says.
Every other King seeks to argue from a position of strength. Jesus seems to deliberately seek out a posture of weakness.
Every other King upholds and embodies the law. France’s mightiest king – Louis the 14th, the Sun King – had a catchphrase: “L’etat c’est moi.” – “I am the State.” (4) But Jesus submits to the law, allowing himself to be crushed by it.
A peculiar sort of King indeed, this Jesus of Nazareth. No wonder that Pilate will be baffled later this week when Jesus finally stands before him, uttering barely a word in his own defense.
What Pilate doesn’t know – what no one knows, not even Jesus’ disciples – is that a ransom will be paid, but it’s going to be paid in reverse. The coming ransom will not be paid FOR Jesus, as it was for Richard the Lion-hearted. No, the coming ransom will be paid BY Jesus, for you and me, and the rest of the world. And the price will be be Jesus’ own blood.
So, let us wave our palms today. Let us sing our hymns of victory. Let us cheer his triumphal entry and participate in this bit of street theater. But let us also be aware that, between the Hosannas of Palm Sunday and Alleluias of Easter, there is an arrest, a flogging, a trial – and ultimately, a cross.
So let us be remember and be grateful for the kind of King who is willing to lay down his own life as a ransom for all.
May God be praised. Amen.
1. Homileticsonline, retrieved 3/5/24.
2. www.Merriam-webster.com, retrieved 3/17/24.
3. Homileticsonline, retrieved 3/5/24.
4. Ibid…
