I had to laugh when our procession came across the corner from W. Washington to N. Carroll before entering the church and we were confronted by the people on the capitol steps with their music and shouting. So fitting a reminder for our ministry on Capitol Square that whatever we do in worship and outreach, it is shaped by the context in which we find ourselves.

We know a thing or two about protests around here, don’t we? There have been the big ones—last Saturday, which many of you attended; others in the past like the women’s march in 2017 or the Black Lives Matter protests in the wake of the George Floyd murder. There were others, too many to enumerate, beginning with the Act 10 protests in 2011, which seems so long ago. And unlike the description of the protest given us by Luke, at the Act 10 protests there were at least palms, in the form of inflatable palm trees. 

There have been many others throughout the years, many of them quite small; a handful or so of demonstrators, or even occasionally, a single demonstrator, like the guy who walks around the square regularly shouting at Governor Evers. 

We don’t often associate protests with scripture—they probably seem a very contemporary thing—a product of activists like Gandhi or MLK jr who were able to gather thousands or hundreds of thousands, and in Gandhi’s case, bring an empire to its knees. 

And we certainly don’t imagine that the event we recreated this morning, traditionally called the Triumphal Entry, had anything to do with a political demonstration. But in the context of first century Judaism and of biblical tradition, what Jesus and his followers did that day was profoundly political. The reference to the prophet Zephaniah makes it clear: Jesus was connecting himself with the long-hoped for idea of the restoration of the Davidic monarchy. And that’s hardly an innocuous act in the days leading up to Passover, in a city crowded with pilgrims and with Roman soldiers present to keep violence at bay.

In case you’re still skeptical of the implications of all this, the next two things Jesus did was to pause, overlooking the city and predict its destruction. Then he entered the temple where he staged another demonstration, overturning the tables of the money-changers. Is it any wonder the Roman authorities were keen to get their hands on him? We see the very same impulses at work today—the silencing of protestors, the punishment of outspoken political opponents.

The story continues of course. We heard the passion of Christ according to the Gospel of Luke. All four gospels are eager to deflect our attention away from the confrontation between Jesus and Rome and for us to focus on the participation of the Jewish authorities in Jesus’ arrest and execution. That’s hardly surprising—what member of a tiny new religious movement at the turn of the second century would want to celebrate as their founder and the son of God, someone who was executed by the Roman Empire? But Luke goes a step further by inserting an episode in Jesus’ trial in which he appears before Herod Antipas. Herod seems to see Jesus as a comic diversion. Luke suggests he was curious about him, and the episode concludes with Herod and Pilate becoming friends, tyranny and empire consolidating their power.

But the story we heard, the story Christians have told for two thousand years is not just about a political protest, a revolutionary executed by the Roman empire. As important as that is, the story of resistance to evil and oppression, the story of Jesus is much more than that. We see the gospel writers interpreting it to give it cosmic significance, ultimate meaning for us in the twenty-first century as well as for his friends in the first. 

Two things stand out in Luke’s understanding of the meaning of the cross. First of all, Jesus’ words to the soldiers who crucified him: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Second, the interchange between Jesus and the two thieves, one of whom pleaded: “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And finally, the words of the centurion as Jesus died: “Truly, this man was innocent.”

Luke wants us to see Jesus as the innocent victim, whose death imparts forgiveness of sins to those who believe in him. It’s a powerful message that has resonated throughout the centuries down to our own time. Our hymnody, a millennium of Christian devotional practice and reflection lead us to that point; even our Lenten experiences. We recognize our sinfulness, we ask for forgiveness, we see Jesus’ death as a result of our own sins, and a way of unburdening us of those sins. As powerful as that imagery and devotion may be, as deeply moving as it may be for our own personal situations, there are other ways of seeing the cross, equally powerful and transformative.

In the reading from the letter to the Philippians, for example, Paul articulates a rather different understanding. Paul is likely quoting a hymn that Christians were already singing in worship, a hymn that reflects early understandings of Jesus’ death and resurrection. And here there is nothing of sacrifice, or sins, or guilt, or punishment. 

Instead, what Paul and those other early Christians emphasized was Christ’s self-giving and obedience: 

“Who though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but humbled himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on the cross.”

In the cross, we encounter God—not an angry or vindictive judge, but a God who emptied himself for us. In the cross, we encounter the self-giving God who became one of us, to show us the fullness of humanity, to remake us in God’s image. In the cross, we encounter God’s love.

As we journey through Holy Week this week, as we walk with Jesus through the streets of Jerusalem, to the last supper, to Gethsemane, to Pilate’s chambers and finally to Golgotha, may each step be an opportunity to experience God’s love in Jesus Christ. May this week be a journey into the heart of God’s love.