Crabgrass. Goosegrass. Chickweed. Dandelions. Clover. Those tall spiky things with the leaves every two inches up the stem: Whatever they are.
For those of us with lawns, keeping weeds under control can be a never-ending struggle. Because, at best, we control weeds. We never defeat them. They’re stubborn and invasive and pervasive.
One weed becomes two becomes four becomes 16 becomes 256 becomes a math problem and that’s less fun than the weeds themselves. If only we can rid our lawns of that first one, we’ll be spared the outbreak. But how often does that happen?
We know that Scripture, the Word of God as written down by (mostly) men inspired by the Holy Spirit, has gone through numerous translations. Countless translations, actually, from the original. With tweaks to keep certain images and references understandable if not totally relevant to the day in which they’re proclaimed or read.
And although we believe that not much has been lost in translation, and definitely none of the underlying interwoven truth, there can be no doubt that approximations have crept in when one highly nuanced language has 15 words while another squishes them all into one.
Which is why today’s Gospel is challenging to hear, let alone absorb. Because, in the version we heard, Jesus seems to be demanding an either-or rather than a both-and, and that’s not what we’ve come to expect from him.
It’s officially summer. It’s Father’s Day. The Church has returned — for a long stretch — to Ordinary Time, a quieter time in the liturgical calendar. The green vestments are back indoors, just as green leaves are back outdoors. (The pollen too, but oh well.)
All’s right with the world. There’s joy in Heaven and on Earth.
Let’s start cinematically and theatrically, comedy film first. Yes, it’s appropriate on this day when we hear of agony and sacrifice.
At the start of “Ghostbusters II,” Ray and Winston are on a mission, specter-bustin’ gear at the ready, and when they confer with their client, she tells them there are a whole bunch of them, and they’re rowdy. The two Ghostbusters blast through the kitchen door into a room full of shrieking birthday party kids, one of whom disappointedly groans, “I thought it was going to be He-Man!”
As Ray and Winston sing their theme song, they’re crestfallen when they get to the line, “And it don’t look good.”
Nope, it don’t.
In the rock opera “Jesus Christ Superstar,” a massive crowd accompanies Jesus into Jerusalem, singing “Hosanna, Hey Sanna, Sanna Sanna Ho,” praising him as all right by them, but then asking Jesus to die for them and, as the Gospel of the Passion tells us, eventually turning away from Jesus and throwing him to the Sanhedrin and the Roman executioners.
Jesus had been preaching true peace and true love for three years all over the Promised Land. He healed bodies; he healed minds; he healed souls. He acted nonviolently, patiently and selflessly, and his rare flashes of anger were always justified and just.
His fame — or, to the authorities’ point of view, infamy — almost always preceded him.
Simply put, the people of Israel knew him, or at least knew of him, knew something about him.
Well, they thought they did.
So why, and how, did they go from “Hail conquering hero” to “Crucify him! Crucify him!” in a handful of days?
They were expecting He-Man. (Please forgive my flippancy.)
When they got the true, essential Jesus, it didn’t look good. For him. For their selfish selves.
The Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ, proclaimed this Palm Sunday and again on Good Friday, is historical, theological, philosophical and psychological. We can — we should — ponder all year, every day of the year, what Christ’s sacrifice means to us two millennia later. And if that’s what you take away from the Passion, you’re on solid ground.
And if you stop reading/listening now, you are blessed. It’s all fine by me.
But let’s get back to cartoon heroes and superstars for a second, because there’s an interwoven message I believe we can carry forward.
When the people of Jerusalem encountered Jesus, they had certain expectations. If Jesus was the Messiah that God had promised them, what would Jesus do? Would he be the greatest military leader in Middle Eastern history? Would he rally the people to overthrow the Roman overlords? The numbers were in the Israelites’ favor, at least until Rome sent reinforcements: There were far more sons and daughters of Abraham than there were Roman soldiers, though the Romans were battle-hardened killing machines and might have prevailed. Which is why their legions were able to enforce the Pax Romana in all the lands they conquered. But if Jesus were a divinely sent Hammer of God, the wielder of the two-edged sword, those Romans’ reign could be over.
What would Jesus do? Would he call down fire and lightning and plagues and locusts from Heaven to drive out the Romans and their supposedly religious collaborators, the Hebrew hypocrites who called themselves the leaders of their people?
What would Jesus do???
Obviously, not what the people of Israel were expecting.
So they turned on him. Fake. Phony. Loser. Next!
Maybe what Jesus did — what Jesus does, what he would do — is not what we’re expecting, either, today, now, in our lives. In the lives of others. In the life of The Other.
But it should be, because of those three precious, sacred, productive years Jesus spent preaching and teaching and healing. Fortunately for us, a few people were taking notes during those lessons. We have our scriptural instruction manual. We have our Holy Spirit-guided consciences. We have each other.
As members of the Mystical Body of Christ, as Church for one another, and especially in these COVID-19 times, we carry a dual responsibility, a dual challenge.
We must be Christ to one another, to every person we encounter, albeit from six feet away or virtually.
And we must recognize Christ in every person we encounter, same rules apply.
So who are we expecting? And what can they expect from us?
It’s pretty simple, actually. And crystal-clear.
Who are we expecting? And what can they expect from us?
The everyday hero with unique talents our Creator formed in our mother’s womb. The everyday hero Jesus died and rose for. The everyday hero the Holy Spirit sustains with a flood of wisdom and grace.
The Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ, proclaimed this Palm Sunday and again on Good Friday, is historical, theological, philosophical and psychological. We can — we should — ponder all year, every day of the year, what Christ’s sacrifice means to us two millennia later. And if that’s what you take away from the Passion, you’re on solid ground.
What would Jesus do???