Luke 19:28-40; Isaiah 50:4-9a; Philippians 2:5-11; Luke 22:14-23:56
They say you should never mix religion and politics, but this week is going to show us the exact opposite. (I’m curious if you think I’m talking about the election or the Bible readings for Holy Week...)
I’m actually talking about our two Gospel readings this morning, although they certainly have something to say to us as we go to the polls on Tuesday. As we know, during Jesus’ time, the great power of the world was the Roman Empire, which was quick to mix religion and politics in the Imperial Cult. Emperor Augustus, who famously ordered the census that caused Mary and Joseph to travel to Bethlehem before Jesus’ birth, was titled the Divi Filius (Divine Son, or Son of God), and he was hailed for restoring the pax deorum (or Divine Peace). Emperor Claudius, who succeeded Augustus, was the one to bestow the title, “King of the Jews,” on both the Herod at the time of Jesus’ birth and the Herod at his death. Under the Imperial Cult, Rome was the religious centre of the Empire. It controlled everything - it levied a tax on Jews who wanted to be excused from worshipping the Emperor; the high priest in Jerusalem was appointed by Rome and the vestments necessary for conducting worship in the Temple were under Rome’s lock and key. If the high priests didn’t do what Rome wanted, worship in the Temple couldn’t happen.
Which makes it no coincidence that in the Gospel of Luke the angel Gabriel tells Mary that her son, Jesus, will be called the Son of God, that his kingdom will last forever, or that Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist, proclaims that the God of Israel will guide the people in the way of peace. The Gospel of Luke is a political Gospel, and the writer is boldly challenging Rome’s claim that the Emperor is the divinely-appointed ruler of the world.
And the procession on Palm Sunday is a political protest. You see, what we’ve forgotten over the course of two thousand years is that in Jesus’ time, the celebration of Passover at the Temple under Roman rule was a politically-charged event. It was the only time that Pontius Pilate lived in the city––he usually lived in Caesarea––but during Passover, when the Jews remembered God’s deliverance of them from the powers of Egypt, Pontius Pilate would move into Jerusalem with his powerful Roman Army, in order to intimidate the Jews into behaving peacefully. So on one side of the city we have Pontius Pilate and his Roman Army coming in, with their chariots and horses and standards, and on the other side, we have Jesus, on his donkey, with his disciples saying, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!” Not who comes in the name of the Emperor. And “Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” Not peace in Rome, and glory for Rome.
With religion and politics tied so closely together, no wonder the Pharisees told Jesus to tell his followers to be quiet. The atmosphere in Jerusalem during Passover was primed for a riot that would result in Roman soldiers coming down indiscriminately on all Jews and crucifying all of them as insurrectionists. Only one hundred years earlier, Rome had crucified 6,000 rebels along the Appian Way. Rome used crucifixion to keep the people in line, and nobody wanted anybody to end up on that cross. The Pharisees were rightfully concerned that this not happen in Jerusalem.
And yet Luke won’t keep quiet. Instead, the Gospel of Luke makes it very clear that, by claiming divine appointment, the Emperor of Rome, indeed the entire system of the Empire, is crossing the line. And so Luke sets up Jesus’ final days as a struggle between the power of God and the power of the Empire, or, in Luke’s words, the power of darkness.
We see this in Jesus’ last supper with the disciples, when warns them about the “kings of the Gentiles (ie. Rome) [who] lord it over them.” He warns them that those in power over the kings, the “benefactors” (Rome’s Senate and Emperor), will call themselves the greatest. The Gospel makes a point of telling us that the desire to have the most power results in “disputes” and fighting, but that this is not the way to the power of God. God’s kingdom is for those who serve.
That being said, it is the power of darkness––the power of the Empire––that reigns over Jesus’ last days. He is arrested at night, and says it outright, “this is your hour, and the power of darkness!” This power, embodied in Pontius Pilate, manipulates the chief priests’ and the leaders’ desire to keep the people of Jerusalem safe by forcing them to actively choose the death of Jesus. Pilate pretends he doesn’t want to crucify Jesus, but he knows that if Jesus is released, the potential for riot and Imperial violence will escalate, and he knows that the chief priests and leaders know that too. He forces them to choose between a rock and a hard place––between the death of one innocent man and the mass execution of thousands of innocent men, women, and children. History tells us that Pilate was never a compassionate person. On more than one occasion he would deliberately goad the Jewish people into protesting just so he could demonstrate his power to crush them––today we’d call that gaslighting. It’s likely he didn’t care either way whether Jesus or Barabbas was crucified––he enjoyed making the Jewish leaders struggle to make the decision themselves. This is the power of darkness––it puts us in impossible situations, it forces us to choose between the lesser of two evils, it tries to convince us that there are actually no other alternatives than the ones it presents to us, all in order to demonstrate its own power.
And let’s be clear, the power of darkness is no joke. We often say God wins, or love wins, and then go about our merry way, but it’s not that easy. The power of darkness is strong enough to kill. It nails Jesus to the cross. The Gospel of Luke tells us that just before Jesus died, “darkness came over the whole land,” the “sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the Temple was torn in two, ... and when all the crowds who had gathered there for this spectacle saw what had taken place, they returned home, beating their breasts.” The power of darkness, the power of the Empire, fell over the entire land of Israel, over God’s holy land. The sun, created by God, was overcome. The most holy part of the Temple, where God’s spirit dwelled, was destroyed. The true Divi Filius, the true Son of God, stood up to the power of darkness and was killed by it.
Of course, we know that today’s readings are not the end. This story does not end with crucifixion. The victory of the power of darkness is only temporary. This story––our story––ends with dawn, and the rising of the sun/son that banishes the darkness. It ends with resurrection, and the revelation of God’s power, and true life for all.
But we are not there yet. We are still here and now. And if today’s readings say anything to us about politics today, they tell us to be very cautious of the powers of darkness in our world, of powers that claim divine appointment. They tell us to discriminate between those who exploit power and those who empty themselves of it, between those who claim riches for themselves and those who seek to give their riches away, between those who speak words of hate and violence and those who speak words of healing, between those who would try to convince us we have to throw others under the bus for our own survival and those who commit themselves to serving the servants of the world. The Gospel tells us to beware of those who manipulate us into false antagonism that serves only the good of the Empire because the powers of darkness will do anything, and say anything, to convince us that they have our best interests at heart, but in the end, they will kill us. Our Scripture tells us that it is only by standing up to the power of darkness and casting our lot with the one who serves, the one who is filled with the true power of God, that we have any hope at all of life. Thanks be to God. Amen.
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