Palm Sunday 2022
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Mark
Mark
Hi… I really don’t know why I am up here. Um. So, yeah.
My name is Mark. Unless you are a Jew. If you’re a Jew, my name is John. I’m not trying to be weird. It’s just what we do in Israel to blend into society, not make waves. We have names that we give out depending on who we are talking to.
Uh, I was asked to tell my story. And, I don’t know why.
My mom is Mary, though not the Mary that you are probably thinking about. We are a wealthy family. My parents own one of the larger houses in Jerusalem. And, that’s how I met Jesus.
I had heard of him. Who in all of Judea hadn’t heard of him! I wanted to see him, to hear him speak. But, I was young, immature, and needed to stay home.
One day, there was a big commotion. People were running through the streets and saying that the promised king was entering Jerusalem. I joined the crowd, wanting to see what was happening. Secretly, I was hoping that something exciting like a riot or a rebellion would happen.
When I finally arrived at the commotion, I did not see what I expected to see. There was a simple man riding a young donkey. People were laying their cloaks on the road or branches, so that the donkey wouldn’t have to step on the stones.
Everyone in the procession was shouting:
“Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
This was not my idea of a rebellion. Where were the swords? Where were the taunts? No one even spit at a Roman soldier!
I walked away.
I had seen people claiming to be the prophesied king and no one was this lame… Though he really did make the priests and teachers mad. That intrigued me.
From time to time, I would see him talking with his disciples or debating the Pharisees, which were the religious leaders. Though he definitely didn’t act like a king, I liked what he said.
One day, a group of his disciples came to our house and asked to use our upper room for Passover. That was the strangest passover I had ever seen. Jesus seemed to be saying that the bread and wine of the Passover was pointing to himself. Then, he mentioned something about not drinking wine until he drinks it new in the kingdom of God. Weird.
When they left, I had to follow them. They went to the Mount of Olives. When they arrived, Jesus went by himself to pray, and the rest of us fell asleep. It was late and had been a long day.
Suddenly, Jesus woke us up, saying something about being delivered into the hands of sinners and his betrayer coming.
As he was speaking, we were surrounded by a crowd carrying swords and clubs. Judas, one of Jesus’ main disciples is with him and he comes up to Jesus, kissing him.
I was so confused. The men seized Jesus.
Another disciple, Peter, trying to defend his teacher, cuts off the ear of one of the servants. There was chaos.
In the middle of the chaos, I saw that all of Jesus’ disciples were running away. No one was staying with him. I didn’t know what to do.
Suddenly, one of the crowd grabbed me, threatening to arrest me along with Jesus. I screamed and ran away. My clothes ripped in the man’s hands, but I didn’t care. I left my robe in his hands and got out of there.
My family is a good family. They would tell me that it is shameful to run naked through the city. My nakedness is fitting though. It showed my inner shame.
I abandoned an innocent man to the hate of the religious leaders. I did nothing to stop them. But, what could I do?
I truly believe that he willingly let himself be arrested. He truly believed that he was the bread that would be broken and the wine that would be spilled.
I didn’t understand it. And so, I ran in my shame.
Nicodemus
Nicodemus
My name is Nicodemus. I am a Jew. I used to consider myself a good Jew. I knew the Law. I knew the writings of Moses and the Prophets. I was respected as one who would give wise, Godly counsel.
My knowledge and my wisdom led me to join the Sanhedrin. Perhaps you are not familiar with this group. We were one of the ruling councils of Israel. Our concern was to maintain public order and mediate between the empire and the people. We taught the Law and answered questions about how to practically live the Law in society.
I was a teacher of Scripture and I was respected in that role, which is why I became so confused when I began to have questions about Scripture.
Well, that wasn’t the confusing part.
Instead of going to a colleague on the council, I wanted to go to that traveling teacher. Jesus was his name. He was not on the Sanhedrin. He wasn’t even in the ruling class. He was a poor man who traveled the countryside, who made friends with tax collectors and prostitutes, and who performed miraculous works.
I was compelled to ask him my questions, but I was scared too, because I would be kicked off the ruling council for doing that. So, I met with him at night and to ask him my questions. However, I was not able to ask my question.
After my initial greeting, he starting telling me nonsense about people needing to be born again if they want to see the kingdom of God.
I was confused. Completely confused.
I tried asking Jesus what he meant, but he kept speaking in these strange parables. Then he said something very confusing:
He said: “No one has ever gone into heaven except the one who came from heaven—the Son of Man. Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, that everyone who believes may have eternal life in him.”
I left him at that point, but what he said, kept running through my mind.
I knew the writings of Moses. I knew what happened when my ancestors were grumbling in the wilderness. God sent poisonous snakes and many people died from those snake bites. The Israelites repented and God told Moses to bronze a snake and put it on a pole. Anyone who looked at the snake on the pole would be healed and live.
What in the world did Jesus mean by comparing this “Son of Man” to the bronzed snake?
Jesus’ words came coming back to my mind. I didn’t understand them, but I knew something was special about this man. Whenever my colleagues wanted to arrest him, I tried to calm them down and speak reason.
Which worked, until it didn’t.
One night, right before the Passover, I was woken up by my servants and told that the Sanhedrin had been called to judge someone who was blaspheming God and starting riots against Rome.
I hurried to the chamber and I saw Jesus standing there. His clothes were dirty. His face was red from being slapped. Men started accusing him of doing horrible things, saying things that were worthy of death, according to the Law of Moses. I knew that these things were not true, but I was too scared to say anything. I didn’t want to be killed along with Jesus, so I stood by and watched as they accused him and then spit on him and pounded him.
I numbly followed my colleagues from the council chamber to Pilate’s palace where Jesus was put on trial. I stood by as my friends influenced the crowd to call for a murder’s release and for Jesus’ death.
I stood as Jesus was flogged, a crown of thorns pounded into his head, and wooden beams flung onto his shoulders.
I followed the crowd to the hill of Golgotha where Jesus was nailed to the cross. Then he was raised to the sky. And I understood.
“Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, that everyone who believes may have eternal life in him.”
He died for me, even though I would not acknowledge him. He was lifted up for me.
Barabbas
Barabbas
They call me a murderer and an insurrectionist. I say that I am a liberator.
These Romans are destroying our nation. I don’t blame them, because they are just doing what Romans do. They are like a dog with rabies. They just do what they do, and then they get shot.
I blame our leaders for having weak spines and not standing up for our national identity, for not shooting the rabid dog. So, since our leaders are not doing anything, I have to take matters into my own hands.
So, I did. I became a leader of a band of resistance fighters. We started out as simple robbers, focusing on Romans and weak Jewish leaders. But, then we began to be more ambitious and we developed a reputation.
People started saying that I was the Messiah. Fairy tales! If there was a Messiah, he would have come before now. He would not have allowed our nation to be in the state that it is. Slaves to the ungodly emperor.
No, I don’t believe in a Messiah, but if my cause is helped by that delusion, let them think it!
The nature of my work demands mystery, so I became known as “The son of the father,” Barabbas in my language. Whenever my name was mentioned, people would get scared. No one could stop us.
Until they did. We planned an operation to overthrow a Roman outpost in Jerusalem. We killed a man, a Roman. Some of my band were killed, some were thrown into prison. I was arrested to be an example to other insurrectionists.
I knew what that meant: crucifixion.
The rabid dogs, the Romans, saved crucifixion for their most special criminals, like me. They wanted everyone to know how much they detested criminals and insurrectionists. And, they thought that if people saw the torture, they would think twice about following in my footsteps. Little did they know that crucifixions only fuel the fire of my followers.
Have you seen a crucifixion? The victim is tortured by flogging. Sometimes their eyes are burnt out, along with all sorts of other painful tortures. When they can barely walk, they are forced to carry their crossbeam to the place of crucifixion.
There, their wrists and heels are nailed to the cross, and they are raised up, a few feet off the ground. Just high enough that they couldn’t support their own weight, but not too high as to prevent dogs and wild animals from chewing on the legs.
It was a slow painful death of suffocation and heart failure.
I was ready for it. When I began this life, I knew this would be my end. I welcomed it as a rallying point for my followers. Perhaps my death would be the start of the overthrow of Rome.
But, then, I was released.
I was brought out of my cell and forced to stand in front of man who didn’t look like a man anymore. His back was ripped apart from flogging. A crown of thorns was pounded into his head, the blood running down his face.
Pilate was asking the crowd who they wanted released in honor of the Passover. Me or this man called Jesus. I was known as the Son of the Father. He was known as the Son of God. I brought death and destruction. He taught peace with God and man.
Pilate asked the crowd who they wanted released, and for some reason, they yelled my name.
Numbly, I felt the guards release my shackles. And I was led out of Pilate’s courtroom.
As I was walking out, I looked backward at Jesus and I knew the injustice. I deserved to die. He didn’t. My death meant something: it could have started a revolt. But, his was just a wasted life.
As I breathed the air of freedom, I realized that I like life too much. Though Jesus shouldn’t have to go through the torture of crucifixion, I was willing to have him take my punishment on himself.
I could live another day, because of him. Rest in peace, Jesus. May your death be quicker than normal.
John
John
My name is John. My brother is James. My dad is Zebedee. My mother is Salome. I say this because family is important to me.
I grew up on my dad’s fishing boat, learning the trade with my brother. We stuck together. We always did everything together. It was a good life, but something was missing.
One day, James and I were in our boat after a few days of fishing, mending our nets. They always get torn. It’s the part of fishing that I do not like. I hate mending nets.
Well, back to what I was saying, we were mending our nets in our boat, when a man comes up to us. He is the man who has been teaching all those strange things, discounting a lot of what we had been taught in the synagogue. A strange thing happened on my friend Peter’s boat when he was on it.
They had a horrible night of fishing and this man told them to put down their nets in the deep water. They caught so much that their nets began to break. I was happy for them, but then they asked me to help mend their nets. I wasn’t very happy after that.
I hate mending nets. After a few hours of mending nets, I start getting angry at the smallest thing. I was not happy after that day.
But, that is in the past. Back to what I was saying: This man came up to James and I and said, “Come, follow me and I will send you out to fish for people.”
We had no idea what he meant. But, anything was better than mending nets. If James were still alive, he would tell you that this man intrigued us. He itched a spiritual something inside our souls.
Between the two of us, I am definitely more vocal. Not like my friend, Peter, but definitely more vocal. But, James. James was the more spiritual one. It might help that he was my older brother. We could hold our own in a yelling match. No one wanted to get Zebedee’s sons angry. This man, Jesus gave us the nickname: “Sons of Thunder” because our anger.
The slightest thing would tip our anger off, from mending nets to threatening one of our own. Which brings me to the worst day of my life.
It was the time of Passover. After sharing a meal together, where Jesus again tried to teach us about lovingly serving each other, he led us to a favorite garden of his on the Mount of Olives. As he normally did, he removed himself to pray. But, this day was different. He asked Peter, James, and I to join him.
He said that his “soul was overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death.” He asked us to stay and watch with him. Then, he began to pray passionately.
Peter, James, and I were not used to all night prayer meetings, so we fell asleep quickly. After being woken up several times, Jesus finally said that his betrayer was coming. We didn’t know what that meant, but we soon found out.
We were surrounded by men with clubs and swords. All the rest of the disciples ran away, including my brother James. Peter and I hid and then followed Jesus from a distance. I needed to know what was going on. Jesus said that we shouldn’t fight for him, but I sure wasn’t going to give up protecting my own.
I followed Jesus to the high priest’s house, to the Sanhedrin’s council, to Pilate’s courtroom, and finally to Golgotha where they were going to crucify him.
I couldn’t understand what was going on.
This was the man who taught that his followers should be servants, that his followers would be known by how much they love each other.
Why would he have to die?
I stood there, not knowing what to do as they pounded the nails into his hands and feet. I can still hear his screams, the popping of his bones as his cross was raised.
Even in his agony, he still showed love. He asked God to forgive the Roman soldiers who were committing these senseless crimes against him.
He looked at me, the Son of Thunder, and asked me to lovingly care for his mother.
And then he died.
At that time, I really wanted to mend nets. I would rather have been doing anything then watching my best friend die.
But, I understood. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.
He died for me. My life is his. My love is his.
Mary
Mary
My name is Mary. I am nothing, except that God chose me to carry His son. What a privilege! I did not know what I was agreeing to when Gabriel told me the news 34 years ago. I was just a young girl.
I had heard the stories, the prophecies, how a Messiah would come to redeem his people. I didn’t know what that meant, but I was honored to be chosen. I told him: “I am the Lord’s servant. May your word to me be fulfilled.”
I knew that my life would be hard at first. Most of my family and friends would think that I had been unfaithful and that this child was illegitimate. I wasn’t even sure if Joseph would continue the betrothal. God was faithful and Joseph believed me.
You know the story. Everyone around here knows the story of the birth. Once Jesus’ was born, I thought that my emotional pain would stop. Yes, raising any child is hard. He wasn’t challenging with behavior. He was challenging because he was different. He always wanted to spend time listening to Scripture. One day, he ran away when we were in Jerusalem. After several days, we found him in the temple. He said that he had to be about “his father’s business.” We didn’t understand at the time and Joseph and I yelled at him.
When he grew up, he became more and more divisive. He began to teach crazy things and spend time with those with whom good people would never spend time. People like prostitutes and tax collectors, people who had been demon possessed, lepers and beggars.
Religious leaders began accusing him of being demon possessed himself. Others thought he was going crazy. Out of concern, I with his brothers to where he was teaching. They told me there that he was not able to even eat because of the crowd around him. I was convinced that he was out of his mind.
I sent someone into the house to say that we were outside waiting. He answer: “Who are my mother and brothers?” He pointed to those around him and said that they were his mother and his brothers.
I didn’t know what to think. I knew that he was supposed to be the Messiah. I knew that he was doing the miracles of the Messiah. But, he didn’t seem to be leading a group to redeem his people. I didn’t understand, but I trusted in God.
And then, Passover came. And I heard that Jesus had been arrested by the chief priests. The other ladies brought me to Pilate’s courtroom. I stood outside in the courtyard and heard the angry crowd. I heard the screams for my son’s death. I heard his screams as he was flogged.
And then they led him out, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. My son. Barely alive. Dragging his crossbeam on his torn back.
Can you imagine my pain seeing his pain? I almost collapsed, but Mary and Salome supported me.
We followed him slowly through the streets of Jerusalem. We saw him collapse and the soldiers brutally whipped him again and again. Finally, they asked someone from the crowd to carry the cross and we made it to Golgotha.
I can’t describe what happened next. I stood there, aghast at the scene before me. No mother expects their child to die before them. No mother should see their child die in front of them, especially in that way.
I saw his agony. I heard his thirst. I vaguely heard him asking John to take care of me, calling me his mother.
I looked up at him and I heard him say: “It is finished.” And I knew he died.
It was already unnaturally dark in the middle of the day. A huge earthquake hit, opening up tombs throughout the area.
All I could think about was my son, my firstborn son. Gone.
John and his mother held me, as we watched Jesus’ body hanging, lifeless, on the cross.
God, I trusted you to lead my son. He said, while he was hanging on the cross, that he accomplished something. What was it?
Salome
Salome
I am Salome. I am the mother of James and John. Let me tell you, they were a handful growing up, always getting into trouble. Always getting into arguments.
Then, they started following Jesus and their lives changed. They started to care for people. Sure, they had their moments, like when they wanted to call down fire from heaven on a Samaritan village.
But, I could see their change. A mother can see those things.
I started following Jesus, along with several other women. We provided food and kept their clothes in good repair. Someone needed to. But, we also listened.
As I listened, I heard things I had never heard before. I began to understand what the Kingdom of God was and what was expected of those who follow God. I knew that Jesus was the Son of God sent to usher in what the prophets had been foretelling for times gone by.
I got excited. I knew that my sons were in Jesus’ inner circle, so I thought that as a good Jewish mother I should help them out.
I approached Jesus with them and asked Jesus if my sons could sit on his left and his right in his coming kingdom.
He said that I didn’t know what I was asking, then he turned to James and John and asked them if they could drink the cup that he was going to drink. They said that they could, but he then replied that he couldn’t promise them these positions of authority. Only his father could give out those positions.
I understood, but I didn’t fully understand the significance of that conversation until the next week.
We followed Jesus into Jerusalem. The crowds were flocking around him, calling him King and Messiah. I knew the time was coming close when he would step onto the throne and usher in his kingdom.
And then the sky fell.
We were rudely awakened by the news that Jesus had been arrested. We rushed to Pilate’s courtroom and met up with my son, John. He told us everything that had happened. I couldn’t believe my eyes and ears. What about the coming kingdom? I believed that he was the Messiah. Were we wrong?
We followed the crowd to Golgotha. I watched the horrible scene as I had watched others happen, but the other crucifixions hadn’t been involving the Messiah, the one I had followed for the past three years, the one whose cup my sons had promised to drink.
As I stood there next to Jesus’ mother and my son, a horrible realization came over me. This was the cup. My sons were going to die because they were followers of Jesus. They were going to die a brutal death.
I heard Mary’s shriek’s for her son beside me. And I didn’t know if I could go through it. What worth is a man who promised everything that he promised but only delivers death and destruction on his followers?
After Jesus’ death, my sons and the rest of the disciples went into hiding. Joseph and Nicodemus arranged for Jesus’ burial. Mary Magdalene, some of the other ladies, and I made a plan to anoint his body after the Sabbath.
Early Sunday morning, we snuck out of town and went to the tomb. We knew soldiers would be there to guard and make sure no one stole the body. We hoped that they would open up the tomb for us.
But, then we arrived and we couldn’t believe our eyes! The stone had been rolled away and all the guards were gone. The tomb was empty! And, and, an angel appeared and told us that Jesus was not there. He is alive!
He did come to redeem.
As the prophet Isaiah said: “After he has suffered, he will see the light of life and be satisfied; by his knowledge my righteous servant will justify many, and he will bear their iniquities.”
Following him might bring pain in this life, but it will also bring an eternity of joy. So, I will follow him, come what may.