The Absurd Parade
written for my Franciscan siblings
Texts: John 12:12-16, Matt. 21:1-11, Mk 11:1-11, Luke 19:29-44
Note: Some of this is adapted from Lenten curriculum that I wrote years ago for the Smyth & Helwys Publishing Company.
In medieval times, on the first day of January, folks in Europe celebrated what came to be known as the Feast of Fools. During this celebration, clergy and townspeople who were normally circumspect would dress in costumes and masks and engage in a frolic that was sometimes burlesque. The social order would be turned upside down; the person who held the lowest status in town would be named king or duke (or whatever rank the town’s ruler held) and often a child would take the place of the highest-ranking religious leader.
Historians say that the people of the ruling classes avoided the Feast of Fools because the celebration exposed the obvious gap in power and resources between rich and poor. At times, during a parade through the town, the “ruler” for that day would be pelted with vegetables and other unpleasant missiles as the townspeople vented their true feelings toward the “powers that be.”
The central idea for the Feast of Fools seems to have been taken from the old Roman feast of Saturnalia, the festival at winter solstice, which evolved into a brief social revolution in which power and dignity was transferred for a time to people who normally occupied a subordinate position. In some ways, it was a safety valve for the frustrations of the peasant classes, but there were also deeper meanings. The parody of leadership was much like the well-disguised wisdom of the Shakespearean fools, who somehow got away with telling the unpleasant truth to the people of aristocracy and royalty they served.
These “clown” figures have been compared, throughout the centuries, with the absurd way that Jesus seems to have operated his public career. He chose a motley group of peasants and social outcasts as his ministry team. He constantly criticized the “in” crowd and the upwardly mobile, while championing the “down and out.” His whole ministry looked like a parody of a messiah. As he prepared to enter the city of Jerusalem less than a week before his death, he seems to have been planning something resembling the Feast of Fools.
We know the story so well that we don’t pay much attention to it. Jesus decided to enter the city like a conquering ruler or returning hero, except that he was not riding a war horse. Like David of old, he came riding a donkey–or colt, or two colts, depending on which gospel you read. He was not accompanied by an army or elite guard; he is accompanied by a rag-tag group of followers.
He rode through the streets with people throwing garments in his path—and palm branches, again depending which gospel you read. They greeted him, shouting “Hosanna,” calling him the Son of David, and saying (quoting Psalms), “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.” Luke, following a theme of royalty, renders it “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord.” The pharisees told Jesus to make the people be quiet, but he said (quoting Habakkuk) that, if he did, the rocks and stones themselves would cry out.
We hear one of these gospel passages read every year on Palm Sunday morning, and then those of us in pastoral ministry quickly turn our minds to fretting about how we’re going to get through Holy Week without our hair on fire.
But let’s pause here in the streets for a minute. Let’s think about this parade. What does a messianic procession through the city on a donkey—and townspeople laying garments and palm branches on the ground and shouting blessings—have to do with our lives? How does Jesus’ so-called triumphal entry touch our lives–other than the fact that we annually march down the aisle of our churches carrying palm branches and singing “Hosanna”?
And what does a medieval festival of fools have to do with us? Hmmm…If we compare our world with the world of first-century Palestine, or even with medieval Europe–well, you already see the parallels.
In the first century (BCE) there was a huge gap between those who were quite wealthy and those who were quite poor. In the United States today, we have the same reality. You know the figures. And, during these Lenten weeks, this year, the gap is growing at lightening speed.
In Jesus’ day, a group of legalistic religious leaders had seized control of the Jewish culture and used their rules as weapons against those with no voice. In our day, fundamentalists from almost every religion in the world are wreaking havoc everywhere they exist. In Jesus’ day, the people were expecting a political leader, a military leader, to rise up—a leader chosen of God, who would deliver them by crushing the opposition. Many in people in the US, even among those who proclaim Jesus’ name, prefer this kind of leader. And some of them think they’ve found him.
Jesus refused to conform to the expectations of the people. He chose to travel around, hanging out with riffraff, healing and feeding people, and preaching about peace. The reign of which he spoke was crazy, topsy-turvy. His entry into the city of his royal ancestors was an absurd parade. His whole ministry was like a Feast of Fools. Whoever was in power should be out of power, he said. Whoever is up should be down. Whoever is first should be last. He spoke out candidly against the religious establishment of Israel. He condemned their hypocrisy and greed.
I don’t have to tell you that our world, our country, is full of hypocrisy and greed. Economic injustice is foisted on the poor by the wealthy and powerful. There are people who raise themselves above others, electing themselves to be the judges of who is acceptable and who is not. People are marginalized, even within our churches, especially within our churches, for an infinite number of reasons. In some way they don’t conform to what our churches have chosen to call normal. Maybe they’re a gender minority. Maybe they’re undocumented. Maybe they’re uneducated. Maybe they’ve made mistakes. Maybe they haven’t had a bath in weeks. Maybe they hear voices in their heads. Maybe they’re just without resources.
If we think about it for more than five seconds, Franciscans will remember that Jesus would embrace those marginalized folks. And he would embrace them first. And, if we’re honest, we have a sneaking suspicion that he might not be too thrilled with us.
I know it sometimes takes courage to act in loving ways toward people who are “other.” It takes even more courage to stand up for them in the face of powerful authority. I challenge us today (and especially myself), after reading this story of Jesus’ absurd parade, before we get into the Holy Week vortex, to be even more intentional about seeking out marginalized folks. To do something that doesn’t make sense. To find a way to turn something upside-down.