Triumph
Two processions entered Jerusalem on a spring day in the year 30. . . One a peasant procession, the other an imperial procession. From the east, Jesus rode a donkey down the Mount of Olives, cheered by his followers. On the opposite side of the city, from the west, Pontius Pilate entered Jerusalem at the head of a column of imperial cavalry and soldiers. Jesus’ procession proclaimed the kingdom of God; Pilate’s proclaimed the power of empire.
~ John Dominic Crossan and Marcus Borg, The Last Week
easter
If you’re a sports ignoramus (like I usually am), news flash: This weekend is the culmination of the NCAA basketball tournament. I did not grow up in a sports-oriented home, but as a youngster, I clutched desperately onto UNC to earn some cool points. I’m afraid it didn’t work. Then I married into a (I don’t think “rabid” is too strong) NC State family. But truth is, neither Kellie nor I ever cared much. These days we cheer tepidly for a reconciling third, Duke, which just lost its bid for this year’s championship.
At the end of that game, I turned to Kellie and said (don’t hate me), “I’m not sure that competitive sports is exactly a contemplative value, do you?” Don’t get me wrong: I recognize that actually playing sports contributes to qualities like discipline, perseverance, etc… but watching sports seems to contribute to other things… qualities like over-identification, tribalism, egotism, and domination. (Just kidding! Don’t unsubscribe!)
What is it that makes us humans strive to compete and win? That makes us need to be on the right team, the right political party, the right country, the right religion… and blow up the others either literally or figuratively? Whatever that instinct is, I don’t see it in Jesus. Jesus gathered together religious traditionalists like Nicodemus, political lackeys like Zacchaeus, and revolutionary zealots like Peter. The Pharisees were certainly his antagonists, and he didn’t try to pacify them, but Jesus was an includer, a healer of division, a mender of hearts. Can you picture Jesus, post-dunk, roaring and beating his chest?
Yet this is the posture that we Christians often take, especially at Easter. “Take that, Satan! In your face!” We’re the winners, you’re the loser. (Oh, and if you’re not a Christian, you’re unfortunately a loser too.) Somehow this doesn’t jive with the one who mounted a humble donkey to ride into Jerusalem and who didn’t defend himself against his executors. Jesus did triumph—and it’s good to relish his resurrection—but Jesus was not triumphalist.
Christian triumphalism is the belief that Christians should experience continuous victory in this life, often disregarding weakness and suffering. It frequently manifests as a mindset of superiority, cultural dominance, or a focus on health, wealth, and power as evidence of God's favor. Let’s be clear: Triumphalism has no place in the life of a follower of Jesus.
Diana Butler Bass (whose incredible book A People’s History of Christianity was part of our doctoral program) reminds us in a post last week that even in an Easter world, Empire is still alive and well. The Roman oppression of the early church did not get easier once Jesus left; it got harder. Those who bear the life of Christ are here to do what Jesus did—heal the hurting, bind up the wounds, and create pockets of shalom that he called the kingdom of God.
Here are some illuminating insights from Bass…
Not until recently did I realize that I didn’t actually know what “hosanna” meant. I’d always assumed it was a synonym for alleluia, an expression of praise. But hosanna and alleluia are not the same. Hosanná is a transliteration of the Hebrew term (hôsî-âh-na) meaning “Oh, save now!” or “Please save!”
In a week, we may still shout our Easter Alleluias, but the truth is that in our day we cry out hosanna. Children and teachers die in pools of blood at school, lies pervade and divide a desperate people, the rich steal everyone’s share, courts unwind justice, and even a poisoned earth and sky rage against us. Is this the Pax Americana? Well we may have believed that once, subject to all its deceptive promises. But the mask has come off and its faux peace has made itself known. This peace is one enforced by fear and violence and submission. A peace of privilege and guns and money. Hosanna, Jesus, hosanna! Save us, NOW!
Can we hold the promise of resurrection in one joyous hand while holding our world’s heart-rending trauma in the other? We must. The one is the hope for the other. Today we celebrate triumph without triumphalism. Tomorrow we get back to work bringing light in the darkness. We represent a humble God, an enduring love. This is our message and our mission.
finding our way home
How do you experience the tension between triumph and triumphalism? How can we honor the one and challenge the other?
takeaway
Two hands: celebration & compassion.