The
March For Our Lives
or,
“Those Young Naïve Brats Who Don’t Know Nothing”
by
Troy Cady
“But
when the chief priests and the teachers of the law saw the wonderful things he
did and the children shouting in the temple area, ‘Hosanna to the Son of David,’
they were indignant.” (Matthew 21:15)
“For example, one of the
difficulties faced by commentators focused on the concern that the Pharisees [sic]
expressed about what the children were doing during Jesus’ triumphal entry,
when the actions of the adults were much more worrying (Mt 21:15-16). Everyone
was joining in with chants that were common at the Feast of Tabernacles and
Hanukkah. The rule concerning these specific chants was that if anyone
(including a child) started a chant, then everyone was obliged to join in and
complete it (y. Sukkah 3:10, 54a; b.
Sukkah 38b). It appears that on this occasion (as, no doubt, on many
others) the children had gotten excited and kept up the chanting long after the
adults might otherwise have stopped.” -David Instone-Brewer, “Rabbinic
Traditions and Writings” in Dictionary of
Jesus and the Gospels.[i]
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Two significant events stuck out to me last weekend. The first happened on Saturday March 24, 2018. Thousands of people in the United States joined in a public
demonstration called March For Our Lives and the next day...it was Palm Sunday.
The former event was a march to call for new legislative
measures on gun control. Most mainstream news outlets highlighted the role
young people played in the day’s many demonstrations across the country.
Reading the various reactions, I was most disappointed
to see criticism directed at a number of the young voices who spoke out on
Sunday. I am even more saddened to hear that some of the young people have
received threats against their physical well-being.
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About two thousand years ago, there was a smaller
march for our lives that took place on the first day of the week. According to
the Gospel writers, Jesus entered Jerusalem that day, riding on the foal of a
donkey. Later that week he would be crucified on the outskirts of the city and
laid in a tomb. The following Sunday, his body was missing from the tomb. That
same day his followers say they saw him alive in both spirit and body. His resurrection
changed their lives and ever since then he has claimed the hearts of millions, altering
the course of history significantly.
Today, we call the Sunday prior to his crucifixion
Palm Sunday, because those who greeted Jesus as he rode into Jerusalem on a
donkey waved palm branches as they pronounced exclamations that indicated many
believed he was the expected Messiah, Israel’s hoped-for King in the line of
David, sent to deliver the Jewish people from their Roman oppressors. From at
least the time of King Solomon, palm branches symbolized royalty.
Lest we misconstrue the meaning of this event, we need
to keep in mind that ceremonies like these were not uncommon in the ancient
world. Biblical scholar Rikk E. Watts documents similar marches (called “parousia”—or “special entries”) in
Greco-Roman culture. He explains: “Entries of great personages into cities were
a well-established feature of the ancient world…Greco-Roman entries, the parousia, had the following features.
They were 1) commonly for royal individuals who, 2) greeted prior to entry by
sacerdotal and political figures accompanied by various groups, were then 3)
escorted into the city, where, 4) witnessed by attending citizenry-at-large
wearing ornamental clothing, including wreaths, 5) the subject was lauded in
speeches expressing the city’s privilege at his visitation before 6) being
escorted on the same day to the local temple.”[ii]
Jesus’ parousia
is a term most often used by today’s biblical scholars to refer to his
still-expected Second Coming but, properly speaking, the Palm Sunday event was
also a “parousia” (or, “special,
regal coming”). Christians believe in no fewer than three key Christological “parousia”: 1) his coming to earth to
become one of us, 2) his coming to Jerusalem to die for us and 3) his expected
Second Coming to deliver us utterly from all evil and suffering.
It is noteworthy that the first two parousia subvert what many came to
expect of the arrival of Greco-Roman nobility. Watts notes: “That the feast is Passover,
during which some apparently expected a repetition of the first exodus
deliverance…and that Jesus chooses a colt surely are provocative. In contrast
to the chariot and horses of treasonous pretenders, Jesus’ choice of the
characteristic transport for Israel’s royalty (2 Sam. 13:29; 18:9) constitutes
his most direct claim to being God’s promised humble Davidic Messiah (Zech.
9:9)...”[iii]
The scene we encounter in the Gospels actually
parallels many images contained in Psalm 118. The crowd shortened Psalm 118:25
(a cry of deliverance) by the expression “Hosanna” (which means “deliver us” or
“save us,” the specific wording used in Psalm 118). The Gospel expression
“Hosanna in the highest” is yet another indicator the crowd intended to exalt
Jesus as King. It could also be translated as “Save us, your Highness!” Because
of its parallel with Psalm 118, and because of the Messianic expectations of
the Jewish people at the time, the supposed supplication of the crowd (“Save
us”) feels more like an invocation to a deity (“Come, dwell among us; deliver
us from evil, High God!”).
The fact that the scene parallels what one would
expect during the Feast of Tabernacles or Hanukkah highlights as much. The
former festival is a remembrance of when God made his dwelling in the midst of
the people via the tabernacle and the latter is a remembrance of God’s abiding
presence when the Maccabees cleansed the temple after the Romans had defiled
their holy place.
Watts goes on to note more parallels with Psalm 118.
It is a royal psalm where “the king, surrounded by joyful worshipers (vv.
15-16), requests entrance from the temple gatekeepers (v. 19), who, confessing
his righteousness, readily grant him entry (v. 20).”[iv]
The Gospel accounts generally reflect this pattern in
the movements of Jesus and the portrait of the crowd. It is significant that,
upon entry to Jerusalem, Jesus goes directly to the temple.
Once Jesus arrives at the temple, we encounter two more
surprising subversions. The first is known as “the Temple Act” where Jesus
overturns the tables of the vendors and the money-changers.
Customarily, a sacrifice would be made on behalf of
the respective dignitary upon arrival at the temple. Such an action would
indicate to the populace that the dignitary enjoyed sacerdotal support. Jesus,
on the other hand, subverts this symbol through a rather impudent display,
rejecting the religious leaders.
In Matthew’s Gospel, this rejection is intensified by
a curious scene where the religious leaders essentially ask Jesus to tell the
children at the temple to stop chanting “Hosanna” (thus prompting everyone else
to follow their lead, as was their custom—see Instone-Brewer’s note at the head of this
essay).
The children warrant only a cursory mention in the
narrative, but their effect is disproportionate to the amount of space Matthew
devotes to their presence.
The specific word Matthew uses for “children” in this
instance is pais, which indicates the
second stage of childhood after infancy/young childhood (which, in turn, is
expressed in biblical Greek by the word paidion,
or “little child”). The latter (paidion)
spans from birth to age seven, while the children in the temple scene are
referred to as those who would have been between age eight and the onset of
puberty (pais).[v]
I believe this detail serves Matthew’s narrative
purpose quite well, because the children were clearly old enough to know what
they were doing but still young enough to be annoying to the adults present.
Children in this second stage of life have developed enough agency to persuade almost
anyone. They can, in fact, be very manipulative because they are more aware of
their power than younger children. It reminds me of those spoiled brats in the
classic version of Willy Wonka and the
Chocolate Factory who always get what they want. They know how to play “the
game.”
In ancient culture, however, this simply would not do.
Biblical scholar Caryn A. Reeder notes that, in the ancient world, children did
not have much of a life. In fact, it is estimated by one scholar (O.M. Bakke)
that only about fifty percent of children in Jesus’ day lived past the age of
ten. Reeder observes: “Common childhood experiences included hard work and
abuse…Although children could be valued and loved by their parents, in general
they were seen as unfinished adults, prey to vices that they could not control
and subject to strict discipline.”[vi]
She observes: “A child was considered the spitting
image of the parent, reflecting the parent’s (more precisely, the father’s)
character, and thus a child’s behavior could positively or negatively influence
the parent’s social standing.”[vii]
The children at Jesus’ parousia serve a final, decisive function in the subversive purpose
of Matthew’s narrative. When the religious leaders berate the children for
their incessant chanting, Jesus defends them by quoting Psalm 8. Jesus asks the
leaders: “…have you never read, ‘From the lips of children and infants you have
ordained praise’?” (Mt. 21:16) With that, Matthew’s account of that final
Sunday before Jesus’ crucifixion is complete. Through Jesus’ defense of them,
children literally have the last word.
Reeder comments on the literary structure of the text:
“Infants and babies [and children] in these texts act as literary foils. Although
they are, in cultural context, the ignorant and uneducated, it is these infants
[and children] who recognize and accept Jesus, not the educated, wise adults.
As in the case of the tax collectors and prostitutes who enter the kingdom
before the chief priests and elders, social expectations are disrupted by these
precocious children.”[viii]
That week so long ago began with a regal march into
the city and ended with a death march out of the city. Taken together, these
two marches constitute Jesus’ march for our lives.
His march is a march of humility and sacrifice. It is
a courageous march because it is met with disdain by those who think they know
better. It is met with opposition by those who think they are right because
they are used to wielding power that reassures them of their rightness. Jesus’
march is treated as subversive and criminal. If his message is left unopposed, it
will result in nothing less than the destruction of their national identity.
The religious leaders think that the children at the
scene fail to understand this. They need to stop their chanting, because they
are just making matters worse. They are just a bunch of brats with no
self-control and no reason; their parents can’t control them, so they will try
to do it themselves. In fact, they probably think, their parents are to blame
ultimately. These children have not been trained properly.
Their very way of life is being threatened…by children.
How dare they?
But Jesus just honors them. He knows: they “get it”—better
than those who are supposed to “get it.”
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Is there anything so toxic to the soul as a dismissive
attitude, the failure to listen more closely…to take seriously what the
powerless might have to say and why they are saying it?
When those in power are forced to listen to what the
powerless are saying, their usual response is to critique what the powerless
are saying, to defend what those in power want everyone to hear.
Sometimes, however, the collective voice of the powerless
rises to such a point that the powerful are forced to reckon with it. If the
message holds any water, the powerful then simply resort to an attack of the
messenger. If the messenger is a child, it makes the attack that much easier:
what do they know, after all? They are just children.
Yes, they are just children. But they know more than
you think they know. Their knowing is not like adult knowing: it isn’t jaded
yet and it hasn’t grown accustomed to abusing power yet.
They might not fully know as you think they need to
know at this point in their lives, but they do know one thing: Jesus will give
them a hearing, even if no one else will. That’s all that matters to them. The cry "Hosanna" is truly a child's cry. In fact, it can only come from a childlike heart; so, Jesus regards it with the warmest welcome.
I suppose we could crucify the young people who have stood up recently to have their voices heard above all the adult babbling that takes place in our governmental halls and lobby rooms, at our journalistic desks, and on our social media platforms. I question the wisdom of silencing them, however. I question the wisdom of it because history shows when you try to crucify the innocent, they will rise again. Their message will not go away until their sister Peace has her way.
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While many gathered for the March For Our Lives on
Sunday, I had the privilege of gathering for worship with a small group of
children. We started the day with a joyful expression, where the kids managed
to tease out of the adults a perspective that helps us not take ourselves so
seriously. The children entered the sanctuary to live worship music, waving palm
branches while wearing makeshift scarves and robes.
A young girl in sixth grade
put on a costume, pretending to be a donkey while our Jesus was a little girl
in preschool. She beamed as she rode into her pretend Jerusalem.
Later, we gathered in a room especially designed for
the children, with the ancient stories of God and God’s people surrounding us
as we sat in a circle. I told the story of Palm Sunday, beginning by reminding
the children that “during Lent we are all going to Jerusalem…and Jesus shows us
the way.”
I had little squares of felt in a variety of colors to
represent the cloaks the citizens lay on the ground in front of Jesus as he approached
the city. On top of the squares, I laid tiny palm branches especially scaled
for the story. With each item, I told the kids how the crowd shouted “Blessed
is the king!” and “Hosanna!”
One child noticed that some of the felt squares were purple
and he said, “That wouldn’t have been. People weren’t allowed to wear purple
like that unless they were kings or queens.”
I said, “That’s right!” and asked, “I wonder why we
have these here then?”
He replied, “Probably to remind us that Jesus was a
king.”
“That’s right.”
The child said, “But he wasn’t the kind of king everyone
thought he would be.”
Smart kid.
I continued telling the story and the children knew it,
so they told it…each taking a turn to lay down a square of felt (“Blessed is
the king!”) and a small palm branch (“Hosanna!”).
Later, we wondered what kind of king Jesus was. And my
young friends knew: he wasn’t like earthly kings. He was a heavenly king.
We wondered what the difference was.
They said:
Earthly kings do whatever they want and they can be cruel
sometimes.
A heavenly king does what is best for the people.
An earthly king might send a sick person away but the
heavenly king comes close to sick people. Heavenly kings feed the poor and look
out for people who are sad or hurt.
A heavenly king would die for the people.
I wonder: what more do we need to know than this?
I shudder to think how seldom we stop to listen to the
children. I shudder to think how alike we are today to those leaders at the
temple long ago, intent to just shut those pesky kids up, already. Their chanting
is both ignorant and dangerous.
Or, are their voices an indispensable reminder of
someone greater than us who became lesser than us, someone who marched for our
lives and liberates us to march for the lives of those who cannot march any longer?
May we learn to listen to the voices…of the children.
They know more than you think.
[i] Instone-Brewer. “Rabbinic Traditions and Writings” in Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels, edited by Joel B. Green, et
al. (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2013), 766. Dictionary reference, henceforth:
DJG.
[ii]
Watts. “Triumphal Entry” in DJG., 980.
[iii]
Ibid., 981.
[iv]
Ibid., 981.
[v] C.
Reeder, “Child, Children” in DJG, 109.
[vi]
Ibid., 109.
[vii]
Ibid., 109.
[viii]
Ibid., 111.
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