[Catholic Caucus] The Sacred Page: The Bipolar Crowds: Readings for Palm/Passion Sunday

By Dr. John Bergsma (first and second readings) and Dr. Brant Pitre (Gospel Reading)

This Sunday’s readings might seem bipolar or schizophrenic. We begin Mass with exultant cheering as we relive Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. We end the Readings on a note of solemn silence, unable to process the reality of one of the most egregious abuses of judicial process and power in human history, in which the only innocent man ever to live is executed. What does it all mean?

Despite a few mysterious prophetic texts that seemed to intimate this possibility, the idea that the Messiah could arrive and subsequently be killed was radically counter-intuitive to most of first-century Jews.

Yet the conviction of the early Christians, based on Jesus of Nazareth’s own teachings about himself, was that the radically counter-intuitive impossibility was actually prophesied, if one had the eyes to see and the ears to hear it in Israel’s Scriptures.

The Readings for this Mass offer us two of the most poignant prophecies of the suffering of the Messiah.

1. Isaiah 50:4-7, the First Reading, is part of one of the several enigmatic “servant songs” characteristic of the second part of Isaiah (Isaiah 40-66). (I follow Benjamin Sommer in seeing Isaiah 40-66 as a literary unit.) The subject of these “songs” or poems is a mysterious “servant” of the Lord, who is described variously in the first, second and third person:

The Lord GOD has given me a well-trained tongue, that I might know how to speak to the weary a word that will rouse them. Morning after morning he opens my ear that I may hear; and I have not rebelled, have not turned back. I gave my back to those who beat me, my cheeks to those who plucked my beard; my face I did not shield from buffets and spitting.

The Lord GOD is my help, therefore I am not disgraced; I have set my face like flint, knowing that I shall not be put to shame.

Isaiah 50:4-7 is a first-person account of the Servant. He refers to his persecutions: “I gave my back to those who struck me, and my cheeks to those who pulled out the beard.” Yet he is confident of vindication: “I have set my face like a flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame.”

This is the lesser of two passages in Isaiah that speak of the sufferings of the servant. The other, more famous and longer, passage is Isaiah 52:13–53:12, which the Church saves for the Good Friday liturgy.

With respect to both passages, we may well take up the query of the Ethiopian Eunuch (Acts 8:34): “About whom does the prophet say this, about himself or about someone else?”

It is a puzzle. Traditionally the passage has been understood as the writing of Isaiah the prophet of Jerusalem. Yet we know of no physical persecution of Isaiah like this. Modern critical scholarship divides Isaiah into at least three different main sections, with different authors and a multitude of anonymous “redactors” or editors. Isaiah 50 might be attributed to an exilic “deuteron-” or “second Isaiah.” Yet nothing is known about the personal life or ministry of this hypothetical prophet, aside from speculation based on the text of the oracles themselves.

The common conviction of the followers of Jesus of Nazareth is that these texts speak of Him; moreover, that the prophecies of the Scriptures of Israel only make sense and come into focus when seen in the light of the life, death, and resurrection of this Jesus, who was and is the anointed Servant.

So we can take the words of Isaiah 50 as the words of Jesus himself. Although he submits to torture and death (“I gave my back to those who beat me …”) he knows that he will be vindicated (“knowing that I shall not be put to shame”). This confidence in the midst of suffering is important for interpreting the Gospel for this Sunday.

2. The Responsorial Psalm—Psalm 22—is perhaps the most dramatic in the psalter, and has always been understood as a prophecy of the passion:

All who see me scoff at me;
they mock me with parted lips, they wag their heads:
“He relied on the LORD; let him deliver him,
let him rescue him, if he loves him.”
R. My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?

Indeed, many dogs surround me,
a pack of evildoers closes in upon me;
They have pierced my hands and my feet;
I can count all my bones.
R. My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?

They divide my garments among them,
and for my vesture they cast lots.
But you, O LORD, be not far from me;
O my help, hasten to aid me.
R. My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?

I will proclaim your name to my brethren;
in the midst of the assembly I will praise you:
“You who fear the LORD, praise him;
all you descendants of Jacob, give glory to him;
revere him, all you descendants of Israel!”
R. My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?

In Christian interpretation, we are used to thinking of the Old Testament as speaking literally (for example, of the “promised land”), but these literal statements receive a figurative fulfillment in the New Testament (the “promised land” = heaven). In certain instances, however, this pattern is reversed. Psalm 22 is an example.

In certain places, the psalmist (David, according to tradition) describes his afflictions in a way that can only be figurative or hyperbolic: “I am poured out like water,” “all my bones are out of joint,” “they have pierced my hands and feet,” “I can count all my bones.”

We know of no instance where any of these things were true literally of David or any other Old Testament figure. They are emotive overstatements of the psalmist’s suffering. Yet, they receive a literal fulfillment in Christ. The literal fulfillment in Christ’s passion is a condescension of God to us. It is God writing in big letters in order that we get the point.

Todah means “thanks” or “praise,” and the Todah is the “sacrifice of thanksgiving” legislated by Moses in Leviticus 7:11ff. It was a kind of animal sacrifice not offered in reparation for sin, but out of thanksgiving for some saving act that the LORD had done for the worshiper.

Excellent work on the Todah and its significance for the psalms has been done by Hartmut Gese, followed by Joseph Ratzinger, and summarized superbly by our own Michael Barber.

The Todah was a festive sacrifice offered as part of a lived cycle of experiences in which you (1) began in a situation of distress, (2) cried out to God, (3) made a vow to offer the Todah if God would save you, (4) God saved you, (5) you paid your vow by offering the Todah sacrifice in the temple, (6) you had a festive party as you and your family and friends ate the meat of the sacrifice and all the bread that was required (see Leviticus 7:11ff), and (7) you gave public testimony to all assembled in the Temple concerning how God saved you.

Interestingly, the Passover, if categorized according to the genres of sacrifices in Leviticus 1-7, would fall under the category of the Todah sacrifice.

The Todah is significant to the Psalter, because it seems that a large number of Psalms were written for part or all of the Todah cycle described above.

Important Todah psalms include Psalm 116 (my personal favorite), Psalm 50, 56, 100, and several others, including perhaps the most complete, today’s Psalm 22.

Jesus cites Psalm 22 from the cross. The so-called “Cry of Dereliction,” (“My God, My God ...”) is, of course, actually the first line of Psalm 22.

I think Jesus’ cry from the cross is over-read theologically sometimes, as if it indicated that Jesus felt utterly separated from the Father and had lost the beatific vision.

Of course, Our Lord’s sufferings were extreme, and difficult for us to comprehend, but the cry of dereliction is not proof that he lost the beatific vision or experienced radical separation from the Father.

The psalms in antiquity were almost certainly not known by their present numberings, because the numbering systems varied according to different editions of the psalter (for example, Qumran’s 11QPalmsa). The way to refer to a psalm was probably by its first line—a practice similar to the traditional Jewish naming of biblical books by their first words (also done in the Catholic tradition with Papal documents).

So when Jesus cites “My God, My God ...” from the cross in today’s Gospel, he is really making a reference to all of Psalm 22, inviting the bystanders to interpret what is happening to him in light of this psalm.

With that in mind, fast forward to the end of Psalm 22. How does the Psalm end? Our Responsorial includes some of the end:

The “assembly” spoken of here is the qahal in Hebrew, the ekklesia in Greek, the Church in English. It’s a mystical prophesy of the glorification of God in the Church, which will ever praise Him for the salvation he accomplished for his messianic servant.

Too bad our Responsorial only quotes part of the end of the Psalm, because many other things are mentioned in Psalm 22:22-31, including the “poor” eating and being satisfied (verse 26; Eucharistic typology) and future generations praising God (verses 30-31; the transmission of the faith through the generations).

I suspect he did. Though he was in agony on the cross, he also knew this was the path to triumph (see Mark 8:31; 9:31; 10:34; 14:58; 15:29). Psalm 22 begins in agony but ends with eternal victory.

Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
something to be grasped.
Rather, he emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
coming in human likeness;
and found human in appearance,
he humbled himself,
becoming obedient to the point of death,
even death on a cross.
Because of this, God greatly exalted him
and bestowed on him the name
which is above every name,
that at the name of Jesus
every knee should bend,
of those in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue confess that
Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.

This famous passage—often thought to be a early Christian hymn or creed that St. Paul is quoting—gives an outline of the whole Gospel. Jesus did not see “equality with God as something to be seized,” using the Greek word harpagmon, from a root harpazo, “to snatch or seize, often quickly or violently.” Jesus is thus a contrast with the Greco-Roman mythical hero Prometheus, who ascended to the realm of the gods and “snatched” fire, bringing it back to man in an effort to attain equality with the divine. So Prometheus has always stood as an icon of rebellion against God or the gods, and a worldview that imagines the divine as opposed to or limiting the human. In this worldview, humanity is liberated and fulfilled at the expense of the divine; the realm of God must be rolled back to make way for the kingdom of man. This spirit continues to animate the New Atheist movement in our own day (with their flagship publisher, Prometheus Books), which is more a miso-theistic (God-hating) cultural force than an a-theistic (no-God) one.

In contrast to Prometheus, Jesus does not conceive of the relationship between God and man as one of antagonism, in which the divine nature must be violently “snatched” from the Divinity. Jesus empties himself of the glory of his divinity in order to descend to the status of creature, of “slave.” Crucifixion was the form of execution mandated for slaves; citizens could not be crucified. Having taken on human nature, he submits to the death of slaves: “even death on a cross.” But paradoxically, this great act of self-giving love shows the glory of Jesus and the glory of God. Truly, a God who would so empty himself out of love is greater, more lovable, more worthy of worship, than a God who will not give of himself. The cross is the glory of our God. So God the Father bestows on Jesus “the Name which is above every name”, so that at the Name of Jesus, “every knee should bend.” St. Paul probably has in mind here the ancient ritual of the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), on which, according to the Mishnah, the High Priest would exit the Holy of Holies after making atonement for Israel and pronounce the priestly blessing of Numbers 6 upon the gathered worshipers. This was the one day a year (apparently) when the Divine Name YHWH was pronounced audibly, and each time the assembly heard the name pronounced, they dropped to the ground in prostration. The name of “Jesus” is now heir to the glory of the divine name YHWH. In the Name of Jesus we now find salvation. Thus, in the Catholic tradition we bow the head at the Name of Jesus and celebrate the Feast Day of the Most Holy Name of Jesus (Jan 3), for which our present text is an optional Second Reading.

Unlike the New Atheists, the Jesus and his disciples do not regard the divine-human relationship as one of antagonism where goods are “snatched” from each other, but a relationship of communion, love, and self-gift. The human is not exalted at the expense of the divine; rather, human and divine are exalted together. God and man are mutually glorified by loving each other. Humanity becomes more human by becoming more divine. Divinization also humanizes.

Unlike other Masses, Palm Sunday contains two proclamations of the Gospel. The first is from Matthew’s account of Jesus Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem:

When Jesus and the disciples drew near Jerusalem and came to Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village opposite you, and immediately you will find an ass tethered, and a colt with her. Untie them and bring them here to me. And if anyone should say anything to you, reply, ‘The master has need of them.’ Then he will send them at once.” This happened so that what had been spoken through the prophet might be fulfilled: 'Say to daughter Zion, “Behold, your king comes to you, meek and riding on an ass, and on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden.” The disciples went and did as Jesus had ordered them. They brought the ass and the colt and laid their cloaks over them, and he sat upon them. The very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, while others cut branches from the trees and strewed them on the road. The crowds preceding him and those following kept crying out and saying: “Hosanna to the Son of David; blessed is the he who comes in the name of the Lord; hosanna in the highest. “And when he entered Jerusalem the whole city was shaken and asked, “Who is this?” And the crowds replied, “This is Jesus the prophet, from Nazareth in Galilee.” (Matthew 21:1-11; NAB)

What is the meaning of this mysterious action? Why does Jesus ride an ass into Jerusalem, and why does the crowd react in the way that they do?

As is fairly well-known, by choosing to publicly mount and ride a “colt” into Jerusalem in the midst of the procession of so many Passover pilgrims into the city, Jesus is performing what scholars refer to as a prophetic sign—a symbolic act which is meant to both symbolize and set in motion some major event in the history of salvation. In this case, Jesus’ act of riding the colt into Jerusalem harks back to Zechariah’s prophecy of the advent of the Messiah—the long-awaited king of Israel—to the city of Jerusalem (see Zechariah 9:9).

However, there is more here than simply an implicitly messianic public act. For when we go back to the prophecy of Zechariah and read it in its full context, we discover something very mysterious--namely, that the Messiah not only rides an ass, but comes to deliver "captives" from the "waterless pit":

Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on an ass, on a colt the foal of an ass. I will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war horse from Jerusalem; and the battle bow shall be cut off, and he shall command peace to the nations; his dominion shall be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth. As for you also, because of the blood of my covenant with you, I will set your captives free from the waterless pit. (Zechariah 9:10-11)

The first part of Zechariah's prophecy is pretty clear: the future king--also known as the Messiah--will come riding an ass. But what about the second part of the prophecy? Notice here that according to Zechariah, the king who rides the ass into Jerusalem will not deliver his people through the shedding of blood in battle, but through the mysterious “blood of the covenant,” which will somehow set captives free from "the Pit"--a common Old Testament expression for the realm of the dead (Zechariah 9:10-11).

Once again, this Old Testament background of Jesus’ Triumphal Entry on Palm Sunday ultimately points forward to what he will accomplish in his Passion. For in the words of Jesus at the Last Supper, we find a striking allusion to Zechariah’s prophecy:

While they were eating, Jesus took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and giving it to his disciples said, "Take and eat; this is my body." Then he took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, "Drink from it, all of you, for this is my blood of the covenant, which will be shed on behalf of many for the forgiveness of sins." (Matthew 26:26-28)

In other words, by means of his Triumphal Entry, Jesus is signaling much more than just the fact that he is the Messiah. He is also signaling what kind of Messiah he will be, and by what means he will set his people free from captivity—not by the blood of warfare, but by the blood of the covenant, which he will pour out under the appearance of wine in the Upper Room and on the wood of the Cross on Good Friday. It is by means of this blood, poured out upon the Cross on Calvary, that he will lead the righteous from the shadows of the Pit, but into the glory of Paradise. Indeed, this is the whole point of Holy Saturday: Christ descends into the realm of the dead--Hades--to free the righteous from the realm of the dead. In the words of the Apostle Paul:

Therefore it is said, "When he ascended on high he led a host of captives, and he gave gifts to men." In saying, "He ascended," what does it mean but that he had also descended into the lower parts of the earth? He who descended is he who also ascended far above all the heavens, that he might fill all things. (Ephesians 4:8-10)

Who are the "host of captives" that Christ "led on high" when he ascended into heaven, after he "descended" to the dead? They are none other than the righteous dead of the Old Covenant, who were waiting for the Messiah to finally come triumphant to Jerusalem and her people. In the words of the Catechism of the Catholic Church:

Jesus did not descend into hell to deliver the damned, nor to destroy the hell of damnation, but to free the just who had gone before him. "The gospel was preached even to the dead." (1 Peter 4:6). The descent into hell brings the Gospel message of salvation to complete fulfillment. This is the last phase of Jesus' messianic mission, a phase which is condensed in time but vast in its real significance: the spread of Christ's redemptive work to all men of all times and all places... (CCC 633-634)

This is the real 'return from exile' that will be accomplished by the Messiah: he will lead the exiled children of Eve back to the Paradise of God through the blood of the new and everlasting covenant.

Now, at this point, someone might ask: But how does Jesus accomplish all this? What role does the Cross have to play? This question takes us back to the crowd’s response to Jesus’ triumphal entry, with their proclamation of the words:

"Hosanna to the Son of David; blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord; hosanna in the highest!" (Matthew 21:9).

It is extremely important to recognize that the Jewish crowd is taking this chant for "salvation" (Hosanna means "Save" or "Give Salvation!") from Psalm 118, a popular song that was sung during the feasts of Passover and Tabernacles. However, once again, when we go back and look at the Psalm in context, we discover yet again several striking features of the king whose arrival is being celebrated:

Open to me the gates of righteousness, that I may enter through them and give thanks to the LORD… The stone which the builders rejected has become the head of the corner... Save us, we beseech thee, O LORD! O LORD, we beseech thee, give us success! Blessed be he who comes in the name of the LORD! We bless you from the house of the LORD. The LORD is God, and he has given us light! Bind the festal procession with branches, up to the horns of the altar! Thou art my God, and I will give thanks to thee... (Psalm 118:19, 22, 25-28).

. The critical point to notice here is that in Psalm 118, the king is not simply coming into the city (‘open to me the gates)—he is going up to the Temple to offer sacrifice. And not just any kind of sacrifice, but the “thanksgiving” sacrifice, known in Hebrew as the todah offering (see Leviticus 7).

Once this Old Testament background to the crowd’s response is in place, the deeper meaning of Jesus’ Triumphal Entry is revealed. The crowds with their branches and their Psalms have it right: Jesus is the king of Israel; he has come to his city; and he is going up to the altar to offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving. But the sacrifice he is going to offer is not that of bulls or goats, but of himself. And the todah that he will give will begin with the Eucharist celebrated in the Upper Room and consummated on the altar of the Cross.

In other words, at every Mass, when we proclaim—“Blessed is He Who Comes in the Name of the Lord, Hosanna in the Highest!”—we are not only remembering the first Palm Sunday. Even more, we are celebration the liturgical coming of the King into our midst, as he 'ascends' to the altar of the Eucharist. As he said at the Last Supper, there he 'pours out' the blood of the new covenant in the one eternal offering by which we too are given peace and prepared to enter into the kingdom of Paradise. In the words of the Catechism of the Catholic Church:

How will Jerusalem welcome her Messiah? Although Jesus had always refused popular attempts to make him king, he chooses the time and prepares the details for his messianic entry into the city of "his father David". Acclaimed as son of David, as the one who brings salvation (Hosanna means "Save!" or "Give salvation!"), the "King of glory" enters his City "riding on an ass". Jesus conquers the Daughter of Zion, a figure of his Church, neither by ruse nor by violence, but by the humility that bears witness to the truth… Their acclamation, "Blessed be he who comes in the name of the Lord", is taken up by the Church in the "Sanctus" of the Eucharistic liturgy that introduces the memorial of the Lord's Passover.

Jesus' entry into Jerusalem manifested the coming of the kingdom that the King-Messiah was going to accomplish by the Passover of his Death and Resurrection. It is with the celebration of that entry on Palm Sunday that the Church's liturgy solemnly opens Holy Week. (CCC 559-560)

John S. Bergsma is Professor of Theology at Franciscan University of Steubenville (Steubenville, OH). He holds three degrees in ancient languages and theology from Calvin College and Seminary and a Ph.D. in ancient Christianity and Judaism from the University of Notre Dame. He is a specialist in the Old Testament and the Dead Sea Scrolls. He is the author of numerous scholarly and popular level books, including, The Jubilee from Leviticus to Qumran: A History of Interpretation, VTSup 115 (Brill, 2007) and, more recently, Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls: Revealing the Jewish Roots of Christianity (Penguin Random House, 2019). He also sought after as a Catholic speaker and appears regularly at parishes and conferences. He lives in Steubenville, OH, with his wife Dawn and their eight children.

Brant Pitre is Distinguished Research Professor of Scripture at the Augustine Institute Graduate School of Theology (Greenwood Village, CO). He earned his Ph.D. in Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity from the University of Notre Dame and an M.T.S. in Biblical Studies and Theology from Vanderbilt University. He is the author of several academic articles as well as numerous scholarly and popular books, including, Jesus, the Tribulation, and the End of the Exile, WUNT 2/204 (Mohr Siebeck, 2005), Jesus and the Last Supper (Eerdmans, 2015), Paul, A New Covenant Jew: Rethinking Pauline Theology (co-authored with Michael Barber and John Kincaid; Eerdmans, 2019), and The Case for Jesus (Image Books, 2016). He has also produced dozens of Bible studies on CD, DVD, and MP3, in which he explores the biblical foundations of Catholic faith and theology. He currently lives in Louisiana, with his wife Elizabeth, and their five children.

Yes ! Dr. Pitre not to be overlooked for sure !
I enjoy both those guys so much...
Bergsma dives deep into the OT like no other...
and Dr. Brant is so good at relating the Faith to its pure roots
that are derived from that OT scripture.
2 treasures of the Church among many !
I can't get enough Bergsma though..
I mean come on- how awesome we can embrace such deep theological explanations-
while at the same time be able to slip in a "Princess Bride" reference? (last week)
Inconceivable ! - yet One of a kind...

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