C
Palm/Passion Sunday
Luke 19:35-46
March 20, 2016
Sam
Temple smiled to himself and creased the page of his new Bible. He had joined this church just for a teaching
such as this one. The group had been
reading through the Gospel of Luke and on this night the Sunday Scripture
before Palm Sunday was the parable of the pounds. A nobleman went on a journey to advance
himself in the world and procure the title of king. In
leaving home, he entrusted his slaves with his wealth. He gave them each 10 pounds. When the now king returned, one slave had
traded to earn 10 more pounds. Another
had traded to earn 5 pounds. Finally,
another had wrapped what he had received in a piece of cloth. The king returned to reward those who traded
to earn more and punished the slave who wrapped his 10 pounds in a piece of
cloth. “So learn from this,” said Pastor
Bill, “that God, as king, blesses those who know how to advance themselves in
the world.”[1]
This was a story he would
have to remember. It rhymed with what Sam
thought he did in the world. As someone
who was working himself up the ladder at U.S. Bank, Sam was always helping
those who sought a greater return on their pounds or dollars. He joined the group in a closing prayer,
thanked Pastor Bill for his teaching, zipped up his Bible, and headed
home. Even the cold wind went unnoticed
as he made his way back to his apartment.
He was successful. He was
faithful. God was in His heaven and all
was right with the world.
Sleep came easily that
night. But there was something broader
and deeper that came to Sam that night.
And what was a restful repose became the dream that Sam did not want to
hear. Sam could see that she was
pointing to a place in her Bible, pulled her dark, curly hair from her face,
and looked up at him. “Those who trade
in the system, reap the profits of the system.
But what if I don’t trade in the system?” She didn’t seem to be getting the answer she
wanted so she walked closer toward him.
“What if I don’t trade in the system?”
Now she was right in his face.
“What if I don’t trade in the system?”
All of it seemed so real. Sam
woke, turned the light on at his night table, and took a look around the
room. He half expected to see her. But . . . nothing.
Twice more she appeared to
him in his dreams. Each time she began
by pointing in her Bible, each time she pulled her hair back and looked at him,
as if to indict him. “That is not what
this passage means.” Again, she advanced
until she was right on top of him, shouting, “That is not what this passage
means.” Again, he woke up, turned on the
lamp on his night stand, and checked the room.
Again . . . nothing.
The final time, she began by
repeating the words from the parable, “The king said, ‘[E]ven what they have
will be taken away. As for my enemies who don’t want me as their
king, bring them here and slaughter them before me.’” She advanced upon him, the words growing in
intensity. Somehow, this time in the
dream, Sam was awake enough to ask, “Then what am I to do?”
“Turn the tables,” she
repeated softly, walking away from him, and out the doors of the bank. This time when Sam awoke, those words were on
his lips, “Turn the tables,” saying them over and over again. Maybe his dream had his mind playing tricks
on him, but he heard something slam to the ground in his living room. He hopped up, and shouted out, “Who’s there?” With no response, he snuck his arm around the
corner and flipped on the light. “Who’s
there?” he shouted out. Sam looked out
and saw his kitchen table overturned and the file folders with his mortgage
notes scattered all over the floor. He
quickly flipped the table right side up, took a quick survey of the room, and
gathered and stacked his file folders on the kitchen counter. “Turn the tables,” he thought, and plodded
back to bed to try to get some sleep with what was left of the night.
Uncharacteristically, he
slept through his alarm and was already a half hour late when he realized he
would need to skip his shower to make it to work on time. Disconcerted, shaken, and unshowered, Sam
Temple arrived at his desk when the bank office manager stuck her head in his
office and said that his first client had arrived to see him. He pulled the file of Berta Cáceres[2] and then
fumbled it to the floor when he looked up to see a woman with curly dark hair,
the woman in his dream, take her seat in front of him. “Sorry,” he said,
picking up the papers from the floor, “I’m clumsy in the morning.” She acknowledged his attempt at humor with a
soft smile. He began by looking through
her file.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Cáceres, but
it appears the bank is left with nothing but Hard Choices[3]. If you had been talking to your counselor,
she might have helped you with other remedies.”
“But our family will go
bankrupt. You do not understand. I have tried to call my counselor but she
never takes my calls. And she won’t call
me back.”
“I have no way of knowing
that, Ms. Cáceres.”
“We have had two short
sales, ready to go, and your bank lost our papers each time. Each time we came back with the papers but it
was too late. The people panicked and
left. They were ready. Your bank lost the papers each time. We call our counselor but she will not
answer.”
“Again, Hard Choices have to be made.
I know this is not easy. But the
bank has to make money. We just cannot
throw money around.”
“Mr. Temple, I can
understand you have a job to do. But we
took out our mortgage with a different bank.
That bank cared about its community.
Then your bank bought that bank. Now.
Now, Mr. Temple, you use your money to keep us from the holy of
holies. We don’t trade in your system,
Mr. Temple. But we deserve to be known
as Children of God. We will go
bankrupt. We will be out on the
street. My husband is dead. I have a daughter. Do you have any children, Mr. Temple?”
“I do not have any children,
Ms. Cáceres, but I do have many nieces and nephews. I feel sorry for you. This is not a fun part of my job. My job is to make money for this bank. And if we allow you to remain in your home,
we will lose money. That requires Hard Choices.”
“No, Mr. Temple. Your job is to be a human being. Your bank seems to have plenty of money to
build the Agua Zarca dam. Why aren’t
those same hard choices used to save the people whose lives will be ruined by
that dam, Mr. Temple?”
“They aren’t the same.”
“No, Mr. Temple, they aren’t
the same. You have convinced yourself
that your Christian faith matters when you are multiplying money for your bank,
but your Christian faith does not matter when you are trading in a system that
takes the last two coins of a widow.”
Berta pointed to the papers
in her lap, pulled her dark, curly hair from her face, and then Sam did not
remember what happened next. He was back
in dreamland. He did not even remember
when Berta left and when he had picked up the folder of Nelson García.[4]
In a fog, Sam asked, “What
happened to Berta?”
Nelson smiled, “She
multiplied.”
“She what?”
Sam remembered saying
something about hard choices. Nelson
laughed at him. “She multiplied. Have you ever read the prophet, Jeremiah,
Sam?”
“Jeremiah? No.”
“Jeremiah asks why you have
made your place a hiding place for crooks.”[5]
“But the bank has to make
money, Nelson.”
“The bank has to make
money. Does your faith require anything
of you, Sam? Does it require you to be
successful or courageous?”
Nelson stood and began
walking away. Sam could not tell whether
he was dreaming or just confused. He
wished he had taken a shower. He heard
crashing and slamming like the sound of his kitchen table the night
before. He came out of his fog to see
Nelson overturning table after table in the bank, scattering mortgage notes
everywhere. He heard Nelson shouting,
“Success or courage, Samuel. What’s
required of you?” Security guards moved
in an attempt to bring Nelson to the ground, but he somehow wriggled his way
under and through them and out the bank.
Sam Temple took a deep
breath. He reached down into his briefcase
and took out his Bible. He followed the
crease to the parable of the pounds where he read about a nobleman aspiring to
be king . . . and how that king rewarded slaves who sought to trade in the
economy of the king. Sam drew a heavy
sigh. He needed to get back to his
Bible study next Sunday where he could get some balance, a reality check. Good thing.
Next Sunday was Palm Sunday where he could hear words of comfort and
affirmation all over again. Just like he
had this last week. He worked hard at
the bank and he needed those words of comfort and affirmation more than ever
now. Amen.
[1]
So many of the Biblical stories/parables have been interpreted as morality
tales which portray God as Judge, Punisher, or King. William Loader believes this is once again
Jesus putting the people on notice about how the world works. The king returns home to punish and slaughter
his enemies. Loader believes this is a
recognition of the cruel and inhuman reign of Herod the Great’s son, Herod
Archelaus, who ruled in Jerusalem. Professor
William Loader, Murdoch University, “First Thoughts on Year C Gospel Passages
from the Lectionary: Palm Sunday,” http://wwwstaff.murdoch.edu.au/~loader/LkPalmSunday.htm; See also “Archelaus,” HarperCollins Bible Dictionary (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1996), p. 66. Archelaus’ cruelty is portrayed in the author
of Matthew’s Massacre of the Innocents, seeking to kill the infant Jesus as a
rival king.
[2]
Berta Cáceres was a member of COPINH, the Civic Council of Popular and
Indigenous Organizations of Honduras, and co-founded, the organization. She won the prestigious Goldman Environmental
Prize last year for her decade-long fight against the Agua Zarca Dam, a project
planned along a river sacred to the indigenous Lenca people. She was shot to
death at her home on March 3.
[3]
In her book, Hard Choices, Hillary
Clinton detailed what was going on in Honduras.
The United States overthrew the democratically elected government of
Honduras through coup and ousted President Manuel Zelaya. By calling for elections without Zelaya’s
return, the United States effectively confessed to their role.
[4]
Another indigenous environmentalist was murdered in Honduras this week, less
than two weeks after the assassination of renowned activist Berta Cáceres.
Nelson García was shot to death Tuesday after returning home from helping
indigenous people who had been displaced in a mass eviction by Honduran
security forces. García was a member of COPINH, the Civic Council of
Popular and Indigenous Organizations of Honduras. http://www.democracynow.org/2016/3/18/slain_activist_berta_caceras_daughter_us.
[5]
Jeremiah 7:11
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