Palm Sunday and Good Friday: No Kings!

On Palm Sunday, which ushered us into Holy Week, I could not help but be struck by the happenstance juxtaposition of the Passion Narrative according to Matthew and the celebration of “No Kings” that took place the previous day.  In that Passion Narrative, Pilate asks Jesus, “So, are you the king of the Jews?”  Jesus’ answer?  “You say so,” not claiming that title for himself.  And on Good Friday, as we hear the Passion Narrative according to John proclaimed, when Pilate asks the question, “Then you are a king?” Jesus answers, “You say I am a king. For this I was born and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.”  In both cases, Jesus distances himself from the earthly understanding of kingship and the type of authority kings wield.  His is to be a kingdom, a reign of God, that transforms this world’s understanding of power and authority into one of service for the least among us.  His reign is to lead humanity to the truth about God’s total commitment to the human family’s welfare and salvation. His crown was made not of gold but of thorns.  And the crowd that leads him into Jerusalem, placing garments and branches before him as he travels, cheering him as the true “Son of David,” singing out “Hosannas” as they would to an earthly king, in short order became a mob of jeerers and taunters, caught up in the spectacle of a public execution, even willing to say, in some cases, “His blood be on us!”  [Please note: The Church, finally(!), since the Second Vatican Council, forcefully and officially condemns any use of the gospel passages as an indictment of the Jewish people, at the time or at any time in history.  Moreover, the Church, again finally, acknowledges that the covenant that God made with the people of Israel is still intact, to be respected as their path toward salvation, and so Christian evangelization is neither to target the Jewish people in general or suggest that their faith is an invalid way to God.]

Juxtapose that crowd watching what happens to Jesus to the recent “No Kings” rallies. People gathered in groups of hundreds and thousands, holding “No Kings” signs and other banners, publicly witnessing to both the worry and, at times, the reality of the constitutional illegitimacy of our president’s way of governing.  “You are not a king” and “We do not want a king” chants speak to our current political situation, where executive power has been wielded rather crudely.  Turning the Department of Justice loose to go after perceived political enemies.  Trying to bully universities into changing their affirmative action policies.  Taking down historically relevant material in federal buildings, parks, museums and other federally funded venues, if it is perceived to be too racially sensitive or come from a place that celebrates diversity.  Greatly increasing the budget and reach of the Department of Homeland Security, especially in regard to immigration enforcement, as well as sending National Guard troops into states and cities in such a way that have not calmed the waters but has roiled them even more.  Greenlighting immigration policies that seem excessively cruel, especially when dealing with families and those that have been productive contributors to the U.S. society and culture, even though undocumented.  Making unilateral and extra-judicial decisions to destroy ships in international waters and the people in the ships, even when no longer a threat, by labelling them narco-terrorists.  Kidnapping a leader of another nation without any international authorization.  Threatening to annex Greenland, whether the people there want it or not and the legitimate overseeing country, Denmark, has condemned such an idea.  Bombing Iran, including supporting the assassination of key leaders without any prior Congressional discussion, much less approval.  Imposing tariffs on other nations, seemingly on a whim.  Undercutting long-standing allies such as western Europe and Canada and admiring the tactics of authoritarian leaders such as Putin of Russia.  And on and on, all the while creating symbolic gestures of grandeur from heavily-gilded renovation of the White House to approving a gold coin with his image on it, to wanting to see his signature on U.S. currency.  To all of this, “No Kings” protesters say, “No! You are not a king! Not on our watch!”

I do think the current president revels in yanking the emotions of those who get easily angered by his tactics—and so “No Kings” protests probably feed that tendency rather than curb it—but there is enough substance in the president’s actions and texts to worry even the most neutral of observers.  For that reason, I am glad that so many people have been able to come together to publicly protest how the president is acting and wielding power. And I want to state that I am in favor of such public protests and have participated in them myself.  But I am also aware of the fact that beneath what unites all the protesters at such times—“No Kings”—lies a multitude of diverse viewpoints, many of them antithetical to Catholic wisdom and teaching.  I have a friend who mocks the protesters, who come with crude and childish signs.  How can you stand with, I am asked, some people who are visually supporting with their signage unrestricted access to abortion, or are advocating for no guard rails for teens who are questioning their gender identity, or are anti-government in any form, or hold to conspiracy theories that seem ludicrous?  The simple response is to point out that most of those at the rallies are not pushing any agenda other than a public protest to the current administration’s way of acting, and that I can support. But on a more reflective level, I think it is important for all of us “No Kings” participants to ask ourselves, what does integrate and guide our actions?  And, in particular, I think it is important for us who are Catholic Christians to remember that our Catholic Social Teaching insists that solidarity, even with those we oppose, must lessen not deepen our ideological divides.  If Donald Trump is not our king—and he is not!—then who or what is?

During the Good Friday Passion from the Gospel of John, all present have a role in the proclamation of the gospel.  At one point, when the narrator voicing Pilate’s words asks, “Shall I crucify your king?” we all respond “We have no king but Caesar!”  It makes me wonder.  Would the same crowd of “No Kings” protesters who mock the current president’s king-like pretentiousness—one who revels in power and publicity and glitz and sycophantic admiration—embrace or mock the other so-called pretend king, who was carrying a cross of execution, tortured and humiliated, innocently suffering and refusing to call upon his divine power, and finally crucified and died?  I wonder.  What would be our response to Pilate’s question as he presents this pitiful-looking Jesus to us? If the current president is not our king—and he is not!—is this Jesus our king?  Or, like the crowd at the time of Jesus, would we cry out “He is not our king. We have no king but […]”  And what would we fill in the blank with?  We do not want “Caesar” as our king. That is clear.  We are adamant about that.  But can we tolerate anyone other than ourselves, our own freedom, our own choices, our own comfort levels, to be “king”?  I wonder.

In many ways, I think, the juxtaposition of Donald Trump and Jesus, each presented to us as “would be kings” captures our nation’s current struggles.  In the face of a rapidly changing world, where globalization is affecting not just jobs and the economy but the entire cultural landscape, there are those who let their anxiety and fear feed prejudicial and even racist tendencies.  Instead of seeking and seeing our commonality as human beings and working for due process and access to basic goods and rights for all, they need scapegoats as the enemy (immigrants? Muslims? Iran? diversity? inclusion?).  And, though they would not truly want a king, they prefer an authoritarian “strongman” leader, even if that person turns out to be narcissistic and vindictive.  Moreover, when they look to Jesus, they do not see a true alternative but try to co-opt Jesus into their cause, talking about a “muscular Christianity,” or even a “holy crusade,” as though Jesus would be supporting their vision of the world.  In that same cultural landscape, there are those who let their anxiety and fear double-down on their protection of their individual right to do or be anything they want, who would refuse to put even minimal guard rails around decisions that affect the life of the unborn, the healthy integration of sexuality and gender in pre-teens and teens, the reasonable role of parents in guiding their children’s education and moral decision-making, and more.  And though they soundly reject an authoritarian style of leadership, they also reject any infringement on their freedom to choose whatever they deem best.  The idea of a natural moral law that binds or has greater authority than one’s own personal decision is anathema.  If Jesus is brought into that worldview, it is often a watered-down version of the authentic Jesus of the gospels.

During Holy Week, especially on Palm Sunday and Good Friday, we are confronted by a Jesus who would certainly be a counter-image to our current president.  But Jesus also is a challenge to any who overvalue their own freedom of choice as the highest priority.  He is a challenge to all who claim the moral high ground and are content with deepening, not lessening the divides within communities.  This is, after all, the one who cried out at Gethsemane: “Not my will, but yours (Abba Father) be done;” and proceeded to offer his life as a sacrifice of love for the sake of the salvation of all humanity, disciple and enemy alike.  His “No” to earthly kingship and to escaping suffering is united to a “Yes” to do the will of Abba God, even though it will cost him his life.  Would I offer my life as a sacrifice for the salvation of my enemies as well as those I love?  I would like to think the answer is “Yes,” but I wonder.  Is my deeply felt “No” to what is happening with our nation under the current administration united to a true “Yes” to act in such a way that I help heal and restore this nation, or at least my local community?  Or, am I content to criticize and mock, in which case, would I be one of the crowd so caught up in that action, that I would become a bystander looking on as people are hurt and destroyed, feeling morally superior but really becoming complicit in the very thing I claim to detest?  I hope not, but I wonder.