Palm Sunday: The Same Mind

Scripture

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,

who, though he existed in the form of God,
    did not regard equality with God
    as something to be grasped,

but emptied himself,
    taking the form of a slave,
    assuming human likeness.

And being found in appearance as a human,

   he humbled himself
    and became obedient to the point of death—
    even death on a cross.

Therefore God exalted him even more highly
    and gave him the name
    that is above every other name,

so that at the name given to Jesus
    every knee should bend,
    in heaven and on earth and under the earth,

and every tongue should confess
    that Jesus Christ is Lord,
    to the glory of God the Father. ~Philippians 2:5-11

 

Sermon             

We have just had a tiny taste of what it might have been like to sing this hymn early in the first century, in a community that called itself “The Way,” the way of Jesus.

 

This is the third scripture reading we have heard this morning. We began with the triumphant entry as Jesus rode into Jerusalem, hailed by those who followed him as king. We followed that with portions of Psalm 118, one of the Psalms of Ascent—one of the many psalms pilgrims would sing as they processed up Mount Zion to the Temple. We began with joy, with hope, with the people’s confidence that Jesus would lead them into a glorious new day, perhaps a revolution, finally throwing off their Roman oppressors.

 

And if we’d read the first chapter of Paul’s letter to the Philippians, we might have continued worship in a major key. The church has called Philippians “the epistle of joy,” because Paul mentions joy and rejoicing 16 times over the course of its four chapters. And Paul wrote this letter from Rome, where he was imprisoned. He had been put on trial and found guilty of preaching Jesus Christ as an alternative to the gods of the Roman pantheon. Paul wrote the letter while awaiting execution.

 

In the first chapter of the letter, Paul gives words of encouragement to the community in Philippi. He says things like, “Don’t worry about me.” He tells them how the Good News of Jesus’ Way has gotten out despite his being in prison. The soldiers, guards, and other prisoners are curious about this Messiah for whom he has been convicted. So now they know all about Jesus, because Paul has used this opportunity to preach some more, to win some souls. They didn’t shut him up, he boasts; they gave him another platform! He ends that chapter by encouraging them to live a life worthy of their calling—to keep doing what they have been doing all along. To stand firm in their faith. He tells them, “If I am executed, rejoice with me! I’ll be with Christ.”

 

But in the second chapter, the mood changes. Paul begins, if your trust in Jesus Christ has affected your life for the better—if he makes a difference in your life, makes you more loving and tender and sympathetic, if you are experiencing the presence of the Spirit—then do this one thing for me. Give me joy by being of the same mind as Jesus… and that’s where the hymn begins, the one the scholars call the Christ Hymn.

 

We know that this passage is a hymn because it’s laid out in most of our Bibles as a poem. No one really knows where the hymn came from. Those scholars I mentioned are divided. Is it the mid-first century equivalent of “Amazing Grace,” a hymn well-known by just about everyone? Is it a hymn Paul wrote himself? It does pick up on a lot of themes Paul weaves into his letters.

 

It probably doesn’t matter who wrote it. What matters is that this hymn is already known and loved. That’s why Paul uses it, right here. The person reading this letter to the community gets to this part, and then everyone breaks into song. And, as hymns have always done throughout the history of the church, and, before that, throughout the use of the Book of Psalms, the hymn teaches and then reinforces theology. It teaches them—and us—about God, about the Spirit, about Christ. The more they sing it, the more deeply lodged in them that theology is.

 

For just a moment, let’s think of another hymn—one Paul may have known. It’s the opening passage of the Gospel according to John. We hear it every Christmas Eve, by candlelight, right after we’ve sung “Silent Night.”

 

In the beginning was the Word,

and the Word was with God,

and the Word was God.

He was in the beginning with God. 

All things came into being through him,

and without him not one thing came into being.

What has come into being in him was life,

and the life was the light of all people.

The light shines in the darkness,

and the darkness did not overtake it.   ~John 1:1-5

 

This hymn teaches us that Christ and God are one. Not only that, but that Christ, the second person of the Trinity, was present with God at Creation. It is about the marvelous power in Christ, the power of God. John’s hymn gives us a theology of divine power.

 

But this hymn, the Christ Hymn, whether Paul wrote it or not, teaches us another thing about Christ: This is a theology of divine humility. Even though Christ held in himself all the power of God, he didn’t grasp onto that power. That word, “grasp,” is interesting. Sometimes it’s translated “exploit.” Sometimes it’s translated “plunder,” as in the treasures victorious soldiers sometimes take in war. Christ Jesus didn’t exploit God’s power. He didn’t use it to plunder, to take what material riches he could. He did the very opposite of that. He emptied himself of it. He could have come as “Jesus Christ Superhero” in this world, but instead he made himself like the humblest of people, the least powerful of people: he became like a slave.

 

Jesus Christ has access to the greatest imaginable power, but he allows himself to be entirely powerless in his life and in his death. In his ministry, Jesus uses the power of God only on behalf of others, never for himself. And in that complete vulnerability he identifies with us, and stands with us—with human beings, who are born, who live, who experience pain, and who die. This passage always reminds me of Robin Williams’ description of the Genie’s power in “Aladdin:” “PHENOMENAL COSMIC POWERS! Itty-bitty living space.” In Jesus, God put Godself in an itty-bitty box: the box of humanity.

 

This is a shocking, unprecedented choice for a god. As one scholar describes it,

 

Jesus’ own view of what it means to be equal to God is contrary to the prevailing views of both Jesus’ and our times. That is, while more prevalent perspectives could take a “might makes right” viewpoint that celebrates the use of exploitative power, Jesus’ perspective… is that being equal to God is precisely not making use of oppressive power, even when that might be a tool at one’s disposal.[i]

 

Our worship today began with the arrival of Jesus in Jerusalem for the great Passover festival. Even in that passage, as Jesus is being celebrated, is being called “king,” is being honored by people putting cloaks and palm branches on the ground as he passes by—even in that joyful, triumphant moment, he is the image of humility. He comes, not on a warhorse like you would expect a king, but on a donkey—the colt of a donkey. He comes, not surrounded by a legion of soldiers, but by people like himself—regular people, including those on the margins of society, those who are the most vulnerable. Even as he is being celebrated, lauded, he is not seizing an opportunity to exploit it. That’s not why he’s here. He is here, the hymn tells us, in perfect obedience to God—even as far as death, death on a cross.

 

It’s time for some hard truths about crucifixion. Crucifixion was the most painful death the Romans could dole out, and they used it for one reason only: to punish those who were convicted of crimes against the state. Jesus died on a cross because he was considered a threat to the Roman government. In addition to being horribly cruel and painful, crucifixion was also considered the most shameful death a person could die. The gospels tell us that, after he died, Jesus was laid in a tomb. That was really unusual for those who had been crucified—it’s probably because he had a couple of friends who were wealthy and well-connected. The bodies of the crucified were usually left on the cross, for nature to take its toll, birds of prey, animals. Imagine the pain of a family witnessing that. Imagine the pain of friends. Imagine the pain of Jesus’ followers.

 

Even death on a cross, Paul writes. That is how fully Jesus obeyed God. That is how fully God loves us.

 

And therefore, the hymn tells us, God exalted him. As our affirmation of faith reads, “The victim of sin became victor, and won the victory over sin and death for all.”

 

At the beginning of the Christ Hymn, we are asked to have the same mind as Christ—fully human version, of course. We are not being asked to engage in the work of salvation—that is a once-and-for-all-time thing, and it was done by God’s grace and power. But we are being asked to emulate Christ, to imitate him. What does that mean for us? What does that mean for you? This is a hymn of divine humility. This is a hymn to remind us of God’s extraordinary love for us, to come among us in such an itty-bitty form, the form of a human being.

 

Humility’s funny thing. It’s never in style. We live in a “toot your own horn, because no one else is going to toot it for you” world. But for us, that humility is a reminder of who and what we are. The root of humility is “humus,” which just means “earth.” We are all of the earth—that’s what being human is. But we are also all called to a higher purpose. Joan Chittister, one of my favorite professors at Boston College, told her class something I’m sure I’ve shared before. Think of humility like this: It’s as if each of us has a slip of paper in each pocket (we all need to have pockets for this to work.) On one slip of paper is written, “You are as lowly as the lowest worm that burrows in the earth.” On the other is written, “You are a child of God almighty, and all the stars in their glorious array were created just for you.” Both of these are true. That is the glorious paradox of being human. That is the wondrous gift of being a beloved child of God.

 

My favorite pastor-poet, Steve Garnaas-Holmes, has a few words for us as we venture into the rest of Holy Week. He writes,

 

Humility is not thinking poorly of ourselves,
ranking others higher, or mere self-abasement.
Humility is knowing the whole.
We are all a circle, where the first is last and the last is first.
Each of us is equally important.
Each is gifted, beautiful, wounded, and indispensable.
And none is more vital, honored or deserving than another.
We each sing our note. Humility is blending in perfect harmony.
[ii]

 

And as this week moves through the sharing of the Lord’s Supper on Thursday, and our witness at the cross on Good Friday, he writes,

 

We wait in silence,
          in the hands of God.
[iii]

 

Thanks be to God. Amen.

 


[i] Melanie A. Howard, “Sunday of the Passion (Palm Sunday), April 2, 2023: Commentary of Philippians 2:5-11,” Working Preacher, https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/sunday-of-the-passion-palm-sunday/commentary-on-philippians-25-11-18.

[ii] Steve Garnaas-Holmes, “Lent Discipline: Humility,” Unfolding Light, March 27, 2023. https://unfoldinglight.net/2023/03/27/lent-discipline-humility/.

[iii] Steve Garnaas-Holmes, “Hosanna! Save Us, We Beg You!” Unfolding Light, March 31, 2023. https://unfoldinglight.net/2023/03/31/hosanna-save-us-we-beg-you/.