Mark 11:1-11 | Palm Sunday 1998

I grew up in a cop's family. My father was a Federal law enforcement agent: a postal inspector, to be precise. I have fond memories of visiting my father's offices, filled with friendly, coffee-swilling misfits that were his comrades in arms. I thrilled to the danger of his many stories--told well after the fact, and too long after the events so that my Mom wouldn't freak out. I remember photos of my dad in the seventies working undercover in Detroit, with his handlebar mustache and multi-colored fur vest. I imagined him trying to be convincing with his slang, saying, "Cool, man," on some drug bust and utterly failing. And I remember every morning as my father got ready for work, hearing the jingle of many keys, the solid snap of a revolver settling into its holster, and the firm, proud steps heading for the front door.

My father was a perfect role model in many ways. I idolized him, and sought to hold close the values that drove him. I remember that he also had his idols. One of them lent his name to a book that was ubiquitous in our home; there was even a movie made of him, which I was not allowed to see, but which I remember my parents discussing vividly. This idol was Frank Serpico.

You are no doubt familiar with the name. I had never seen the film or read the book, but I did catch a biography on him on the Arts & Entertainment channel recently, and finally understood the myth that this man became for my father.

If you'll recall, Frank Serpico was a beat cop from a family of cops. When he joined the NYPD it was with a sincere desire to fulfill the law enforcement archetype he held in his own imagination: that of the cop as the honest protector of the weak, the thin blue line between order and chaos in society.

Some say that Serpico was too black-and-white, too fundamentalist, if you will, because he was dreadfully disillusioned when he finally joined the police department. Here he found not the upright protectors of society he sought, but much of the same criminal activity he had sworn to protect society from. His fellow cops, in other words, were crooks. They were on the take, right up to the highest positions of power.

Because he refused to "play the game," Serpico was outcast. Nobody wanted to partner with him, and those that got stuck with him, pocketed his "take" so that the others would not become suspicious of him and kill him.

Eventually Serpico could take it no longer, and together with one superior officer who was on his side, he boldly revealed all to the New York Times. Well, his fellow officers did try to kill him, but Serpico survived. His bold and righteous actions redeemed the NYPD, but at a great cost: Serpico was forced to resign, and his only dream, that of being an honest cop, was taken away from him.

I cannot be sure of the degree to which Frank Serpico's story impacted my father, but I am sure that it did. I am sure he was grateful to have honest co-workers, for he could not have functioned otherwise. In a world of "turkeys" as my father called them, Dad was a bona fide American Eagle. And in Frank Serpico's story he saw another man who stood tall and strong, who knew what was right; who knew that he was walking into a firestorm, but for whom to do otherwise was unthinkable. A man who chose to be true to himself, to his values, and who was willing to face the consequences of that choice. And because he stood strong, and American institution of justice was redeemed.

In our Gospel reading today we may perhaps get a glimpse of another inspirational figure, perhaps the one to which Frank Serpico, as a Catholic Christian might have looked for his own strength. Here was a political outcast, this Jesus who refused to take sides for or against the Romans. Here was Jesus, who seemed to upset everybody who was anybody: to the Romans, he was a serious threat to the public peace; to the priests and scribes he was a threat to their faith; to the zealots, he was an uncooperative nincompoop; to the disciples, he was an inexplicable dilemma.

Jesus was not unaware of the pressures around him. He knew what people were saying; he also knew that by walking into Jerusalem, he was probably walking into his own death-trap. He also chose to do it. Why? Because he could do no less and still be true to himself. It was his religion that told him that the poor and rejected were beloved of God, and worthy of his attention; it was his religion that told him that compassion was more important than sacrifice or rules; it was his religion that compelled him to worship in Jerusalem at the appointed times; and it was his religion that compelled him to hold his head up high, and to set his face towards Jerusalem even if it meant marching to his death.

Why? What was Jesus' motivation? Did he intend to redeem the world by his blood? I don't think so. Jesus was a country preacher, not a neo-platonist theologian. Did he intend to make a spectacle of himself before the Roman procreator. No. Jesus was a rabbi concerned for the hearts of lowly people, he had no designs upon the palaces of privilege and power. Did Jesus intend to infuriate the scribes and priests of his own tradition? Of course not. Jesus' sole intent was to touch people where they were the most wounded and heal them; the fact that the religious authorities GOT angry was their own problem.

Peter even tried to warn him, tried to talk him out of it. But it was Passover. The rabbi was expected to go to Jerusalem, and he would not be deterred by fear. Nor did he curb his prophetic preaching once he got there. No, Jesus remained true to his calling and his personality right to the end, for once in Jerusalem, Jesus, in a fit of rage, drove the money-changers from the temple and declared that God required mercy, not sacrifice, bringing into question the whole notion of sacrificial redemption.

I do not say that Jesus walked to Jerusalem fearlessly. If there was any part of him that was truly human, that part must have been shakin' in his sandals. But fear was not enough of a reason to betray himself, to deny his mission and ministry, to sell his soul.

A lot of people today, however, seem to think a soul is an expendable commodity. It is not a necessity in the same way that lungs or brains are, although I'm sure if it were possible to sell one's brains, there would be a line around the block in no time! For a time in college I was so broke that I sold my own plasma for twenty dollars a week. A lot of people, however, seem to think that their soul is equally disposable, and usually for a much greater sum than twenty dollars.

Yet Jesus calls us up short on this score: "What does it profit you if you gain the whole world and lose your soul?" he asks. What indeed? Jesus may have won a longer life by not going to Jerusalem, perhaps he might have gained more disciples or greater political support in time, but he would have done it at the cost of his integrity. You see, by not going to Jerusalem, they would have won. Jesus' enemies would have found that Jesus was manipulatable, a puppet they could use in their own schemes.

But Jesus would be no one's puppet; not Pilate's, not Herod's, not Ciaphas', not even Peter's. Jesus belonged to God alone, and his will and mission were clear; clear enough that no amount of fear or intimidation outweighed his vision. He held his head high, set his face towards Jerusalem, and entered the city gates to the dismay and surprise of many.

The story of Jesus' entry into Jerusalem isn't most amazing because of Jesus' spur-of-the-moment theatrics; it's amazing because he went at all. In him we see a model that God calls all of us to emulate. In Jesus we see a portrait of a true person of faith; a person whose faith gave him the courage and the resolve to be true to himself, to be true to his God, even though he knew he was stepping into a firestorm.

God has given us this image for a reason: we are all to be Jesus. Not to be LIKE Jesus, as if we only need to go halfway and that's good enough for God. Jesus has no hands on earth but ours, folks. We ARE the body of Christ in this world. If we are not Jesus to our neighbors, nobody will be. And God call US to walk with our heads held high into our most distressing and fearful situations. But God does not call us to do it alone. For even though it seems that we go by ourselves, we go armed with stories, A story of a rabbi whose resolve did not waver even in the face of death; a story of a New York cop who refused to sell his soul, and redeemed his brothers.

I think it's fair to say that these stories made a difference in my father, for near the end of his career as an inspector he led the investigation into one of the most celebrated criminal cases in Alaska history: a series of mailbombs that claimed the lives of several innocent people. The case took nearly five years to come to completion, and at the end of that time, a true-crime writer was commissioned to write a book about my father's final case. Though the book never appeared, a screenplay was adapted from it anyway, and a made for Showtime feature film is slated to appear early next year titled "The Inspector."

My mother informed them that only Gene Hackman could play my Dad. Oddly, they chose the very talented black actor Lou Gossett, Jr. for the role! Which is good for a chuckle, but won't change the basics of the story, because the story belongs to all of us, to enjoy, to thrill to, to be inspired by. It may not turn out to be the best of movies when it is finally made, but there is no doubt in my mind that it is about the best of men. And it is stories about the best in us, that brings out the best in us.

Let us pray.

Strong and challenging are you, O God,
For you call us to dangerous stances;
You call us to be true to you, to your word,
and to your people, even at the cost of great personal risk.
Help us to have the courage
to face our own entries into Jerusalem,
give us the resolve to stick to our path,
give us the heart to speak the truth,
give us the compassion to see what is right.
Most of all we are grateful for the example of
your Son Jesus, who showed us that
there is no price worthy of our souls,
there is no reward greater than our integrity.
That that mind which was in him
be in us also
That we may not shrink from Jerusalem,
but follow you into the valley, and thence
to resurrection, every time. Amen.