Br. Robert Sevensky, OHC Superior
Palm Sunday A - April 17, 2011
Isaiah 50:4-9a
Philippians 2:5-11
Matthew 21:1-11
Next week at about this time we will gather around a bowl of water in our Chapter Room and be asked several questions:
Do you reaffirm your renunciation of evil and renew your commitment to Jesus Christ?
Do you believe in God the Father?
Do you believe in Jesus Christ, the Son of God?
Do you believe in God the Holy Spirit?
And we will answer the first question with the words: “I do.” And the others we will answer with the words of the Apostles’ Creed, which constitutes the ancient baptismal confession of the Christian faith. They also constitute the first part of what we have come to call the Baptismal Covenant, about which we hear so much nowadays in the church. Unfortunately, most of the time the Baptismal Covenant is discussed, these first four questions that comprise the greater part of that covenant are ignored in favor of the final questions about what we shall do and how we shall live, thus ignoring the fact that our actions are based on and are a response to our faith, rather than vice-versa, though of course the influence ultimately goes both ways.
We have had a bit of a conversation over the past few years here at the monastery about what exactly this sixth Sunday in Lent, this last Sunday before Easter, is and how we ought to observe it. There seem to be varying or competing emphases. On the one hand, we all know today as Palm Sunday, the day that celebrates the triumphal and rather ironic entry of Jesus into Jerusalem several days before his death. He does enter triumphantly, acclaimed by the populace, but riding on an ass…not your usual imperial symbol of authority, though one freighted with prophetic meaning. It is an ancient commemoration.
But today is also known as the Sunday of the Passion, the day on which the narrative of the suffering and death of Jesus is solemnly read in the churches. This, too, is an ancient observance. And as is often the case in the history of Christian worship, meaning gets layered onto meaning and ritual onto ritual. The strong emphasis on the entry in Jerusalem can be traced to the churches of Gaul and Spain. The equally strong emphasis on the solemn reading of the Passion story goes back to the Roman church. Over the course of centuries, they were combined into what is, for some, a profoundly moving emotional juxtaposition and for others, an impossible liturgical conundrum.
Let me suggest yet a third way to approach this day that inaugurates our entry into Holy Week. It too is ancient, so ancient in fact that it has pretty much disappeared. It goes back to the early days of Christianity, when converts to the faith were prepared for up to three years for Holy Baptism, which generally took place at the all-night Easter service. In those days, worship was usually secret or at least guarded, often for very practical reasons given the real threat of persecution in a hostile world. Only baptized Christians were admitted to the weekly Holy Communion service itself. And even those preparing for Holy Baptism would be dismissed immediately after the biblical readings and sermon. Only the faithful were to be present for the celebration of the sacred mysteries.
After a very long and demanding process of screening and instruction, those ready for Baptism would gather on the Sunday before Easter—today—and would be formally taught the Apostles’ Creed in a ceremony known as the traditio symboli, the delivery of the creed. The text of the creed was carefully guarded in those days, and there were all sorts of prohibitions against writing it down or sharing it with the uninitiated. But on this day, the bishop would teach it to the baptismal candidates phrase by phrase and expound on its meaning, so that when next week came, they could make their public profession of faith and be baptized.
What I find interesting is that this is likely the one and only time that most of these converts to the faith would ever hear the creed said aloud. The creed was not a part of the Sunday gathering or daily worship. It was, if you will, too sacred. The candidates were expected to commit it to memory then and there and then meditate upon it daily henceforth in their hearts. It was to be the framework by which all their subsequent life experience was to be understood.
We’ve come along way from that ancient practice. We say the creed daily, we print it in our service books and leaflets, and of course you can Google it and read all about it. I suppose that’s a good thing.
But the truth is many folks just don’t like creeds. They find them intrusive or exclusive, and perhaps they make them uncomfortable. Many see them as tests: you sign on here, you assent, or you don’t belong. And that, I think, is an unfortunate, and at best, a partial understanding.
Our friend Martin Smith in his book Compass And Stars has a wonderfully brief and solid reflection on the nature of creeds. I have shared it with countless people.
In the first place, he reminds us that the creed is the baptismal symbol, a Latin word that means a token or counter: “…like the stub of a theater ticket which is not the performance but will take us to where the performance is” in the words of Northrop Frye. The creed may be the entrance ticket to the Christian world, the Christian life, but we must not confuse the ticket with the performance itself. At best it is a good reminder of just what play we’ve chosen to be part of and what theater and what stage is ours.
Secondly, Martin suggests that the creed can be best understood as something like the list of first lines that you might find in the table of contents of a book of poetry, a kind of collection of first lines or chapter headings of our faith. They are not the final words, but the first words, words that have the power to set us off on a remarkably creative journey of spiritual discovery.
Finally, as Martin says: “The creeds are not official confessions of faith or catechisms so much as songs of defiance and the jubilant celebrations of tremendous mysteries.” In that regard, creeds are better sung than recited.
Today is the Sixth Sunday in Lent, the beginning of Holy Week, the Sunday of the Passion, Palm Sunday. But it is also the Sunday of the Creed, the day when our ancestors in the faith were given the words of the baptismal profession to memorize and then to use as the container and interpretive framework of the new life into which they were being ushered. We today could do worse than to enter this Holy Week with the words of the Creed that we will profess next Sunday echoing in our ears, opening us to their fulfillment in our individual and shared experiences during this Holy Week and in the coming years. They are words that give us the barest outline of a cosmic drama that will take us an eternity to comprehend. They are the first lines of a story that we will be editing and revising throughout our lives this week and the next and the next. They are our song.
And since they are our song, please stand now and join me in rehearsing again and singing aloud our baptismal faith. Harmonize if you’d like. And know that God will bring us to his Easter. He always does.
The Apostles’ Creed
I believe in God, the Father almighty,
creator of heaven and earth.
I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord.
He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit
and born of the Virgin Mary.
He suffered under Pontius Pilate,
was crucified, died, and was buried.
He descended to the dead.
On the third day he rose again.
He ascended into heaven,
and is seated at the right hand of the Father.
He will come again to judge the living and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit,
the holy catholic Church,
the communion of saints,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and the life everlasting. Amen.
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