RELEASED!

Matthew 27:15-23

If you do not feel at least a little bit unsettled by the rapid shift from Hosanna singing and palm waving to the singing of “Ah, Holy Jesus” in the last few minutes, I have to admit that I wonder if you have been paying attention. It is jarring to me and it was jarring even as I planned for this worship service. It seems even a bit manipulative to make such a rapid change in our emotions.

What we have done in a few minutes took almost a full week in Jerusalem. Palm branches waving, Matthew says crowds of people sang, cheered, and laid their coats on the road for Jesus to ride over on his way to victory. The Messiah coming into Jerusalem on a donkey would change their lives forever. They were ready for him to ride in and miraculously overturn the rule of Roman occupying forces and leaders.

Instead he overturned money changers’ tables in the temple courtyard and contended with scribes and Pharisees. He was challenged by the Jewish religious leaders and he responded with scathing parables of disobedient sons and wicked tenants. He condemned the scribes and Pharisees as blind guides and hypocrites and he lamented over Jerusalem. He prophesied the destruction of the temple and spoke of coming persecution.

He confused his followers and angered the Jewish leaders until one disciple would betray him and he would be handed over by the chief priests to Pilate for trial and crucifixion.

It all happened so quickly, yet Jesus knew precisely where he was heading when he entered Jerusalem that day.

At this point, we don’t know what Brian Nichols had planned on Friday, March 11, as he headed toward the courtroom in Atlanta. It will take months, if not years, of investigation and trial to find out if he planned the killing spree that took the lives of four people, including the judge in his case, or whether the tragic chain of events unfolded simply as a result of fear and anger allowing him to take advantage of an unguarded moment by the deputy charged with getting him to the courtroom.

If we hadn’t already been following the story in the media, few of us were unmoved as we learned about the young woman, Ashley Smith, who became both his hostage and his rescuer over the course of seven long hours.

How rapidly her life changed—from the excitement and anticipation of moving into a new apartment and moving ahead with her life with her daughter to the terrifying ordeal of being taken hostage by a dangerous killer.

The gift that Ashley Smith brought to the ordeal was a sense of calm born out of her own experience of tragedy. Having witnessed the stabbing death of her husband three years ago, she was able to convince Nichols not to harm her for the sake of her child.

With courage and faith she was able to convince a man weary and frightened that even in such dire circumstances there could still be hope and meaning. When he believed he was already a dead man, she told him there could still be life, and when she was released and called 911, Nichols surrendered without a fight.

There is no doubt that Nichols will face the death penalty now, but the redemptive quality of this story cannot go unnoticed, especially as we move into Holy Week.

We can only imagine what it would feel like to be released from being a hostage. Innocent victims of criminals and terrorists have often gone on to tell stories of hope and redemption following their captivity. But, bottom line, the relief and joy must be simply overwhelming.

We know virtually nothing about this Barabbas who was released instead of Jesus. Matthew describes him as a notorious prisoner, probably someone who was well-known for his crimes. Mark, on the other hand, numbers him among a group of insurrectionists who committed murder in an uprising. John names him as one who had taken part in a rebellion. Luke does not mention him at all.

Some versions of Matthew note his name as Jesus Barabbas—Jesus, “son of a father,” or in Aramaic, “son of our teacher.” Scholars find no precedent outside of the Bible for the practice of releasing a prisoner during religious festivals and even remark that such an action seems inconsistent with Pilate’s character. Others note that for the Jewish religious leaders to incite the crowds to call for the release of an insurgent would heighten the clash of rebellious factions at the time and lead to their ultimate loss of control of the city and Temple.

But what is important here is that a guilty man is released in the place of the one who is innocent—released from prison, perhaps even released from possible execution.

I remember when we celebrated Palm Sunday simply as Palm Sunday. When I was growing up, it was the day of Confirmation in my church, and was a time of high celebration. Then we moved slowly through Holy Week and experienced the passion of Christ throughout the week until we came to the dark moments of Friday evening.

We still do that, but in recent years, we’ve realized that most people rush from Palm Sunday to Easter, pretty much in denial of what occurs in-between. Thus, the move to Passion Palm Sunday. That’s why we make this rapid uncomfortable shift from “Ride On!” to “Ah, Holy Jesus.”

That’s why I’m talking today about Jesus Barabbas, the criminal and insurgent, instead of Jesus the Messiah who rode humbly into Jerusalem on a donkey to the sound of Hosannas.

Some of the most powerful Passion Palm Sunday services I’ve ever experienced have been when the gospel is read as a script in which the congregation plays the part of the crowd. I’m sure some of you have participated in such a service. At the moment that we shout, “Crucify him!” we know who we are and what we have done—that it is not only the crowd there, two thousand years ago in Jerusalem, but we, who daily condemn Jesus to the cross.

But in thinking about the story of Jesus’ trial and passion over the past few weeks, I just couldn’t stop thinking about Barabbas. Maybe this has occurred to you before, or maybe you’ve read or heard it, but for the first time I realized that we are not the crowd. WE ARE BARABBAS.

We are the insurgents who daily rebel against God’s rule. We are the criminals whose anger, disobedience and denial of God’s love make the kingdom of God less visible and viable in the world. We are the ones who are more concerned about our own agendas than God’s. We are the ones who think more about ourselves and our own problems than those of our neighbors. We are the ones who take more and more of the world’s resources so our brothers and sisters have less and less.

We’re not the ones who shout, “Crucify him!” We’re the ones who get off free, without paying the price. Before Jesus’ crucifixion, death, and resurrection, Barabbas was released. Before we walk through Holy Week, we are released—released from the grip of sin, selfishness, deceit, and disobedience.

The true magnitude of worship comes, I believe, when we realize the great gulf between us and our God. That cannot come until we acknowledge who we really are and who God really is as revealed in Jesus Christ.

Easter comes only when we have walked the way of the cross. I’ve never really understood why the sanctuary is so full on Palm Sunday and Easter and so empty on Maundy Thursday and especially Good Friday. As someone commented to me earlier this week, people love to come to Christmas Eve services, but not to Maundy Thursday and Good Friday services.

The incarnation of Jesus as a baby is wonderful, miraculous, and heart-warming. The incarnation of Jesus as the one who gave his body and blood—his very life on a cross—seems repugnant.

Yet, if we truly recognized the magnitude of what he has done, if we truly embraced the sense of release we have received, we would flock to hear the story, not at a movie theater, but here in our place of worship throughout this Holy Week.

That is my challenge to you today: Know that once you were Barabbas, charged and condemned, but today Jesus’ life has been exchanged for yours and you are released. Do not rush so quickly to Easter that you miss the moment of redemption.

Prayer: Ah, Holy Jesus, how have you offended? It is we who have offended you, yet you forgive us, redeem us and draw us closer to you. Slow us in our walk toward Easter so that we do not miss our release from captivity to sin as you take our place. Deepen within us compassion for those who also sin, so that our lives and witness might lead them as well toward your saving grace. Amen.