Behind the promise of the messiah is the terrifying idea of a world beyond the need for politics and compromise Last Sunday, as the blood of Egyptian Christians was being wiped from the church floor, tens of thousand of us were walking down from the Mount of Olives, following as much as possible the footsteps of Jesus on his final entry into Jerusalem. “Hosanna,” we all sang and shouted, waving our palms. It means: “I beg you to save us.” Some waved eucalyptus leaves. I even saw sunflowers. This was meant to be the triumphant arrival of the messiah. The atmosphere was feverish with recreated anticipation. I got into an argy-bargy with a couple of Franciscan monks who strong-armed me off the road so that three Catholic bishops could breeze past. Some people can go a bit hysterical with all this religious energy. In the 1930s, the Jerusalem psychiatrist Heinz Herman gave it a name: Jerusalem syndrome. In the Bible, the events of the first Palm Sunday were written up to meet various scattered expectations about the coming of the messiah, that one day someone would turn up from God to reunite the Jewish people and bring peace to the world. The Bible is full of clues as to his identity. He would be descended from King David. He would arrive on a donkey. And the Greek word Christos is a translation of the Hebrew word messiah. Thus, to speak of a carpenter from Nazareth as “the Christ” is to make a massive statement. Part king, part priest, he comes to rule the world, a perfect combination of might and right. Continue reading...
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