The Rev. Noah Van Niel
St. John the Evangelist
March 25th, 2018
Palm Sunday (B)
Some of the behavior I am least proud of in my life was done as part of a crowd. Heckling the 
opposing high school basketball team from the stands. Laughing at someone “not as cool” with a group of my friends. I look back at such moments not just with shame, but also with surprise at the person who was doing those things. Where did that cruelty come from? That’s not who I want to be. What was I doing? How could I have done it?
Some the behavior I’m most proud of in my life was done as part of a crowd. Marching for peace alongside mothers who had lost children to gun violence on Mother’s day. Standing with a bunch of strangers packing meals for the hungry. I look back with pride that I decided to participate as one of many who were standing for something I thought was right.
Crowds are funny like that. Something about the anonymity they offer us unleashes parts of us we don’t let out very often—for better and for worse. There is a whole subfield of social psychology that seeks to understand why human beings act so differently as part of a crowd; why their inhibitions are lowered and their impulses emboldened. There’s no final word as to why it happens, only that it does. Crowds allow us to melt away, unnoticed, but a part of something all the same. They grant us a freedom that can be empowering and dangerous at the same time. For the thrill of every “Let’s go Red Sox” chant that comes from the bleachers, there’s the potential for a racial slur directed at one of the outfielders; for all the hope and power displayed in those glorious March for our Lives events yesterday that many of us were a part of, there’s the shadow of hatred that erupted in Charlottesville. When a bunch of people gather together, history has shown, you can either get the best of humanity, or the worst.
And the difference between them is slim because the truth of the human condition is that our lesser angels and our better ones share cramped quarters in the chambers of our hearts. Crowds can unleash a voice for righteousness that comes from deep within us, and a voice of cruelty that comes from deep within us too. They are both in there. Crowds can reveal to us that there is more darkness and anger in our hearts than we would like to admit. And they also can reveal to us that there is more beauty and power in our hearts than we give ourselves credit for. Crowds don’t create those elements, they bring them out of us; help us to see them more clearly. It is then up to us, having seen the good and the evil that are a part of us, to find a way to make sure that the good wins again and again and again. It’s a constant battle.
We’re a part of two crowds today. We are a part of the crowd that lined the streets scattering their cloaks and palms on the road singing “Hosanna!” to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Bowing, peacefully, to Jesus, shouting his praises, giving him the honor he is due. And we are also a part of the crowd that, with fear in their hearts and bloodlust in their throats shout, “Crucify Him! Crucify Him!” when we see that same King of Kings stripped, bleeding, silent. I wonder if anyone who joined in the “Hosannas!” later shouted “Crucify!” I wonder if anyone switched camps once their King was arrested. We can be sure there were people capable of it, because we’re capable of it ourselves.
The Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ lays bare the spectrum of our humanity—the good, the bad and the surprisingly ugly. And the question it poses, the question this Holy Week gives us a chance to answer through our prayers and our worship and our lives is not, whether you would ever be a part of those crowds, but, given that you could be in either, which one is it going to be? And how can you make sure?