One of our favorite legends from the ancient church is set in the time of the Emperor Nero in Rome. In the legend the Apostle Peter is fleeing Rome as it is burned to the ground by the mad and blood-thirsty Nero. Elderly Peter moves sadly along the Apian Way, out and away from the burning city where he had been working and teaching.
On the way he encounters the resurrected Christ himself, heading in the opposite direction, that is, back into the city. “Quo vadis, Domine (Where are you going, Lord)?” asks Peter. Steadfastly gazing at the blazing city, Christ responds: “Into Rome, to be crucified again for love of this world.”
The legend has always intrigued us because of the imagery it offers of Christ, who without regard for his own welfare, heads into a place of heartache, hatred, and hardship in order to help and heal. It’s worth revisiting the “Quo Vadis” legend today because it captures something of the spirit of Palm Sunday, which churches across the globe will celebrate this week. Palm Sunday commemorates Jesus’ heading straight into the turmoil and tumult of Passover week in Jerusalem, despite the danger there.
The 1st century historian, Josephus, claims that as many as a million pilgrims came annually to the feast of Passover in Jerusalem in those years. For that day and age, that’s some crowd! With those kinds of numbers, gathered in that kind of city, as religious zeal and nationalistic fervor formed a combustible blend, Jerusalem at Passover became a tinderbox, where one stray spark might set the whole thing aflame.
In fact, the Roman authorities in those days were so concerned about Passover gatherings that just before the holiday, Pilate, the Roman Procurator of Israel, led his whole garrison up to Jerusalem from their headquarters in Caesarea, as a show of strength. Pilate entered the Holy City astride his giant war horse; and behind him, for over a quarter mile, the might and power of the Roman Legion marched as a deterrent to any who would contemplate revolution.
And then Jesus entered the city. He did not ride a great war horse, as Pilate had done. Instead, Jesus rode in on a simple donkey, a symbol of humility and peace, an act with prophetic resonance. The excitable crowds who hoped this entry might be a challenge to mistrusted political authorities waved palms, spread cloaks along his path, and shouted “hosannas.”
But ultimately Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem was not a means of overthrowing Pilate and his garrison. So, what was it that made Jesus’ entry that day so historically, religiously, morally, and spiritually significant that it is celebrated two thousand years later?
As the precursor to Easter, wouldn’t we say it was not the power, but the humility; not the prestige, but the courage; not the bravado, but the empathy; not the self-focus, but the outwardly-focused concern and compassion that made that journey matter?
Perhaps if Peter had asked Jesus, “Quo vadis?” (Where are you going?) on that fateful morning, Jesus might simply have answered that every step of his journey to Jerusalem was walked out of love for the world.
“Quo vadis?” is still a question worth asking of others, and even, perhaps, of ourselves. Where is your life’s journey headed, what is its purpose, and who’s leading the way?
