Palm Sunday

When the great crowd that had come to the feast heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem, they took palm branches and went out to meet him and cried out: “Hosanna! “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, the king of Israel.” Jesus found an ass and sat upon it, as is written: Fear no more, O daughter Zion; see, your king comes, seated upon an ass’s colt. His disciples did not understand this at first, but when Jesus had been glorified, they remembered that these things were written about him and that they had done this for him. (John 12:12-16)

Psalm 22:8-9, 17-18, 19-20, 23-24

R. My God, my God, why have you abandoned [forsaken] me?

All who see me scoff at me;

    they mock me with parted lips, they wag their heads:

“He relied on the LORD; let him deliver him,

    let him rescue him, if he loves him.”

Indeed, many dogs surround me,

    a pack of evildoers closes in upon me;

They have pierced my hands and my feet;

    I can count all my bones.

They divide my garments among them,

    and for my vesture they cast lots.

But you, O LORD, be not far from me;

    O my help, hasten to aid me.

I will proclaim your name to my brethren;

    in the midst of the assembly I will praise you:

“You who fear the LORD, praise him;

    all you descendants of Jacob, give glory to him;

    revere him, all you descendants of Israel!”

R. My God, my God, why have you abandoned [forsaken] me?

According to our Bible: Psalm 22 is a lament unusual in structure and intensity of feeling. The psalmist’s distress is contrasted with God’s past mercy in Psalm 22:2–12.  In Psalm 22 enemies surround the psalmist. The last third is an invitation to praise God (Psalm 22:23–27), becoming a universal chorus of praise (Psalm 22:28–31). The Psalm is important in the New Testament. Its opening words occur on the lips of the crucified Jesus (Mark 15:34; Matthew 27:46), and several other verses are quoted, or at least alluded to, in the accounts of Jesus’ passion (Matthew 27:35, 43; John 19:24).

Today is Palm Sunday when we read about Jesus’s entrance into Jerusalem.  He rode upon an ass’s colt. I’ve often wondered why was Jesus riding into the city?  Wouldn’t he simply have walked? This is the first time we read of Jesus riding instead of walking [except when in a boat].  

Here is one explanation: (begin) Jesus’ purpose in riding into Jerusalem was to make public His claim to be their Messiah and King of Israel in fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy. Matthew says that the King coming on the foal of a donkey was an exact fulfillment of Zechariah 9:9, “Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion! Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” Jesus rides into His capital city as a conquering King and is hailed by the people as such, in the manner of the day. The streets of Jerusalem, the royal city, are open to Him, and like a king He ascends to His palace, not a temporal palace but the spiritual palace that is the temple, because His is a spiritual kingdom. He receives the worship and praise of the people because only He deserves it. No longer does He tell His disciples to be quiet about Him (Matthew 12:16, 16:20) but to shout His praises and worship Him openly. The spreading of cloaks was an act of homage for royalty (see 2 Kings 9:13). Jesus was openly declaring to the people that He was their King and the Messiah they had been waiting for. (end)

What follows are excerpts from “God’s People in the World.”  I find this explanation very appealing and very likely is an accurate characterization of Palm Sunday events.  I’m especially impressed with and educated by the two authors referenced by the author: (begin) According to John Dominic Crossan and Marcus Borg in their book The Last Week, this was likely not the only procession to enter Jerusalem that day.  Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, would have also been on his way to the city.  After all, it was the beginning of Passover, the Jewish holiday of liberation, and the occupying Romans were ready for trouble.  Pilate, that day, would have entered the city from the other direction, riding on horseback, followed by impeccably dressed soldiers on horseback and on foot.  Borg and Crossan ask us to visualize: “A visual panoply of imperial power: cavalry on horses, foot soldiers, leather armor, helmets, weapons, banners, golden eagles mounted on poles, sun glinting on metal and gold.  Sounds: the marching of feet, the creaking of leather, the clinking of bridles, the beating of drums.” 

From the west, a stately imperial parade.  And from the east, a man rides into Jerusalem on a donkey colt, surrounded by a spontaneous crowd waving branches and singing Hosanna. In other words, Palm Sunday is when the Gospel gets political.

And while it’s possible the disciples and the people surrounding them joined in the procession naively and unironically, it’s equally possible that as they watched Jesus prepare to climb on to the back of that too-small donkey and head toward the city, something clicked, and they began to smile as they spread their coats on the donkey’s back and on the road in front of him.

Their choice was clear: they could choose Rome, with its pomp and circumstance and raw military power and wealth.  Or they could choose Jesus, the peasant king who came in peace.  Who would they proclaim as Lord in their chants and songs?  Jesus, or Caesar?  Whose kingdom would they pledge allegiance to?  Jesus’, or Caesars?

Jesus didn’t get out there with signs protesting Roman rule.  He certainly never led a military uprising against this oppressive colonial power.  What did he do?  While Caesar’s representatives were marching into Jerusalem, he had his own parade.  And instead of conveying power and grandeur, he conveyed humility and peace.

Here’s what I do know: that the Palm Sunday story isn’t just a story of a triumphant entrance.  It’s a story that casts its shadow over the week to come, when Jesus will much more directly and much less satirically come into conflict with the powers that be in Jerusalem, whether Jewish or Roman.  This is the subversive act that sets the stage for the rest.  Jesus didn’t die because he was a nice, loving guy.  He died because love breaks the rules, spoken and unspoken.  He died because love – quietly sometimes – speaks truth to power.  He died because love is subversive.  He died because love is political (my emphasis).

Here’s what else I do know: Caesar might have a big parade.  But his kingdom, in the end, cannot withstand the kingdom whose law is love.  Whose kingdom is it going to be? (end)

I’m following the man on the donkey.  Too many of us choose the west entrance. 

Deacon David Pierce