Palm Sunday
TEXTS: Matthew 21:1-9 and Luke 19:28b-40
A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of Jesus and those which followed him were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!” (Matt. 21:8-9)
Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Jesus, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.” (Luke 19:39-40)
If you listen, you can hear the crowd. Off in the distance, a muffled roar, indistinguishable words, then a cheer, and then a chant: “Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna!” If you look carefully, you can see the brightly-coloured holiday clothes of festive pilgrims gathering in Jerusalem. The Passover is not for several days yet, and the people are restless. A rumour draws them from their eating, from their sightseeing, from their napping. “The Messiah has revealed himself!”
If you use your imagination just for a moment, you can feel the crush of the multitudes as people gather along the road from Bethany to Jerusalem. You can smell the dust, and the animals, and the unmistakable odour of too many unwashed humans in too close a space. You can sense the almost palpable excitement in the air, and soon you find yourself climbing a tree to break down a palm branch, and then straining to see through all the other waving branches. You may even find yourself shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!”
If you are the kind of person who thinks about things, you may even wonder what all this is about. Who is this man on the donkey that the people are treating like a king? If he really is a new king, am I supposed to be his subject? If so, what will he expect of me?
It is the last week of Jesus’ earthly life. The crucifixion is six days away. Jesus is coming to Jerusalem despite the intensifying danger, because there are some things he must say, some things he must do. Perhaps the most important thing that he said publicly, he said symbolically. He rode a donkey into town.
And why is this so significant? So far as we know, Jesus never rode a donkey before. Prior to this day, he always walked with his disciples. He ate and slept and sweated and grew thirsty in their midst. Often he drew apart from them for prayer, but he never expected any special privilege. Now he sends them to fetch a donkey for him to ride. Why?
Entering the city on a donkey’s colt was a simple way to symbolize the truth that Jesus did in fact come as king. He accepts the title, and he accepts the people’s praise. He remembered that when Solomon became king after David, he rode his father’s favourite mule during the inaugural procession into the royal city of Jerusalem (1 Kings 1:33). Now, a far greater “son of David” rides triumphantly into the city of kings in similar fashion.
A conquering king would have ridden into the city on a fearsome warhorse, or in a gilded chariot, but Jesus rode on the back of a donkey. While he accepted the title of “king,” he refused to become the military messiah that many of the people—and perhaps even his own disciples—hoped for.
Jesus had specified that the donkey was to be a young colt that had not been ridden. This suggests the sacred aspect of his journey to Jerusalem. Only animals that had never been used as beasts of burden could be considered suitable for sacred purposes (Num. 19:2; 1 Sam. 6:7). The unridden animal’s willingness to bear Jesus also says something about his power. Jesus is not only a king—he is a divine king. This is not a political occasion, but a sacred one.
Imagine what the disciples must have been thinking. As they approached the city, looking across the Kidron Valley at the shining city of Jerusalem, and as they watched Jesus preparing to climb on that donkey’s back, a string of excitement snapped within them and freed their pent-up hopes. They knew that Jesus was perfectly capable of walking, and not so uppity as to think he should ride. Jesus never did anything without a purpose, so he must be saying something. Gradually it dawned on them that Jesus was accepting the title of “king.”
The disciples had longed for this, but they must have wondered if it would ever happen. Once they realized what was on his mind, though, they did all they could to make this a truly royal procession. They draped their cloaks over the donkey’s back to make Jesus’ seat more comfortable and to make the donkey look more presentable. The road was already crowded with pilgrims, and many of them knew about Jesus, so it was not hard for the disciples to stir up the crowd’s excitement.
“Jesus has proclaimed himself king!”
Soon the road was jammed with pilgrims and locals alike. They joined the disciples in laying their cloaks across the path to show Jesus honour. They broke branches from the palm trees and waved them in the air, and spread them on the road.
The last time Israel had been independent was a century before, when Judas Maccabeus had led them to victory and became their king. His nickname was “the hammer,” and he had adopted the palm branch as a symbol of his victory (1 Macc. 13:51; 2 Macc. 10:7). He put the image of a palm branch on his coins, and had them used in temple feasts to celebrate the victory over Rome.
When the crowd rushed to fetch palm branches for this occasion, it was not simply because they were convenient. While the cloaks and the palm branches make this a royal procession, the cheers of the people are even more significant: “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!”
The word “Hosanna” is a Latinized transliteration of a Hebrew phrase that means “please save!” or “help us!” It occurs in Psalm 118:25, just before the other phrase used here, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” Both of these quotations were used in the liturgy of the Jewish feast of tabernacles, when the people would commonly wave branches in the air and pray for God’s help.
“Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord” was a popular greeting shared between pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem for the festival. Here, it is adapted to pronounce a blessing on the King who comes in the name of the Lord.
We remember that Zechariah had prophesied something very much like this: “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.” (Zech 9:9)
As Jesus rode in on his donkey, the people all about took notice. In Matthew’s account of this story, he tells us that: “When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, ‘Who is this?’ The crowds were saying, ‘This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.’” (Matt. 21:10-11)
As we read this story, we also must ask, “Who is this?” And in particular, we must ask, “Who is Jesus to me?”
You know, the problem with palms is that once you cut the branches from the tree, they don’t live very long. The problem with Palm Sunday is that the excitement of that crowd soon faded, and when Good Friday rolled around, many of the same voices who shouted “Hosanna!” were now shouting “Crucify him!” Their love for Jesus was shallow—based entirely on their hope of what exciting things he could do for them. Too many pilgrims would get in behind Jesus on the road to the throne, but they would not follow him on the way to the cross. They would wave palms before the coming king, but they wanted nothing to do with the Suffering Servant.
This day in Jesus’ life was significant in many ways. Jesus knew that the end of his earthly ministry was near. It was time to complete the mission that God had set for him. It was now or never.
This is a day in history that speaks to Christians in every era. Are we so shallow that we will wave palms on one Sunday a year, and sing occasional hymns of praise, but refuse to obey the Servant King?
There is a life ahead of us, and a purpose for us. None of us knows just how long that life will be, or exactly how much time we have left. Every time we hear of someone who dies too young, we are reminded of that.
None of us can know all that the future holds. We don’t know how long we will be on this earth. But we can know that God has a purpose for us. He calls us to love him—and to love others—with the kind of love that makes a difference. He calls us to speak out the truth, to reach out our hands, to hold out our hearts—and he calls us to do that now!
Most people I know cling to the ideal of one day being truly faithful to Christ. “One day I’ll be obedient,” we say. “One day I’ll be truly committed. One day I’ll serve him.” But that day is now! It has to be, because we do not know how many more days there will be.
Back in the 1960s, as the world was in an uncomfortable turmoil (sound familiar?), a young American college student named Phil Ochs decided that he wanted to make a difference. He left the field of journalism and began using his gift with words to write songs. Primarily, Ochs was an anti-war activist. But he wrote at least one song that—to my mind, anyway—speaks to anyone who is passionate about any cause. In these lyrics of his, we hear what it means to be committed to something—in the here and now.
There’s no place in this world where I’ll belong when I’m gone,
And I won’t know the right from the wrong, when I’m gone,
And you won’t find me singing on this song when I’m gone,
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here.
And I won’t breathe the bracing air when I’m gone,
And I can’t even worry ‘bout my cares when I’m gone,
Won’t be asked to do my share when I’m gone,
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here.*
Something like that may have been running through Jesus’ mind as he entered the city gates atop his donkey. And on this Palm Sunday, I guess the question for us is: What are we going to do—while we’re here?
What are you going to do? I hope you will choose to follow Jesus, wherever he leads. I hope we all will. May God grant us courage for the living of these days. Amen.
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* On this decades-old video (from 1966) of Ochs performing “When I’m Gone”, the voice-over from martyred president John F. Kennedy echoes in the 21st century as Trump’s America descends into latter-day fascism. Have a listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Greffl1UVYc