Palm Sunday — March 20, 2016
Luke 19:28-48
Two processions took place that week.
From the west – from his seat of power in Caesarea Maritima – came Pilate, Roman prefect over all of Judea. His procession reflected his great political power. Gleaming chariots and armor-clad soldiers marched ahead. Riding astride a proud steed, Pilate assumed the position of authority behind these inconsequential Roman citizens. He came to Jerusalem that day with a show of military might to ensure that the crowds of Jewish pilgrims who made their way into the city to celebrate the Passover festival would not get out of hand. With his vast array of soldiers and chariots and servants, Pilate stirred up a terrific cloud of dust. No welcoming committee greeted him when he entered the city. The only sound was the clopping of horses’ hooves and the clatter of chariot wheels over the cobbled streets. Entering through the western gate, he almost immediately stood within the walls of the Roman palace, never having to mingle with those dirty, uncouth Jews.
From the east, came a spur-of-the-moment, ragtag group of disciples. Their leader rode into Jerusalem on a borrowed donkey, for neither he nor they had the money to buy a respectable mount. So they improvised, tossing their cloaks on the donkey’s back in a sort of saddle, while people in the crowd threw their own garments on the ground in front of the donkey as he rode along. Someone started singing, and soon the whole crowd of his disciples was raising their voices in a cacophony of sound. As the songs settled into one refrain, the words became clear.
Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!
Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!
This procession entered by the eastern gate, the Golden Gate – the main entrance to the temple area. The gate through which Yahweh entered the temple. The gate through which tradition held the Lord’s Messiah would enter. This is the gate through which Jesus rode, on the back of a borrowed donkey, surrounded by disciples, picking his way through the streets, while the people sang songs of praise for all the deeds of power that they had seen.
Walking the countryside with Jesus over the last three years, they had seen deeds of power. Jesus had healed people who had been sick for years, who had tried everything else, for whom no other “cure” had worked – he had healed them. Jesus had cast demons out of people whose lives had been destroyed, who had found themselves living in the streets, cast out by families who could not abide their craziness, their seizures, their demonic possession – he had cast out those demons. Jesus had raised the dead! Remember the widow’s son? He had raised him from the dead. And now the disciples were coming into the holy city, the home of the temple, and it was time to sing praises.
Some of the Pharisees stood along the streets of Jerusalem that day, watching askance as the celebration grew, frowning at this embarrassing show of emotion, disgruntled at the way Jesus drew the people to himself seemingly without trying. They tried to put a stop to the whole affair – “Order your disciples to stop!” But there was a truth in their singing that could not be silenced. The very stones would shout out, if the disciples grew quiet.
John the Baptist had preached by the Jordan, “God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham” (Luke 3:8). God’s message would not be muted, as poet Richard Wilbur notes in his Christmas hymn:
A stable-lamp is lighted
Whose glow shall wake the sky;
The stars shall bend their voices,
And every stone shall cry,
And every stone shall cry,
And straw like gold shall shine;
A barn shall harbor heaven,
A stall become a shrine.[1]
But the celebration does end, for as Jesus came near and saw the city, Luke tells us “he wept over it.” Because for all of their singing and shouting and throwing their coats along the road, the people did not recognize this Jesus who had come into their midst. They did not recognize the things that made for peace. Jesus foresaw a time of great trial and destruction for the beloved city and her people. So he wept.
He wept. He did not amass an army of military strength, like the one that escorted Pilate into Jerusalem that week. Even so, Jesus trusted in God to make a way out of no way. The only way to peace would be through the gracious love of God for God’s people. All those many months ago, during his first visit to the temple as an adult, it was from the scroll of Isaiah that this Jesus read.
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release
to the captives,
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”[2]
Now, he remembered another passage from the prophet – a passage that promised a way forward that would include peace.
“Thus says the LORD …
Do not remember the former things,
or consider the things of old.
I am about to do a new thing;
now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
I will make a way in the wilderness
and rivers in the desert.
The wild animals will honor me,
the jackals and the ostriches;
for I give water in the wilderness,
rivers in the desert,
to give drink to my chosen people,
the people whom I formed for myself
so that they might declare my praise.”[3]
This people whom God had formed for God’s self, God would not abandon. It would not be out of their own capacity that the people would see salvation. It would not be because of their own righteousness that the people would know peace. They would try time and time and time again, but they would always fall short. And in falling short, they would open themselves to discovering the sufficiency of God.
That is our Palm Sunday hope. That is our only hope. That is what the palms and the shouting are all about – “the hope that finally by the grace of God the impossible will happen.”[4] Riding a donkey into Jerusalem that day, Jesus knew all this. And he knew that he would be that impossible unfolding of God’s grace. Not even death would prevail against this king.
[1] Richard Wilbur, “A Christmas Hymn,” accessed online March 15, 2016
[2] Luke 4:18-19
[3] Isaiah 43:18-21
[4] Fredrick Buechner, “The Things that Make for Peace,” A Room Called Remember (cited online March 15, 2016)
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