As Matthew paints today's scene, Jesus is mounted on a lowly she-ass, whose colt is trailing behind. Riding up from Bethphage, on the east slope, Jesus crests the Mount of Olives and catches sight of Jerusalem—there to the west, on the other side of the Kedron Valley, capping the somewhat lower hilltop that's called Zion. To the left lies the Temple, where the Jewish High Priest Caiaphas presides, and to the right is the military fortress where the Roman Prefect Pontius Pilate rules.
As Jesus's mount slowly descends Olivet's rocky western slope into the valley below, he doubtless draws the notice of both Caiaphas and Pilate, for he's completely surrounded by a swirling, howling mob of fellow Passover pilgrims, who've gone absolutely wild. Some are even peeling the cloaks off their backs and others are snapping leafy branches off every nearby tree so that by spreading these before Jesus they can transform this dusty, zigzagging mountainside path into a highway fit for a glorious king. And others in the crowd are dancing in circles and leaping all around Jesus, crying out, at the top of their lungs, words from a traditional Passover psalm (118:25-26). They're shouting, "Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the LORD! Hosanna in the highest heaven!"—by which they mean, "Save us now, O mighty king, the blessed one who's coming in God's name! Let even the highest heaven proclaim your praise!"
Perhaps Pilate and Caiaphas, watching all of this from their separate vantage points, briefly indulge themselves in a sneer, for this image of a so-called "king" bobbing up and down on a donkey is ludicrous. Shouldn't a commander-in-chief be astride a spirited stallion, not a balking burro? But behind their sneer lies alarm, for Jesus's popularity must surely pose a threat to their power and control.
Never before in all of Jesus's ministry has he been greeted by such an uproarious commotion—men, women, and children alike greeting him with the fervor that in our modern world we reserve for rock stars or Super Bowl heroes.
And what a difference that vast distance in time and culture makes!
Today, I think, a crowd like this would have been snapping, not leafy branches, but digital cameras, and circling, not in dance, but with videocams, busily recording the day's events. And I also believe that today's cheers would hardly have come from the book of Psalms. No, were Jesus riding into town today, I can imagine lining the route something more like the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders, waving their pompoms and leading us all in the frenzied cheer, "Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!"
But back to Matthew and the ancient scene.
At the same time that Jesus and his fevered crowd are outside the walls of Jerusalem, approaching the eastern gateways, inside those same walls, within the Temple precincts themselves, there's another crowd, one that's preparing for the ritual sacrifice of the Passover lambs that's to take place within a few days' time.
Throngs of Jewish pilgrims from faraway lands are inside the walls, streaming into the holiday market place that the priests have set up in the porticoed courtyard surrounding the Temple proper. To accommodate the pilgrims' needs, the courtyard has been filled with numerous money-changing tables and an enormous barn housing thousands of animals. So on this day, in this courtyard, countless pilgrims are busily exchanging their native currencies for the kind of coinage that the priests will accept from people when they make their offerings and purchase their Passover lambs. The excited shouts of the crowd, the clanking of coins, the bleating of frightened animals! Such is the sound of commerce, the uproar, the commotion going on inside the city walls, while outside—well, Jesus is approaching these same walls with his own attendant uproar.
Mobbed though Jesus is, he somehow manages to slip through the narrow portal that leads to the porticoed courtyard of the Temple. Most of those parading with him drop away, doubtless assuming that he's going inside to pray, and to procure his own Passover lamb, and to forge a mighty alliance with the priests.
But instead of doing any of these things, when Jesus arrives at the Temple he dons the prophetic mantle worn by the likes of Isaiah and Jeremiah and begins to bellow forth: "It is written, 'My house shall be called a house of prayer' (Isa. 56:7); but you are making it a den of robbers (Jer. 7:11)." Then, proceeding swiftly and surely, Jesus drives out first all of the pilgrims who are there and next all of those who've been attending to the ritual needs of these pilgrims.
Thus communicating his message through prophetic actions as well as words, what Jesus means to signify to all those assembled there is this: You have come here with a false confidence. You think that you can somehow attain safety and security in your relationship with God by performing the sacrificial rites associated with this Temple even though you continue to fill your everyday lives with unjust deeds. You think that you can attain security through ritual alone, but you can't! So go away from here! And come back when you have kept faith with God by loving your neighbor. Or else come back when, with hearts humbled, your only desire is to offer prayers of penance and to seek God's forgiveness. Until then, go away!
So Jesus drives away all the buyers and sellers and livestock. And only a few folk are left there in the Temple courtyard. Jesus is still there, of course. And scattered around in the corners there's the motley array of blind and lame who've been sitting there all day hoping for alms, ones to whom Jesus now turns and offers healing. And also remaining there, gathered around Jesus as he heals the blind and lame, is a group of children, children who'd been part of Jesus's parade down the Mount of Olives and who'd then followed him up into the pillared courtyard of the Temple. And, because of the sudden hush that's now fallen over the Temple, their voices can once again be heard singing: "Hosanna, hosanna, to the Son of David!" Yes, on this "triumphant" day, the last choruses of "Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!" are to be heard only from the lips of children.
The cries of the fleeing pilgrims and moneychangers and the chanting of the children have now triggered quite an alarm. So the High Priest Caiaphas and his retinue arrive to angrily challenge Jesus. They call out to him: "Do you not hear what blasphemy these children are uttering? They're calling you the Messiah and asking you to save them!"
But looking them straight in the eye, Jesus says, "Yes, I hear them! But have you priests never read the Psalms, the hymn book of this very Temple? Don't you know the verse that's written there, the verse that reads: 'Out of the mouths of infants and nursing babies, You[, O Lord,] have prepared praise for Yourself'?" (Ps. 8:2 LXX)
And having thus condemned the priests through this pointed question of his, Jesus turns on his heel and abruptly leaves. Then, exiting the city, Jesus journeys back over the Mount of Olives, traveling to the nearby village of Bethany, where he will spend the night.
This Palm Sunday story is such a memorable one! Certainly the account of Jesus's approach to the city of Jerusalem has excited me ever since I was a child, and I'm sure it has excited many of you as well. Singing, shouting, waving; palms, parades, even a donkey—it's the closest church ever gets to being a circus!
And among the various versions of the Palm Sunday story found in the four gospels, Matthew's account, the one we've read today, is unique for its concluding focus on the children—the children who sing the very last hosannas of the day. As our Savior begins his journey toward death on a cross, the grownups who had shouted "Hosanna!" quickly turn fickle. Only the cries of the children last to the end of the day.
Palm Sunday—the day when we who are grownups play the role of that "cheering, chanting, dizzy crowd" whom the Pilates and Caiaphases of this world will all too soon succeed in turning against Jesus, out of the belief that in the face of this world's principalities and powers love is weak and peacemaking is impotent.
How poignant it is on this weekend when we're marking the second anniversary of our nation's War in Iraq—how poignant it is to have posed to us once again that age-old question: What kind of a Savior would challenge the power of evil by choosing a donkey over a stallion, by choosing the way of a cross over the path of a sword, by choosing deeds of justice over the piety of ritualism? Yet those were the choices that Jesus made—the donkey, cross, and just deeds that characterize a non-violent Messiah, over the stallion, sword, and pious ritualism that characterize a conquering commander. And by making those choices, in the course of just one, or two, or three short days Jesus lost the allegiance of most of that first excited Palm-Sunday crowd. Does he lose our allegiance as well?
The day of Jesus's procession was a moment of fragile possibility. If only people had seen Jesus for what he truly was—a sovereign who came to offer not the start of the strife and conflict for which many living under the Roman yolk had been dreaming, but a sovereign who came to offer the gift of love and of welcome to all those whom the powerful had pushed to the margins.
And every Palm Sunday since that first one has offered the world yet another moment of fragile possibility, as each succeeding generation receives the opportunity to reject the philosophy that "might makes right" and to embrace Jesus's way of resisting evil non-violently. Yes, each and every Palm Sunday offers us yet again the chance to choose Jesus's way, even though his way may lead to a cross.
Jesus came to inaugurate on earth a reign of love and justice and peace, rather than a reign of wealth and might and power. So the questions that it's appropriate to ask ourselves on Palm Sunday really don't change very much from year to year. You may remember that last year I posed to you the following set of questions, questions that, sadly, seem just as relevant and just as well-worth asking today as they seemed then. So let me repeat them:
What would the dawning reign of the Prince of Peace look like? Would it look like the war in Iraq and its aftermath? Would it look like the tax policies that threaten the solvency of safety-net programs like Social Security and Medicaid? Would it look like the corporations whose CEO is earning 1,000 or even 10,000 times the salary of the lowest paid employees? Would it look like the corporation, founded by a Presbyterian, whose low wages force a number of its full-time employees to apply for food stamps? Would it look like a wealthy nation where hunger and homelessness and a lack of access to medical treatment are increasing, not decreasing? Would it look like a nation that refuses to impose strict limits on its emissions of greenhouse gases and pollutants because it places a higher value on maximizing corporate profits than on preserving the beauty and integrity of God's creation? Would the reign inaugurated by a sovereign Jesus look like any of these? I think not.
So, what if we were actually to choose "donkey, cross, and just deeds" over "stallion, sword, and pious ritualism"? What if we really were to give our lasting allegiance to the kind of sovereign Jesus truly was? What would the dawning reign of this Prince of Peace look like? Well, last year I suggested some images of what such a utopia might look like. And because the world is so largely unchanged since then, I find myself continuing to imagine the same things. So, here again is my "donkey, cross, and just deeds" vision:
America has chosen to share our nation's resources, including our life-saving medicines, with poor people all around the world. America has become a place where persons of all races, genders, classes, sexual orientations, and religions are treated equally. America has become a place where wealth and property are treated as resources to be deployed for the well-being of all. America has chosen to co-operate with other peoples and nations in resolving conflicts non-violently and in preserving and nurturing the beauty and integrity of God's creation. The leaders of America have chosen to speak and work on behalf of the weak, the voiceless, and the victimized and to treat no person or nation as "the enemy." And the President of the United States has chosen to ride around the country humbly, on a donkey, while those around her cheer with joy!
During Holy Week, the church lives out the events of Jesus's passion and death. "It is not a week in which we simply remind ourselves of what happened to Jesus and his disciples 'back then,' but is a week in which we become part of the story and the story becomes part of us.... In Holy Week, the 'old' story becomes an ever-new story, as we experience once again what it means to be a community whose very life and identity derives from this week's journey to the cross." [Gail R. O'Day, in New Proclamation, Series A, 1998-99, Advent through Holy Week, p. 229]
Dear companions in Palm Sunday's "cheering, chanting, dizzy crowd," please do stay with Jesus all the way to Calvary and beyond. For in order truly to be prepared for Saturday evening's return of light and for next Sunday's full-throated cries of joy at rediscovering the empty tomb, please do join me here on Thursday evening at 7:00, as the "old story" of Jesus's last supper with his followers is made ever-new for us, and then again on Friday between noon and 2:30 so that together we may stand watch at the cross, humbly and reverently praying, "Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!"
Let us pray:
O Jesus, Messiah of such an unexpected sort, may we be found continuing at Your side throughout this week. O Jesus, may we come to sup at Your table and, there, taste of Your grace. O Jesus, may we come to stand at Your cross and, there, behold the cost of Your love.
And in this way, may we come to be prepared, O God, for the surprise and the joy of Your raising of Jesus from the dead, so that we may come confidently to affirm that humility is indeed greater than power, that non-violence is indeed stronger than violence, that good is indeed mightier than evil, and that life cannot be vanquished by death. In the name of Jesus, we pray this. Amen.