A Homily for Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion
Grace to you and peace from God our Heavenly Father and Christ Jesus our Lord, the triumphant king. Amen.
A city on the brink.
Hundreds of thousands of pilgrims flood the streets.
Riots are an ever-present danger.
Roman soldiers are on edge, afraid that radicalized zealot might attack at any point.
You can cut the tension with a knife.
Can you feel it in the air?
The world feels like it’s on the very verge of coming undone.
And then the demonstration starts, the crowd’s chants rising above the city’s roaring streets:
Hosanna! Hosanna! Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven! Peace in heaven, and hosanna in the highest heaven! Hosanna to the Son of David! Hosanna! Save us, Son of David!
In the shadow of Rome, on the violent and chaotic frontier of a violent empire, a divisive preacher enters the City of David, riding into town like a Jewish king. It was a political parade rich in religious and royal imagery, drawing from the Davidic monarchy and the prophets. Christ was greeted with joyous shouts and cloaks spread on the ground, echoed the anointing of new kings. These actions call to mind times when the Jewish people rebuilt and rebelled: the king riding from the Mount of Olives triumphant and victorious, on a donkey, from the post-Exilic prophet Zechariah. The waving of palms, a reminder of the Maccabees, the last time the Jews overthrew their foreign overlords. It was Passover, the city had swollen to many times its usual population, and was full of pilgrims eager for the salvation and liberation foreshadowed in the Exodus.
For the disciples, this was it. Isaiah had said that the Messiah would free the oppressed, right? And how much more oppressed could you possibly get than Judea under the Roman Empire? The confrontation between God and the powers of this world must finally be at hand. Finally, the Roman oppressors would be overthrown. This – this moment, right here – was what all of history had been building towards.
Saint Matthew adds an important detail: “the whole city was in turmoil.” And perhaps it was this reason that, as Saint Luke notes, the Jewish leaders were eager to silence the crowds – the last thing they want is to give the Romans a reason to lay waste to the city.
Under imperial oppression, in a time when any hint of insurrection is met with brutal violence, with crosses lining the country roads to remind you where you belong, Jesus is greeted as the Son of David, the heir to a political throne, come to restore Jerusalem to its former glory, a political savior – a clear and present danger to Roman rule.
There were those in the crowd who had been expecting this moment for a century, waiting for the Messiah to lead their militia in open revolt against the Romans.
The zealots had their weapons at the ready, knives hidden under their cloaks to stab any passing guard, to kick-start the rebellion. The scene unfolding before us today is one that could have easily led to violence, the type of protest that all too easily turns into a riot followed by a brutal crackdown and civil war. There were those in the crowd expecting a climactic showdown at the barricades.
Make no mistake: somewhere in Jerusalem, the powerful were starting to get very nervous and the Roman soldiers were sharpening their spears.
In our joy today, as we sing “All Glory, Laud, and Honor” and march around waving these strange branches, as we get caught up in the celebration of our Lord’s triumphal entry, we miss something: the cutting political edge of what’s happening.
And ironically, in our contemporary celebrations, we miss how connected we are to this story. The Liturgy of the Palms speaks to our political climate and division, to the tension in our own world. It speaks to our own longing and expectation: Christ our King points beyond our partisan division to an alternative political reality, a coming time when God is King and the last are first.
The zealots in the crowd that day missed the point: they were waiting for someone to serve as their rebel commander, a general lead them in glorious battle. They misunderstood Jesus: that Christ’s victory over oppression does not look like we expect it to.
In our crowd today, we miss the point: Christ’s work in the world is not about some remote historical event or a far-off palace in the clouds but about a Kingdom erupting into this world here and now. If we don’t proclaim this truth, the stones themselves will call out, trembling before the truly awe-some majesty of the coming King.
And so today, God calls us to join in the shouts of “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” Today, we join with the crowds welcoming Christ into the city, rejoicing in the arrival of our savior. Today, we cry out with the entire earth, worshiping our Lord.
When it feels like the very world is coming undone, we look to a Kingdom not of this world, and we are called to let that Kingdom shine forth in this world.
But the tension is still there, hanging thick in the air. And there is more to come.
Rome knows exactly what to do with a rebel king.