Palm Sunday

Rev Indrea Alexander

Psalm 118: 1-2 and 19-29, Matthew 21:1-11

There’s a bit of a disturbance at the edge of a remote city in the Roman Empire.
Hosannas, waving branches and cloaks thrown on the ground as a carpet of welcome for Jesus as he entered Jerusalem that first palm Sunday. There was a buzz of excitement, expectation, among those joining in.
 
I wonder who saw the procession and who joined it. Anyone who lived or did  business in the city could have come across it - local and foreign traders, rich people, servants, slaves, beggars, thieves, prostitutes, stone masons, carpenters, money changers. Children, young people, adults, elders. All the people who are part of any city’s daily life.
 
But Jerusalem was also occupied territory, so the procession could have been seen by members of the occupying Roman forces—soldiers, officials, tax collectors, their families, and servants. The ruler of Palestine, Herod Antipas, had a palace in  Jerusalem, and the Roman governor Pontius Pilate could have been present in the city—as he was later in the week.
 
In addition to the ordinary crowds and the occupying Romans, Jerusalem was of course home to the Jewish temple. It was the third temple, an impressive building begun 60 years earlier and, though largely completed, still under construction that first Palm Sunday. It is said the gold, and the white stone of the temple, shone so brightly in the sunshine that it was difficult to look directly at it.
 
And because of the temple’s presence in the city, Jerusalem was home to Caiaphas the high priest, and to many other priests, and to learned scribes interpreting and teaching scripture, and to their students - their disciples, and to members of the powerful Sanhedrin - the highest legal and administrative Jewish body under Roman occupation, and it was home to many Pharisees—those sticklers for keeping all God’s 613 laws, especially those relating to tithing and ritual purity. Any of them could have seen that Palm Sunday procession, a little disturbance at the edge of a remote city in the Roman Empire.
 
And among the Jerusalem crowd would have been extra visitors in town, pilgrims, because it was nearly Passover the festival celebrating God’s servant Moses leading the Hebrew people to freedom from slavery in Egypt 1500 years before. Every year, at the end of the Passover Seder meal celebrated in Jewish homes, the hope was expressed “next year in Jerusalem”, and however far away they lived, Jews, at least once in their life, would seek to make pilgrimage to Jerusalem for Passover. They came from the Middle East, Africa, Asia and Europe. Jews who every Sabbath prayed that the Messiah come “speedily in our day”.
 
And here was Jesus being welcomed into Jerusalem with hosannas and waving branches.
 
I wonder who joined in and why. Some of them would have heard Jesus teach, and even been helped or healed by him. Some of them would have heard of him by reputation—he had recently raised Lazarus from the dead, after all, and word of that would have spread from nearby Bethany like wildfire. Perhaps this was the Messiah, right here for Passover.
 
The Romans would already have been on edge. Passover was always rather politically charged. All these Jews celebrating some ancient liberation could readily be roused to seek liberation again. This man Jesus would need to be carefully watched and suppressed if necessary.
 
The religious leaders would also have been on edge. They had a vested interest in keeping things calm. Now here comes Jesus. What is he up to?
 
Some of the religious leaders were impressed by him, and had spent long evenings in discussion with him. Some were affronted by him, stung by his accusations of hypocrisy when they had given their whole lives to the laws of Yahweh. They would never forget he had likened them to whitewashed sepulchers—immaculate tombs with a rotting corpse within. Some were fearful of him with his unorthodox behaviour and enthusiastic ragtag following. Did he not understand how precarious their relationship with the Romans was? Or was he going to rock the boat like so many zealots before him? They would need to keep a close eye on him, and suppress him if necessary.
 
In the midst of the cheering procession, at the centre of so many hopes and fears, Jesus approaches Jerusalem. 
 
In some Bibles this passage is given the heading “The Triumphal Entry” - but is there any triumphalism in Jesus? Almost in a parody of the arrival of mighty military leaders on their magnificent horses, Jesus is riding into Jeru-salem, the City of Peace, on a shaggy little donkey. No military revolutionary, here comes the Prince of Peace.
 
What is Jesus thinking in the midst of the activity swirling around him? Is he aware that suffering and death lie ahead of him here? He certainly knows there is a risk of it. He has previously lamented “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you kill the prophets and stone the messengers sent to you” (Luke 13:34). And in the Gospel of John he has acknowledged the recent anointing of his feet by Mary of Bethany as an anointing for burial. He knows it is not safe to go to Jerusalem. But he goes anyway. Into the lair of Herod the fox. Into the grips of the Sanhedrin. Into the precincts of the temple, his Father’s house of prayer.
 
Does he go with fear? Hope? Desolation? Grief? Maybe with utter calm - knowing he has made his choice, obedient to God, and simply has to see it through. But we know that on the night before he died, he called out to God in anguished prayer in Gethsemane: Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” So perhaps his tides of emotion were sweeping in and out. Yet not my will, but yours be done. So he goes, into Jerusalem and the suffering it will bring. 
 
The crowd cheers “Hosanna!” – a shout of joy, a call of welcome. But maybe Jesus is hearing an echo of its earlier meaning, when Hosanna was a cry to God that meant “save us now”. Those prayerful ancient origins fit well with what Jesus’ self-sacrificial love is about to achieve – but it is not in triumph and glory that he is going to bring salvation, but through suffering and death
 
That week of disturbance in a remote city in the Roman empire changed the world.
 
Like many in the procession that first Palm Sunday, we have our own hopes and expectations, our own understandings of Jesus, some of which probably fall far from the mark.
 
This coming week let’s simply focus on Jesus. This Holy Week and Easter, let’s read the gospel accounts of Jesus’ last days. With fresh eyes and ears, let’s read and consider what he did, how he did it, and who he did it for. Let’s invite the Holy Spirit to bring us fresh understanding of Jesus - Christ crucified, and let’s renew our commitment to him and his ways. Let’s take up Jesus’ invitation: I am the way, walk me. I am the truth, know me. I am the life, live me.