Statement of Triumph

Matthew 21 opens with one of the records of the Triumphal Entry. We’re familiar with the images of the story and we often reenact different elements during our Palm Sunday celebrations. We know the picture of Jesus making his entrance on a donkey while people wave palm branches and shout “Hosanna!”

But a little historical context will go a long way. Jesus enters Jerusalem on the week of Passover (possibly even “Lamb Selection Day”); this week is significant because of the tension of Palestine in the Roman world. This particular region was always one of the tensest areas the Romans had to control. It was the home of the only group of people who refused to worship the emperor. This band of rebels was stubborn, stiff-necked, and naïve.

The region was one of the hardest to govern because of this headache for the Romans. You might remember Herod giving this region to his son Archelaus who didn’t last but for a breath as ruler of the region. The ruler would have to be tough, a bulldog who knew how to collect the necessary taxes and maintain peace. Immediately after the failure of Archelaus as ruler, the Romans sent in their own guy. History knows him as Pontius Pilate. 

Now Pilate did not live in Jerusalem; Israel’s “holy city” would not be the place for a dignified Roman ruler. No, Pilate made his home in Caesarea, the immaculate city of Herod the Great, built to honor the emperor. However, the week of Passover was incredibly tense. More than a million Jews would gather in the city to celebrate a feast that remembered their deliverance from the world’s greatest superpower. The last thing Rome wanted was to let this band of rebels get all riled up after a four-glasses-of-wine party and start a revolt. 

And so every year, Pilate would head south from Caesarea to Joppa and then east to Jerusalem, entering the city from the west. He would travel with great pomp and a show of force. Soldiers, trumpeters, banners, heralds, pronouncements — and Pilate riding on a white stallion that symbolizes military conquest. You could have heard him coming from miles away. The message he wanted to send to the Jews was clear: “Don’t even think about it. Keep everything under control or Rome will crush you.”

And Pilate would stay at Herod’s palace in Jerusalem until the festivities died down.

Meanwhile, on the same week (possibly even the same day), a humble Jewish rabbi rides into Jerusalem from the east with his ragtag bunch of reject disciples.

This is the picture of two kingdoms about to collide.

Pilate on his stallion; Jesus on his donkey.

Pilate with his solders; Jesus with his talmidim.

Pilate instilling fear; Jesus pronouncing favor.

Pilate and his chaos; Jesus with his order.

Pilate with his Empire; Jesus with his Shalom.

This ultimate showdown does not go unnoticed by the Jewish people gathered there on the east side of Jerusalem. The moment Jesus jumps on a donkey, each one of them recognizes the clear connection to Zechariah, a discussion we had last year.

And so the people grab palm branches (see the account in John) and begin waving them. Why palm fronds? Because the prophecy of Zechariah ends with the vision of all nations celebrating Sukkot in Jerusalem — and Sukkot is where you wave your palm fronds. 

And they begin shouting “Hosanna!” which is Hebrew for “Lord, save us!” Why do they shout this? Because the great hymn that you sing at Sukkot is Psalm 118:

     LORD, save us!
         LORD, grant us success!

     Blessed is he who comes in the name of the LORD.
         From the house of the LORD we bless you.
     The LORD is God,
         and he has made his light shine on us.
     With boughs in hand, join in the festal procession
         up to the horns of the altar.

     You are my God, and I will praise you;
         you are my God, and I will exalt you.

     Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good;
         his love endures forever.

Because of these passages, the palm frond had become the symbol of the Zealot party and of political revolution. According to Roman history, shaking a palm frond in public was a crucifiable offense.

The people are calling out for a revolution. They see the statement Jesus is making about kingship and they are ready for their king! They give him their support and their praise.

And Jesus cries.

We know from the other accounts that Jesus will look over Jerusalem and he will cry, saying, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem! If only you knew what would bring you peace.”

They had forgotten part of the prophecy in Zechariah:

     Rejoice greatly, Daughter Zion!

         Shout, Daughter Jerusalem!

     See, your king comes to you,

         righteous and victorious,

     lowly and riding on a donkey,

         on a colt, the foal of a donkey.

     I will take away the chariots from Ephraim

         and the warhorses from Jerusalem,

         and the battle bow will be broken.

     He will proclaim peace to the nations.

         His rule will extend from sea to sea

         and from the River to the ends of the earth.

And I’ve always been amazed that every year, we hand our children palm fronds and have them reenact the very scene that made our Savior weep.

But this isn’t what actually haunts me. I’m sure Jesus is able to see the statement we are making with our hearts as we sing the words “Hosanna!” in spite of ourselves. I think he accepts the worship we are offering.

What haunts me is the question of which kingdom I really want.

I say I want the Kingdom of God, but I’m not sure I’m willing to pay the price. I say I love forgiveness, but there are far too many days where I find myself on the side of the road, clutching a palm frond and shouting for a revolution that comes with my kind of power and my kind of might. 

And I think we need to ask some questions, because I think our political agendas and methods would make Jesus weep. I think our thirst for power, influence, and a particular kind of security would cause Jesus to lament over our cities and our country. I think far too much of our American culture has us standing at the west side of Jerusalem, not the east.

What’s interesting is that in two of the accounts, we are told there are two donkeys, which is interesting because Jesus only rides one. And while this might be an effort to make the account line up with the prophecy of Zechariah, Jewish literature and teaching will often employ this tool as they tell stories. You may remember that Matthew has two demon-possessed men in the Decapolis; he also has two blind men receiving their healing. The rabbis tell us that a teacher will often insert an additional character into the story as a way of inviting you into a moment of decision.

In the story of the two blind men and demoniacs, you are being invited into the story. If you were the other demoniac, what would you do?

There are two donkeys in the Triumphal Entry.

Jesus rides into Jerusalem, not to conquer, but to die. He rides in to bring true peace that might last for an eternity, not a political peace that will last only for now. He rides in to restore relationships and reconcile all things, not to establish a country club.

As you watch Jesus tearfully ride to his death, you see him glance over his shoulder at the riderless donkey and you are faced with a question: Which kingdom do you really want?

He invites you to ride with him into a Kingdom that is built on different values.