When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying,
“Tell the daughter of Zion,
Look, your king is coming to you,
humble, and mounted on a donkey,
and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”
The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting,
“Hosanna to the Son of David!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”
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I remember Palm Sunday as a kid - it was one of the Sundays where the children’s choirs always sang. We’d line up in the back of the church in our blue robes, clutching our palms, ready to sing and march down the center aisle of the church waving our branches while our parents waved at us.
Palm Sunday has always felt like a guilty pleasure here at the end of Lent - a day to rejoice and celebrate before the heaviness of the rest of Holy Week sets in; we call this Jesus’s “triumphal entry,” after all.
Joy and triumph are the way that this story is usually told.
Jesus is ready to enter the city.
He sends disciples to fetch a donkey.
The crowds gather as he parades his way into the city.
They wave palms in celebration.
They spread out their cloaks to honor the king.
Sunday school kids dance around the sanctuary.
We sing “All Glory, Laud, and Honor” at the tops of our lungs.
It’s a party!
That’s one way to look at what is going on here.
But these days, in the shadow of a pandemic, in a time of loneliness and fear and anxiety, I wonder if there is another way that we might understand Palm Sunday. I wonder if this is actually a tale of unfettered celebration, or if there are deeper lessons for us.
So let’s revisit our gospel today and see what we can find.
We begin with Jesus sending the disciples off on an errand: go fetch a donkey. And Matthew tells us that this is to fulfill prophecy about a humble king riding on a donkey.
This prophecy comes from the book of Zechariah. And when Zechariah talks about a humble king, he’s not simply talking about a king with a gentle spirit. Zechariah talks about a king who takes his place with those who are suffering. A king who is afflicted. A king without an army. A king who will bring salvation, not in the form of military victory, but in the form of righteousness and reconciliation.
Indeed, Jesus has been trying to prepare us for this truth for quite some time now. Over and over, he has been showing the world that he is a different kind of king than what they had expected. Over and over, he has been telling the disciples that the journey to Jerusalem will end at the cross.
And now, even as the parade begins, the clouds are already gathering. This was never meant to be a parade of victory; only a last march of a suffering king.
And then we have the gathering crowds, cutting branches from the trees and waving them, crying out “Hosanna!”
Is this a group of people rejoicing and waving streamers in celebration? Perhaps.
But what if we were to remember what the word “Hosanna” means?
It is not a shout of praise, like the word “Hallelujah!” “Hosanna” is a word that means, “save us.” Save us, please. Save us, we pray.
The crowds gather to cry out for their salvation. They gather in need and in faith. Their cries of “hosanna” are not all that different than the cries of the criminals who will be crucified next to Jesus, who plead with Jesus, “If you are the Messiah, save yourself and us!”
I wonder if the crowds wave their branches and their cloaks so that Jesus will notice them and hear their cries. I wonder if the mood is celebratory or desperate. I wonder if the crowds are hoping, deep in their hearts, that this is finally the moment when they will be set free and the world will be set right.
Because “Hosanna” is a word that both recognizes the present pain and also leans on hope for a future. The word “hosanna” drives us into the Psalms, where cries to God for salvation are also accompanied by deep faith that God’s salvation is already promised, already here.
Palm Sunday isn’t simply the story of people celebrating Jesus on the side of the road.
Palm Sunday is a story of people who are deeply in touch with their desperate circumstances, who cast all their burdens and hopes upon an afflicted prophet who is marching to his death, and, we hope, to his resurrection.
This is a story that invites its hearers to get in touch with the deepest longings of their own hearts - their own cries for salvation, for themselves, for the world.
In her book Entering the Passion of Jesus, Amy-Jill Levine asks us,
From what do we seek salvation? From sin, yes. But also from pain, from despair, from loneliness, from poverty, from oppression. We are all in need of some form of salvation. Indeed, the idea of salvation for most of the Scriptures of Israel is not about spiritual matters but physical ones: the Passover, the setting of the Passion narrative, is about salvation from slavery. God hears our cries. And the stories remind us that people, still, cry out to be saved. Will our cries be heard by others? Will we hear the cries of others? Will God act? Will we?
Palm Sunday invites us to cast our laments like cloaks before our savior. Palm Sunday tells us that it is okay to wave our palms as if we are trying to flag Jesus down to make sure he sees us and notices us and hears our cries and pays attention us.
I mean, even our favorite Palm Sunday hymn, “All Glory Laud and Honor” has a dark side - the hymn tune was actually composed in 1613 as a hymn for the dying during the plague.
So it is okay, my friends, if you don’t feel like celebrating today. It is okay if Palm Sunday feels more like fear than like rejoicing.
It is okay to wave your palm while still feeling anxious after being cooped up in your house for weeks.
It is okay to wave your palm while worrying about loved ones.
It is okay to wave your palm while grieving all of the events that have been canceled and milestones that will be missed while we hunker down at home.
It is okay to wave your palm while channeling your anger at pandemics beyond our control, while feeling mad at a world that isn’t behaving like it should.
Because this is what crying “hosanna” is all about.
Jesus, save us.
Jesus, save our world.
Our shouts of hosanna put is right there on the side of the road with the gathered crowds. Together, we voice our fears. We plead for salvation. We raise our palms in protest against the powers of sin and death in the world. We rally for the world we hope and trust God will bring about.
Palm Sunday is not yet the parade of victory that we want…but it is the parade of hope that we need.
Wave your palms.
Shout your hosannas.
Pray and trust.
God’s salvation will come.
Amen.