This is why they wanted him silenced. If necessary,

executed. It’s not only the persistent message of love

and forgiveness. Not only the embrace of outsiders, or

those piercing parables of reversal and transformation.

No, the crowds were growing too large, upsetting the

delicate balance between political and religious forces, a

threat to order. It was becoming clear that the movement

surrounding Jesus of Nazareth needed to be snuffed out

before it gained more momentum.

We began worship this morning with a procession, a

parade of palms. Scholars suggest that there were two

separate parades entering Jerusalem on the day we call

Palm Sunday, the beginning of the Passover week.

One was a peasant procession, the other an imperial

march. From the east, Jesus rode a donkey down the

Mount of Olives, cheered on by his followers. Jesus

was from the peasant village of Galilee in Nazareth, his

message was about the kingdom of God, and his followers

had journeyed one hundred miles south. The story of Jesus

has been pointing toward Jerusalem for many months, and

it has now arrived. On the opposite side of the city, from

the west, Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, entered

Jerusalem at the head of a column of the imperial cavalry

and marching soldiers. One procession proclaimed the

kingdom of God; the other, the power of empire. These

two processions embody the central conflict of the week

that led to Jesus’ crucifixion. i

Palm Sunday is a protest. It always has been. Two

processions enter Jerusalem: one of empire, military

might, and political power; the other of humility, sacrifice,

and radical hope. Two different visions of the future. Two

kinds of kingdoms. Then and now, the two collide. Across

history, rulers have demanded absolute loyalty, silenced

opposition, and crushed dissent. And in every era, brave

people of faith have lifted courageous voices in defiant

hope, refusing to bow to oppressive power. On a Sunday

morning in March of 1965, protesters marched across

the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama. They

were armed not with weapons but with a conviction that

justice must prevail. That love must overcome hatred. And

you know what they faced that bloody Sunday. Tear gas,

batons, brutality. A show of force. Power, fearful of being

challenged. And yet, they marched on. Twice more that

month. They lifted their voices on the way to Birmingham,

and their witness shook the foundations of injustice to their

core. They testified to the truth.

For the faithful, the question persists in every generation. It is

asked of us now.

Which procession will we join?

The gospel writer Luke records another Sunday morning

march. A multitude of disciples lined the streets shouting

their praise for the mighty deeds of power they had seen

from Jesus. This is what we remember on Palm Sunday:

the large crowd, the psalms of praise, the power of this

palm-punctuated passionate parade.

Power—its source and purpose—has been central

to Luke’s story from the very beginning. You might

remember the gospel opens with an angel’s visit to

a powerless young woman in a forgotten town. Mary

receives a shocking promise: she will bear a son whose

kingdom will never end. He will reign forever and ever. But

in her song of praise, she makes it clear: her king will not

seize human power; he will upend it. She sings, “God has

brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted

up the lowly.”

When her son begins his ministry, he is led into the

wilderness, where he is offered authority over the

kingdoms of the world. All he must do is forfeit his soul

and bow low to the forces of evil. What is offered to Jesus

is a shortcut to dominance, a temptation to rule by force.

And he refuses. His power will not come from thrones or

armies, but outstretched arms and open tables.

And now, he enters Jerusalem. The contrast is crystal

clear. Jesus rides the colt of a donkey. The prophet

Zechariah had seen it in a vision: “your king is coming,

humble and lowly, riding on a donkey.” It is a public act

of defiance, an anti-imperial procession, a claim that

God’s power looks nothing like the tyranny of Rome,

represented by Pontius Pilate. Recognizing Jesus’ claim,

the crowds tore the branches from the trees and the

cloaks from their backs, threw them down and erupted

in praise. In frenzied anticipation that their savior had

finally come, they lifted their voices in that ancient, royal

acclamation preserved in the psalms. “Blessed is the one

who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and

glory in highest heaven!” Their voices echo the multitude

of angels who sang to lowly shepherds on a hillside to

announce the birth of the Messiah. “Glory to God in the

highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom

he favors!” The lowly lifted up.

Well, the religious leaders, who have been watching

Jesus closely since early in the gospel, now understand

precisely what is happening. They see those cloaks

spread on the road, hear the shouts of jubilation, feel the

enthusiasm growing, and they sense the coming collision.

This is no parade—it is an uprising.

And so, they respond. They demand that Jesus and his

disciples cease and desist this dangerous display. Words

every movement for justice has heard. Don’t make trouble.

Fall in line. Order your disciples to stop!

In those words, two understandings of power that have

been aiming for each other since the gospel began finally

meet. Make your disciples stop!

But they cannot stop. Not on the bridge in Selma or on

the streets of Jerusalem. We cannot stop. Not now. We

must not leave the praising to the stones, though they

too would shout praise to God. We cannot stop when

the world still bows to power that crushes, silences, and

oppresses. Not when the fear quiets the voices of truth.

Not when the kingdom of God is still breaking in all

around us. We cannot stop because the power of God is

alive and on display this day, calling us to lift palms, raise

voices, and join the march.

So, where do we stand? Which procession will we join?

For the sake of faith’s future, do not listen to the voices

of fear that aim to silence your praise or your protest of

perverse power. Not today, and not ever. Do not stop

following Jesus, humble and riding on a donkey, your

mighty king. Do not stop celebrating the presence of

God in unlikely places. God’s power is alive in you. So,

with the crowds who waved palms two thousand years

ago, let us tell the world about the power of God, and do

not be silenced.

It will not be easy. This week, the road will be rough. We

will walk through the streets of Jerusalem as the tide

begins to turn against this peaceful prophet. We will stand

and watch a trial filled with corruption, injustice, and

abuse of authority. We will climb a hill called Golgotha

where this march might have ended. Where the whole

world thought it did.

But there is another power at work this week. There is a

truth set down deeper than all that seeks to undo God’s

purpose. Look for a king who embodies power not by

domination but sacrifice. Look for a king who does not

wield warhorses, weapons, or wealth. Look for a king

whose power leads not to the royal throne but to an old

rugged cross. There you will see—only there will you

see—the power of love in all its terrifying beauty and life-

changing truth.

Even from the foot of the cross, some demand dramatic

display. If you are the Son of God, save yourself! Come down

from the cross. It’s what a real king would do. He could fix it.

It’s what we would do, given the chance. Jesus recognizes

the old demonic temptation. He will not save himself. His

strength will be sacrifice. His power, compassion.

What about us? Which procession will we follow?

The forced march? Or the journey of love? Jesus is not the

king we expect; He is the one we need.

So, will we bow down to power that destroys? Or will

we lift our palms, raise our voices, and join the parade?

You see, we are always making that choice. In every

era we must decide which procession to follow. The

world is watching, wondering if following Jesus sets us

apart in any meaningful way. Our children are watching,

wondering whether our faith makes any difference in

the way we live. For their sake, let the world see the

procession you have chosen—not just today with palms

in hand, but tomorrow in the way you work, the way you

serve, the way you speak. Let this powerful parade move

beyond the pew and into the places we walk every day.

This is how we follow the King who rides on a donkey.

So, which will we choose? Which will you choose?