Today is Palm Sunday. It is the liturgical day for

parades and processions. We raise our palms in

praise and our voices in acclamation:

Hosanna! Blessed is the One who comes in the name

of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest heaven!

The words come easily to our lips. The scene is not

unfamiliar to us. We swim in a sea of spectacle. From

the constant barrage of advertising, to major sporting

events, to strategically sensationalist worship, to

grandiose political rallies designed to evoke outrage,

performative provocation is a constant in our lives.

Such displays often blend religious symbol with

the assurance (or threat) of human power. Yes, the

Romans had their royal processions, their gladiator

games, their public crucifixions. We, too, are

enamored of spectacles that feature strength and

domination. But this morning, if we look closely, we

will see different set of symbols.

Hosanna! Blessed is the One who comes in the name

of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest heaven!

Jesus, a Galilean teacher whose ministry has taken

place in the country, comes into Jerusalem on the

eve of the Passover celebration. He does it in the

way the prophet Zechariah had predicted the king

would come: “humble and lowly; riding on a donkey.”

And those who saw it recognized the symbol. The

moment of their redemption from the hated Roman

Empire had finally arrived. And so, they tear the

branches from trees and the coats from their backs,

and they shout ancient words they heard in worship.

Words of holy scripture.

Hosanna! Blessed is the One who comes in the name

of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest heaven!

That first word is a Hebrew phrase. Hosanna.

Though we hear it as a joyful expression, it is better

translated, “Save us.” “Rescue us.” This is no battle

cry of victory. Listen. You can hear the desperation in

their voices.

Hosanna.

Save us from the crushing weight of Roman

dominion.

Rescue us from the constant threat of violence

draped in Empire’s power.

Save us from the pain of persecution.

Rescue us from the deafening silence of life in the

shadows.

Save us! Rescue us!

Hosanna! Blessed is the One who comes in the name

of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest heaven!

To those who hold power in Jerusalem, those words

convey an unmistakable threat. Matthew tells us that

the whole city was shaken. We’ve heard that before.

Herod and all of Jerusalem with him were shaken

when a baby boy was born in Bethlehem.

The whole city was shaken. The disciples and the

crowd are shouting their desperate hope. The city

and its officials are grappling with political unrest.

The religious leaders are huddled in fear, making

malicious plans. And in Jerusalem, the power of God

and the gods of power will meet head-on this week.

Everyone knew it. Everyone knows it.

And so, they ask. They all ask. The crowd and

the governor. The peasant and the powerful. The

desperate and the fearful. They all ask the same

question.

Who is this?

Well, it depends who you ask.

Some answer: This is the Son of David, a reference

to the greatest king in Israel’s history, victorious in

battle, unrivaled in power. Israel at the zenith of its

influence in the world. These observers see in Jesus

the potential for another King David. They see a

dramatic reversal of power, a new era of domination

for those currently under the booted heel of Rome.

King. Son of David.

Others that day have a different response. This is

the prophet from Nazareth. Their words call to mind

the seers who spoke words of judgment against

evil rulers, who demanded repentance and change.

Voices crying in the wilderness. And they see in Jesus

the new prophetic voice to upend the established

rule—one who would declare God’s righteous anger

and table-turning judgment. Jesus the prophet.

Both groups have good reasons for believing what

they say. Both answers come from a place of deep

despair in the way things are and a fading hope for

renewal and redemption.

Son of David, powerful king.

Prophet from Nazareth, revolutionary hero.

Both answers are incomplete on this Palm Sunday.

If Jesus were simply a greater King David, he would

steer that donkey all the way to the palace of Herod

himself and give the king his eviction notice.

If Jesus were simply a wild-eyed prophet, his parade

would have incited a revolt against the leaders of the

city and directed God’s wrath against all those who

threatened to do him harm.

But Matthew does not record these events. They

never happened.

Here is what did happen. Jesus rode into the holy city.

He went, not to the houses of power, but to the house

of prayer. He entered the temple. He cured disease.

He welcomed the outcast. He forgave the sinner. He

proclaimed the power of God in words and deeds

defined by love.

Oh, the authorities saw it. Oh, they heard the cries.

And they knew what they had to do to preserve the

power they held. What they needed was a spectacle.

A public display. A Roman cross will do the trick.

Today, Matthew says, Jesus rides through the city.

Look, your king is coming to you, humble, riding a

donkey.

Today, Matthew says, it is the children who cry:

Hosanna! Blessed is the One who comes in the name

of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest heaven!

It is the children who cry: Save us! Rescue us!

Friends, this week it has been hard for me to be

anything other than the father of two boys. Two boys

who got on the school bus every morning and came

home again in the afternoon. Friends, this week it

has been hard for me to hear anything other than the

cries of children and the silence of the ones who cry

no more.

Hosanna! That is what the children cried. Save us!

Rescue us!

And what should we say to them? I’ve wondered.

But then it hit me that they already know. More than

you and me, they already know. They come home

from kindergarten well-practiced in when to be quiet

(no whispers, no talking), when to shout. They come

home well-practiced in when to hide and where to

run.

As Jesus rode into Jerusalem that day, he saw them.

He couldn’t miss them. They were lining the streets

with their wide eyes and their waving branches and

arms. He heard them. Save us! Rescue us!

But Jesus did not stop there because he was not

interested in the pageantry of parades. He had no

need of spectacle. He heard the children’s voices.

And so, he overturned the tables of purely

performative faith. He exposed the shameful idols

of greed and the empty rituals wrapped in false

religiosity. He upended the expectations of divine

and human power. He rejected the use of brute force,

political oppression, and absolute authority.

Who is he? He told us who he was. He showed us

who he is. Look, your king is coming to you, humble,

riding on a donkey.

His is the power of humility.

His is the power of sacrifice.

The power of a cross that exposes our fixation on

violence, our selfish narrow vision, our unwillingness

to relinquish our many idols.

He saw them lining the streets. He heard their voices.

Hosanna! Blessed is the One who comes in the name

of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest heaven!

Listen.

The kingdom of God upends the kingdom of Caesar.

The kingdom of God unsettles the powerful who prey

on the weak.

The kingdom of God belongs to those who bear

crosses and wash feet.

We hear their voices too. We do. And because we do,

we’re going to need to change. We’re going to need

to humble ourselves. To bear crosses and wash one

another’s feet. To practice humility together.

We’re going to need to pay attention to those who

line the streets, those who are passed by or run over

by the imperial procession. We’re going to need to

pay attention for the presence of God in ways that

make us uncomfortable, or angry, or afraid. Because

we’re going to need to follow that procession beyond

the streets of Jerusalem and the shouting voices,

through the house of prayer and the upturned tables,

to a hill called Golgotha.

This is the truth of the Gospel: that if the kingdom

of God is to be found anywhere among us, it is to be

found in the voices of those who cry out. Hosanna.

That is where Jesus will spend his week, teaching us,

again, the meaning of humility. Showing us, again,

sacrificial love as true power. Giving us courage to

face our fear and build God’s beloved community.

Today, a Galilean teacher rides into the holy city of

Jerusalem on the back of a donkey, surrounded by

those who shout: Hosanna! Blessed is the One who

comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest

heaven!

Who is this? This is God in flesh and blood.

And if we believe it, we will hear their voices. If we

believe it, we will walk the streets of Jerusalem this

week as the tide begins to turn against the prophet

from Galilee. We will witness a trial full of corruption

and injustice and abuse of power. We will climb a hill

called Calvary where this story could have ended.

Where the whole world thought it did end. If I’m

honest, some days, I can’t muster the faith to believe

differently.

But, today, the children are crying, “Hosanna! Save

us!”

Just wait. He will.