Mark 11:1-11
11When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples 2and said to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it.
3If anyone says to you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.’” 4They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. As they were untying it, 5some of the bystanders said to them, “What are you doing, untying the colt?” 6They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it. 7Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it. 8Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. 9Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting,
“Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! 10Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
11Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.
On Palm Sunday the crowd lay their cloaks on the road in front of Jesus, a sign of highest respect and honor. Waving palm branches was a symbol of Judean nationalism. By riding in on a young donkey, Jesus was fulfilling a prophecy of Zechariah 9:9, which said, "Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion! Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey." The prophetic fulfillment of Jesus coming to Jerusalem as a prophesied king would not have been lost upon the people, and certainly not on the Jewish high council.
As a member of the line of King David, Jesus had a rightful claim to the throne of Judea. The throne was occupied by Herod Antipas, a Roman vassal and not even Jewish. The people despised Herod almost as much as Pilate. They wanted to be free of him as well as of the Romans.
The Jews wanted a Jewish King with a legitimate claim to the throne who would rule justly. They thought that Jesus was their man. His works of mercy and compassion were well known, as was the amazing power with which Jesus did them.
David Taylor wrote,
They had seen the mighty works of this man Jesus. They were witness to Him restoring sight to the blind. They saw the evidence of Him healing the lame. They saw Him feed the multitude with a little boy’s lunch, and had leftovers to spare. They heard about Him raising Lazarus from the dead. They listened to Him teach with authority. Surely, with power and authority like that, Jesus was without a doubt the one who would set them free. So, Jesus came to Jerusalem, and the crowds began to cheer.
Such acclaim would probably not have happened at any time of the year other than when Jesus made this entry. It was a few days before Passover, a holy day dripping with memories and symbolism of liberation. In Passover the Jews celebrated the liberation of their ancestors from chattel slavery in Egypt. If Jesus was to proclaim himself a political Messiah, this was the time. Thousands of Jews had come to Jerusalem from the rest of the country to make sacrifices. Religious and nationalist fervor ran very high. Had Jesus claimed the throne the news would have spread throughout all Judea within one or two days. Jesus was doubtless aware of all of this. The city's residents were pretty much his for commanding.
All the expectations of the crowd will be shattered this week. My colleague in ministry, Paul Larsen, wrote a few years ago of the University of Arizona's loss to Duke for spot in the Final Four. He compared the crowd cheering for Jesus with the thousands of fans who were cheering for Arizona. As the second half progressed, the Arizona fans’ cheers became less strident, less lengthy, less frequent. Finally, they were muted. The Arizona fans departed the stadium in grim, bitter silence. Back on the campus, the people who had cheered for their team turned into a mob. They destroyed university property and defaced buildings.
The difference between a crowd and a mob is thin. Crowds cheer, mobs riot. The turn can be made in just a moment. Jesus surely knew what the crowd expected and just as surely knew he was not their man, not like they wanted.
The ugliness of fickle faith is nakedly displayed during holy week. Almost everyone who knows Jesus will do one of two things this week. Either they will abandon him, or they will call for his destruction. As for the crowd, they don’t know Jesus personally, only his reputation. And they have molded his reputation to fit their own desires.
The people cheering Jesus don’t know he doesn’t fit their mold and were probably unsurprised when they learned days later that Pilate sent him to the cross. They play no further role in the few days remaining of Jesus’ story.
A smaller crowd, handpicked and stage-managed by the priests, will call for Jesus’ death only five days from now, yelling to Pilate, “We have no king but Caesar!” and “Give us Barabbas!” instead of Jesus. Then finally, they will yell, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”
Not even Jesus’ disciples will remain steadfast. One will betray him; the others will abandon him. Soon after, Peter will deny three times that he even knows Jesus. When Jesus walks his last mile, he will be surrounded only by lethal enemies. And on the cross, as he hangs suffocating in agony, will come the bitterest abandonment. “My God!” Jesus will call. “My God, why have you forsaken me?”
No one will remain faithful to Jesus after today except a few women. They will approach him as he hangs on the cross. To be fair, so will one disciple, John. But at least three women, probably four, will come to the cross, including Jesus’ mother. They will watch him die. They will help prepare him for burial, a task cut short by the beginning of the Sabbath on Friday evening. Only the women will return to the tomb on Sunday to finish the job.
We call the final week of Jesus' life, "Passion Week." It is the central focus of the Jesus story. The week begins with joy in Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem but then plunges into despair, fear and mourning at his death. In holy week, Jesus was –
Hailed by the people,
feared by the powerful,
watched by the Romans,
loved by his disciples, but then was betrayed by one and was abandoned by the others,
arrested by the Jewish police,
beaten by his countrymen,
tried and convicted by the Jews and the Romans,
flogged by the Romans,
scorned by the people,
sentenced to death and crucified by the Romans,
buried by friends.
Jesus’ encounters with the ruling hierarchies of Judea and Rome was the clash of conscience without power meeting power without conscience.
Power won. Jesus died. All was lost.
Had he been an ordinary man, Jesus might have been smitten by his ticker tape reception into Jerusalem and let the people make him their king. He had a rightful claim to the throne, being in the line of King David. Pilate might have even conspired against Herod, whom Pilate detested, to put Jesus on the throne. Herod wasn’t exactly stable. A King Jesus might have been acceptable to the Romans, provided he understood who was boss.
But we can’t imagine Jesus playing to the crowd, and certainly not playing along with the Romans. Nothing we know about him makes us think it was remotely possible that he could have accepted the crowd’s desire for him to rule as an ordinary, political king of the Jews. It would have been the end of his mission. So, I am thankful that Jesus was who he was and didn’t let anything so trivial as public acclaim lead him away from his mission.
But I am aghast at my thankfulness, for in my gratitude I am condemning Jesus to the cross. A King Jesus could do me no good. Jesus, king of Judea twenty-one centuries ago, cannot be a savior for me now. Jesus had to become the Christ, “highly exalted” and given the name that is above every name. And that means the cross for him then to give me eternal life now. I am thankful for what that means for me, but I am shocked at what it meant for Jesus. It turns out that the high priest, Caiaphas, was on to something. It is better for Jesus to die than for us to be destroyed, he told the high council. I swallow hard at that, but I have to agree.
So please, Jesus, enjoy your moment in the limelight, basking in public acclaim, but ignore it. Really, just ignore it. If you don’t ignore it, you may live, but I will die!
And if you do ignore it, you will die.
Better you than me, Jesus, better you than me.
“And can it be,” Charles Wesley wrote, “that I should gain an interest in my savior’s blood! Died he for me? Who caused his pain! For me? Who him to death pursued?”
So I cannot join the street celebration of Jesus entering Jerusalem. I want to shout with elation like they did. I want to yell “Hosanna!” at the top of my lungs, and, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” I believe that. I do. But I cannot shout it, not even today, because I know the shouts are wrongly intended. They are political shouts of acclaim that I cannot give voice.
So this Friday, when another crowd gathers before Pilate, I’ll be in it to my great shame. I do not want to yell for Barabbas’ freedom instead of Jesus, but I will if that is what it takes. I won’t scream to Pilate, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” At least, I don’t think I will.
But Jesus, I’ll follow you up the hill to Golgotha. I’ll even help carry your cross if they want. I’ll stand by as they nail you down then lift you up. And I’ll cry and collapse in grief and despair.
I’ll watch you die, Jesus. I won’t like it. I’ll cry and be ashamed.
But I won’t try to stop it.
Because it’s better you than me, Jesus, dying for my sins.
Better you than me.
