Matthew 21:1-11
March 29, 2026
When I accepted my previous call in
Shawnee, Oklahoma, I expected to deal with bad storms. We were moving to
Tornado Alley after all. I knew that would be a risk that we took living in a
Great Plains state. Oklahoma has more than its fair share of tornados and
straight-line windstorms. The sad proof of this is that a terrible tornado
ripped through the western side of Shawnee just a couple of years ago. As
terrible and devastating as these storms are, I knew what we were moving into.
I expected tornadoes. What I did not expect were earthquakes.
Between sitting on a fault line and
natural gas fracking, earthquakes in Oklahoma were a more likely possibility
than I realized. We didn’t have many of them while we lived there, but we did
have them and the first ones happened within the first month of us living
there.
It was the middle of the night,
maybe 3 or 4 in the morning. Suddenly the whole house started shaking. The beds
were moving. Pictures were rattling on the walls. And there was this horrible
noise. What I did not know about earthquakes is that they are loud. They make
this roaring sound; I’m not even sure how to describe it. It was so loud and
the shaking went on for what felt like hours, although it was probably no more
than a minute, that I was woken up and in shock. Zach woke up and couldn’t go
back to sleep again. Phoebe slept right through it. But none of us were sleeping
when the next one happened later that day. The first one hit in the early hours
of a Saturday morning. The second one hit later Saturday night. This shaking
was much bigger. I remember I was standing in one of the bedrooms and I could
hear glasses falling out of a cabinet in the dining room and smashing on the
floor. Thankfully, no real damage was done – at our house or anywhere in the
vicinity. But it was still … eye-opening. I told my parishioners the next day
that I hoped when I took the call that I might shake things up, but I didn’t
expect it to be literal.
At the end of our story from
Matthew’s gospel this morning, we read that when Jesus entered Jerusalem the
whole city was in turmoil. The Greek word used to describe “turmoil” here is
the same one that will be used to describe the shaking of the earth when Jesus
breathes his last breath on the cross. It is the same one that give us our
English word seismic. The city of Jerusalem was not just in turmoil, it
was trembling, shaking and quaking with fear and anxiety and wonder at the
entrance from the East of this strange peasant man. No wonder people were
asking, “Who is this?” Who is this man who is causing the city such turmoil?
Who is this man whose very presence is making everything we know and take for
granted seem strange and surreal and wrong? Who is this?
Jerusalem was filled to the brim
with people coming from all over to celebrate the Festival of Passover. While
Passover was both a celebration and a solemn remembrance of God’s saving work
delivering the Hebrews from enslavement in Egypt, I suspect that the city was
not just filled with extra people but with extra tension. Pontius Pilate, the
Roman governor who would in just a few days interrogate Jesus, was in the city because
it was Passover. His presence was necessary because celebrating a divine
salvific event might get the people more stirred up than from an actual
earthquake. It might give them ideas about freedom from oppression and throwing
off the bonds of Rome that bound them. The Roman empire was known as Pax
Romana, but the peace of Rome was achieved and maintained through violence.
Pilate needed to be in Jerusalem during the festival of Passover to remind the
Jewish people just who was in charge and who was not.
In their book, The Last Week:
What the Gospels Really Teach about Jesus’ Final Days in Jerusalem, John
Dominic Crossan and Marcus J. Borg, write about two processions that happen
this day. The first was wholeheartedly military in its scope. It would have
come with the steady drumbeat of armored horses and armored men marching into
the city. Pilate most likely rode in a gilded chariot, either pulled by horse
or carried by men. This was pomp and circumstance. This was power and
might on display. Pilate and his entourage would have come from the West, and
they would have represented all the powers and principalities in the world at
that time. Perhaps there were people watching this procession who were waving
or smiling to stay on Pilate’s good side or just trying to keep their heads
down and avoid notice But I doubt there was much joy or delight felt at the
sight of this parade.
But on the other side of the city,
the authors write that another procession took place. As grand and gilded and
gaudy as the other one was, this procession, coming into the city from the
East, was the opposite. At its heart was a humble man riding a donkey and her
foal. Before him a large crowd of people were spreading their cloaks on the
ground, and they were cutting branches from the trees to lay beside the cloaks.
And as the man rode and his disciples followed, the people went with them,
ahead and behind, and they shouted,
“Hosanna to the Son of David!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest
heaven!”
It’s so easy to think that when the
people shout, “Hosanna” that they are shouting their version of “Hooray!” or
“Alleluia!” But what hosanna means is “Save us now,” “Save us, please,” “Save
us, just save us.”
Jesus was no fool. He knew what he
was doing in this processional. I don’t mean to imply that Jesus was being
manipulative or coercive. He was not. But he knew that every detail of his
coming into Jerusalem would connect to Hebrew prophecy. He knew that his humble
entrance would be the antithesis to the entrance of Pilate. He knew that he was
revealing his true identity, even if so many people still misunderstood his
true purpose.
And it seems likely that the people
who greeted him, who made way for him, did misunderstand his true purpose. They
recognized the king that he was, but they did not, could not grasp what being
king, what being messiah meant. If the disciples, who heard the truth directly
from Jesus, could not get their heads wrapped around what was to come, then I
guess we should give the people some slack for their lack of understanding. But
that does not change the fact that when they saw Jesus entering Jerusalem, they
saw in him someone who could answer their pleas of “Save us. Save us now.”
Because that’s what they so
desperately needed. They were living in an occupied city and in an occupied
land. They were living under the oppression of Rome, and oppression requires
fear to be sustainable. They were desperate. They were desperate for salvation,
for freedom. To hearken back to another season, they saw their hopes and fears
of all the years fulfilled in him, fulfilled in his coming. Surely, he would
save them.
And it is understandable why other
people in the city trembled at the sight of him, felt the earth quaking beneath
their feet at his entrance. If he was the savior they had been waiting for,
then what would be the price they would pay for that salvation? Did his coming
into Jerusalem at this time and in this way signal war? Did it mean there would
be bloodshed in the streets? Would it be their blood that was shed in the
streets, the blood of their children, their loved ones? I’m sure that some
believed that defeating Rome was an impossibility and it was beyond foolish to
even try. It would only cause more trouble and more heartache for all of them
in the long run. So who is this man? Who is this man who enters the city not on
a warhorse but on a donkey? Who is this man who does not bear arms or wear
armor? Who is this man who has shaken up everyone and everything? Who is this?
“This is the prophet Jesus from
Nazareth in Galilee.”
This response is perhaps not all
that reassuring. Prophets were important, true. I mean look at the prophets of
Israel’s past. But prophets, for all that they did, for all the ways they stood
up to power, did not often live out their lives in peace and tranquility.
Prophets generally got themselves killed. If this man was a prophet, what did
that mean? What did it mean for him and for them? Even if no physical
earthquake occurred at that moment, the ground was still shaking beneath the
peoples’ feet. They were afraid. They were hopeful. They were desperate. Who is
this man and will he save us now?
We know what happens next. We know
that this is the last week of Jesus’ life on earth. We know that the shouts of
“Hosanna” will change to cries of “Crucify him!” We know that the hope felt at
Jesus’ entrance into the city will turn to disappointment and anger for all
they think he did not do. We know that this week will end in the cross. It will
culminate with the terrible violence of Good Friday and the deafening silence
of Holy Saturday.
We cannot skip over this week. We may choose
to ignore it, to just get on with our lives as we must. But we must still walk
through it. And the truth is, don’t we, like those crowds before us, call on
Jesus to save us? Don’t we also cry out, “Save us, now! Save us, please!” And
aren’t we sometimes disappointed and angry when we feel that salvation does not
come? Because the world still feels as though it is shaking beneath our feet.
Everywhere we turn, everywhere we look, there seems to be nothing but violence
and heartache and fear. Children die and parents mourn, and wars are fought and
peace seems even more elusive and hearts are broken and hearts are broken and
hearts are broken. Does God hear? Does God care?
But as much as this week breaks our
hearts, I hope that it also reminds us that God does hear and that God does
care. That is why Jesus goes into Jerusalem. That is why Jesus walks each day
of this week knowing where it will end. Because God hears and God cares and God
loves and God is with us. We are not alone. God is with us still. That is the
good news of the gospel. That is the good news.
So, may we walk this week with
Jesus. May we walk this week knowing that we will betray him, knowing that we
will fail him, knowing that we will turn away in fear and sorrow, and that we
will also turn back in wonder and joy. May we walk this week with Jesus,
knowing that he walks this week for us. Thanks be to God.
Let all of God’s children say,
“Amen.”
Amen.
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