I was living in Geneva, Switzerland at the time. No one I knew drove a car, and so if I needed to get somewhere, I had to rely on the bus.
That evening I had French class, a requirement for foreign nationals who worked in my office. The class was in a building across town, on the other side of the Rhone River. But I noticed traffic congestion as soon as my bus left the stop. The bus was not moving. We were going nowhere.
“What is happening?” I wondered. This is very unusual for Switzerland, to whose buses and trains you can literally set your watch. But just then someone pointed out the window. In the distance, there was a motor cavalcade, going in the direction of the Palace of Nations, which is the home of the United Nations offices in Geneva.
That cavalcade was providing security for Hilary Clinton, who at the time was Secretary of State, serving under President Barack Obama.
Here was one of the most powerful figures of the world, in Geneva to address the members of the UN on United States foreign policy.
More annoyed than anything by the inconvenience, I nonetheless marveled at the spectacle, impressed by the fact that this VIP on the world’s stage possessed the power to shut down a major international city until she passed on her way to where she needed to go.
My world that evening came to a halt because of Hilary Clinton.
Of course, we don’t live in a time or place where we can see the pomp and splendor of a royal procession, but at least in my experience, this is about as close as we can come.
There is no doubt that Hilary Clinton wielded power and authority in the world. In her, or more accurately, in her office was invested the authority of the greatest economic and military power in the world.
But neither her power nor the power of her office compares to that of the one who rode on a donkey into Jerusalem on that day, which we commemorate today on Palm Sunday.
This is the one to whom God the Father has given authority over all people, as we read later in John’s Gospel (17:2). This means the whole of humankind, the human race—past, present and future.
He is king not only over the religious few who acknowledge him as such on Palm Sunday. His reign extends to the irreligious too, to the world that neither knows him nor acknowledges his authority.
The dead no less than the living are under his authority. For to this end, Christ both died and was raised, that he might be Lord both of the dead and the living, as the Apostle Paul wrote (Rom. 14:9).
He holds the keys of both death and hell. What he opens, no one can shut. And what he shuts, no one can open (Rev. 3:7).
Among all the members of the human family, living or dead, no one is outside his domain. No one is so great as to be beyond his reach; no one is so low as to be beneath his notice. He has authority over all.
The Apostle Paul calls our attention to this truth when he tells us that every tongue will acknowledge him as Lord, as King, to the glory of God the Father, as we heard in our first lesson.
From our vantage point, then, the great crowd that had come to Jerusalem for the festival had good reason to go out to meet him. They signal their awareness of the moment’s significance by bringing branches of palm trees.
Why palm branches? The palm branch in Jewish tradition is a symbol of victory and triumph.
The people waved them to salute Simon Macabee when he strode into Jerusalem after a series of military victories that secured political independence from the Seleucid empire.
This happened in the mid-second century BC and is the origin of the Jewish festival of Hanukah, which is still celebrated by Jews today.
Returning to our lesson, we see that their waving of palm branches is no voiceless gesture; it is accompanied by shouts of acclamation.
“Hosanna!” It is a mixed greeting of praise and petition. It means literally “Save us now!”
The people address it to the one in whom the power of God is invested, who acts in the power of God. This is the power over life and death, which belongs ultimately only to God.
Jesus wields this power, which he demonstrated when he raised Lazarus from the dead, recounted by John earlier in the preceding chapter. In fact, John tells us that the crowd went out to meet Jesus explicitly because they had heard that he had raised Lazarus after four days in the grave.
So then, “Hosanna!”—is a petition addressed to the one who evidently can answer it.
The word “Hosanna!” appears in some of the hymns we sing. In fact, we sing it each month at the Communion table during the Sanctus. “Hosanna in the highest! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest!”
Do we know what we are singing when we cry: “Hosanna!” Are we sensitive to the longing of the human heart expressed in this cry—b0th in our own and in the hearts of others around us?
How many people in our world are crying out today: “Save us now!” In Gaza, Ukraine, Ethiopia and elsewhere, people cry out “O God, save us now! Save us from famine, disease, violence and untimely death!”
The people address the cry to the King of Israel, but he is no ordinary king. For he does not come in his own name, but in the name of the Lord. “Name” here is synonymous with “authority.” He comes not in his own authority, but in that of the Lord.
We distrust power, because we know that power corrupts the one who wields it. That is why we prefer a form of government in which there is a division of powers. We call it “checks and balances.” Our country, for example, divides power among three branches of its government—the executive, legislative, and judicial branches—and limits the authority of each by the “checks and balances” imposed by the others.
The people during Jesus’ day were under the heel of the Roman empire—no democracy but a brutal regime that enforced its authority over its subject peoples by force.
The people understandably distrusted this power and longed for its overthrow.
But the power of a regime, whether that of Rome or the United States, is not to be identified with God’s power, as has been a fatal error throughout history.
We don’t need to fear or distrust God’s power. God does not wield his power as does a tyrant. God is infinitely wise and infinitely good—attributes that are absolutely essential to the wielding of power.
If God is wise, but is not good, we would be justified in fearing God’s power, because power can be used craftily for harmful ends. And if God is good, but is not wise, then we would be justified in distrusting God’s power. For God could be well-meaning, but misguided. But thankfully neither of these is possible, because God is both infinitely wise and infinitely good.
Our Gospel lesson does not talk of God’s power in abstract language, but gives us a picture of God’s power, when Jesus finds a young donkey and sits on it.
Kings ought to ride on a powerful stallion, which is a warhorse, as did Alexander the Great did when he entered in Jerusalem in 332 BC in triumphal procession.
These processions continued in Roman times. The purpose of the triumphal procession was to celebrate victories in military campaigns. The king was accompanied by his valiant soldiers, including the warriors of the enemy, now on public display as conquered slaves. The highest honor for a Caesar or a general would be to lead one of these processions, seated high on his battle-tested warhorse.
But Jesus rides no stallion, but a donkey. He does not come as a conquering warrior-king, but quietly on an animal that is the very embodiment of harmlessness.
In this gesture, Jesus fulfills a prophecy, which is recorded in the Old Testament prophet Zechariah. Zechariah 9:9 reads: “See your king comes to you, humble and riding on a donkey.”
The great sixteenth-century Reformer Martin Luther astutely interprets its theological significance in these words:
“He comes not with fearful pomp and power, but sits on a donkey, which is no war animal, but which is ready for the burdens of work that will help and not harm human beings. Thereby he shows that he does not come to terrify people, to drive or oppress them, but to help them, to carry their burdens, and take them on himself.”
It is instructive for us to read further in the prophecy of Zechariah. The rest of it gives us more detail about his reign. “He will cut off the chariot from Israel and the war horse from Jerusalem, and the battle bow shall be cut off, and he shall command peace to the nations” (Zech. 9:10).
This king, riding on a donkey’s colt, will banish war from the earth—no more chariots, war horses, or bows. Commanding peace to the nations, he will be the king of peace.
Our Gospel lesson adds a detail about the donkey that we should not miss. The word “donkey” is in the diminutive. That suggests that “donkey’s colt” can be translated more straightforwardly as “little donkey.”
Riding on the little donkey, Jesus would have been close to eye level with the crowd.
There will come a time later in the week when Jesus is lifted up and raised above for us all to see, but here and now, Jesus is showing once again that he is purposefully present, here, among and with his people, even with the poorest among them—even when they don’t understand (Chelsea Harmon).
But even his disciples did not understand these things as they were happening. It was only afterward, when Jesus was glorified, that they connected the dots.
In these words ring the assurance that everything that happened today unfolded according to God’s plan. The one who humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on the cross—is the very one whom God exalted to the highest place, giving him a name above every name. He has authority over all.
“Do not be afraid.” Only John among the Gospel writers prefaces the prophecy about Jesus recorded in Zechariah with these words.
The event that we celebrate today is an invitation to entrust ourselves, our lives, to God’s power. For just as Christ entered through the gates of Jerusalem on that day, so also he waits to pass through the gates of hearts where he longs to rule today.
His is a power that we need neither fear nor distrust. For it is a power that is invested in the Savior who enters into Jerusalem, humble and riding on a little donkey.
Do we feel insecure? Are we apprehensive in the face of the uncertainties of tomorrow?
The word the gospel addresses to us today is: “Do not be afraid.”
No consideration can console us more than that this Savior reigns. Every circumstance that can occur, every enemy that can arise, is completely under his sovereign rule.
Are we troubled by violent conflicts, the impossible situations in our world that admit of no diplomatic solution?
The word to us is the same: “Do not be afraid.”
We may commit them into the hands of the Savior who reigns, confident that he will sustain the world, until his reign is manifest to all.
For if the donkey is a symbol that embodies harmlessness, it is also one that embodies stubbornness. However long violence in our world continues, it cannot have the last word. Christ’s mount is stubborn and will outlast it. He can and will because he is Lord of all.
So then, let the children of Zion be joyful in their king! Let us today and always join our shouts of acclamation with theirs.
The poet John T. McFarland captures the spirit of this praise when he writes:
“He is coming! He is coming!” We hear triumphal shouting from the eager marching throng; we catch the thrilling music of the children’s lifted song; the very stones are throbbing to break into acclaim, and all the hills exultant to re-echo back his name. Break all the fronded branches and strew them in his way, our strength and all our beauty belong to him today.”
Amen.