Triumphal Entry

Mark tells the story in a more muted way than the other Gospels. As they approach Jerusalem, the disciples borrow a colt and throw their cloaks over it. Jesus mounts it. Many people gather along the roadside and throw their cloaks on the road and they cut leafy branches in the fields and spread those out as well.
They didn’t have much, those people who gathered. They were the outsiders, “nobodies.” The people who lived unprotected, outside the city walls. They went in to work, to sell their crops, to interface with those who were “somebodies.”
They had heard the prophecy of Zechariah, “Rejoice greatly! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” The result of his dominion will be peace and prisoners will be set free. “On that day,” says Zechariah, “the Lord their God will save them for they are the flock of his people!”
This is the climax!…or so they thought. Jesus, the true and rightful king of the Jews, is on his way into the capital city to take his throne!
The excitement is so great that they don’t count the cost. They lived in a desert, and they run out and cut down leafy branches. Mark doesn’t tell us what they cut from the fields. We know from the other Gospels that it included palm branches. Perhaps they also carried sheaves of straw and corn stalks from the fields. Poor farmers, common people, cutting down their crops and running to the roadside!
N. T. Wright points out that, “you don’t cut branches off trees, or foliage from the fields, to wave in the streets just because you feel somewhat elated; you do it because you are welcoming a king.”
He also makes the point that “You don’t spread cloaks on the road – especially in the dusty, stony Middle East! – for a friend, or even a respected senior member of your family. You do it for royalty.
Think about it – these are not people who have a closet full of cloaks. They don’t have a washing machine to throw them in when they pick them up. Have you ever followed the animals in a parade? The path of four legged animals is not where you want to lay your clothes down. Unless you are awestruck, able to be present for a moment in history you had not dared imagine could come in your lifetime, shouting with an excitement you had never experienced before, “Hosanna! Save us!”
Back when the Grizzlies played in the Pyramid, I was there the first time we beat the Lakers. Maybe some of you were there. I hadn’t heard a crowd like it before, and I am not sure I have heard one like it again. That’s the kind of visceral experience I imagine as Jesus rode through the crowd on the back of a colt. Palm branches in their hands like we wave a rally towel, they shouted, “Save us! Save us!”
Oppressed by Roman rule they were ready for a new king! And they were the victims of the Temple corruption, they were ready for a new regime! The hope of a Davidic King had them stirred to the point of frenzy, “Save us! Save us!”
Rev. Dr. Scott Black Johnston is the Senior Pastor at 5th Avenue Presbyterian in New York City. He tells about talking with some of their 7th graders about salvation. “What do you think Jesus is saving you from?” he asked. Their initial answer was predictable, “Hell.” So, he says, to try to move beyond the answer they thought he was asking for, he changed tactics, “Let me put it this way,” he said to them, “if God was on the ball, what would God save you from?” Suddenly, he says, our conversation got interesting–very interesting.
One of the youth raised her hand and said, “Death.” Another fellow offered that God could really help him out by saving him from an upcoming math test. Then one of the seventh graders said, “Pressure.” And another youth said, “My parents’ expectations.” Then another, shy individual, almost in a whisper said, “Fear. I want God to save me from my fears.”
What would your answer be? Can we dip down into our souls and be as honest as these young people were? When we wave our palms and boldly cry out, “Hosanna,” do we dare imagine what we really want God to save us from? …from anger. …from cancer. Save me from depression. Save me from debt. Save me from the complex relationships in my family. Save me from boredom. Save me from the endless cycle of violence. Save me from humiliation. Save me from staring at the ceiling at three a.m. wondering why I exist. Save me from bitterness. Save me from arrogance. Save me from grief. Save me from loneliness. Save me, God, save me from my fears. (adapted from Johnston)
And what does it look like when God saves us? Because those people who waved their palm branches did not see the salvation they were crying out for. In fact, within a few days, their hopes were so obliterated that they were crying out with just as much fervor for Jesus to be crucified.
What does Hosanna look like? If it is not a new government, if it is not relief from what is weighing us down, what does salvation look like?
Jesus rides in silence. He makes no promises. He gives no campaign speech. As he rides, the crowd thins. On he goes – straight to the Temple. He goes and looks around at everything. It is late. He goes out to Bethany with the twelve for the night.
Jesus has already predicted his death and resurrection three times. He knows what it coming. The human struggle and agony he experienced was beyond anything any person who has ever cried out “Hosanna” “Save me!” has experienced. And what did he do? What I have watched people do over and over again: he went to the house of worship. It was night. No one was there. He stood there where the music had been sung, where the Word had been spoken, where the faithful had gathered.
Just like Jesus, we are drawn to the Sanctuary when our souls are crying out, “Save me!” To sit on the pew in the dark. To gaze at the cross. To cry. To close our eyes and silently empty our burdens before God.
And then he goes to Bethany, “the house of affliction,” with the twelve. Just like Jesus, when we honestly cry out, “Save me” we find ourselves with an arm around our shoulder. With a casserole on our counter. With a stack of cards in our mailbox. And in the midst of those expressions of care, unexpected, we realize that God has come. Incarnate. Among us. And resurrection comes.
And so, it is a triumphal entry. But, it is not the end of the story. There is a night of anguish in the garden of Gethsemane ahead, there is an arrest and a trial, there is the anguish of the cross, and a cold, dark tomb ahead. As we enter this holiest of weeks, may we honestly cry out to God with our hopes, our needs, our hurts, “Save us!” and may we travel with Jesus the road to the cross, the road that leads to resurrection.