Palm Sunday

I find Palm Sunday unsettling.

Of course, outwardly the picture of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem is exhilarating. Crowds of followers with visions of victory cheer the arrival of royalty: “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!” (Luke 19:38). But do his fans see that Jesus weeps for the unrepentant city (19:41)? Probably not—too busy celebrating.

But then, consider their deafening silence in the days to follow. The cheering crowds, the festive throng casting palms and coats on the road before King Jesus—where do they go? As the soldiers march out to the Garden of Gethsemane in a plot to abduct Jesus, where are all his followers, and where are their energetic praises? As Jesus prays, where are his trusted men, the inner circle of Peter, James and John? Answer: sleeping (22:45). As the grim events of the week unfold, the only shouts are from enraged masses crying out, “Crucify him!” (23:21).

Hymn writer Henry Milman picked up this dissonance (1820):

Ride on, ride on in majesty
As all the crowds “Hosanna!” cry:

Through waving branches slowly ride,

O Savior, to be crucified.

Ride on, ride on in majesty,
In lowly pomp ride on to die:
O Christ, your triumph now begin
With captured death, and conquered sin!

Ride on, ride on in majesty—
The angel armies of the sky
Look down with sad and wondering eyes
To see the approaching sacrifice.

In fact, this seemingly innocuous event, Palm Sunday, pierces to the soul. It’s a subtle rebuke of my fickle faith and your fair-weather discipleship. Receive the Lord’s rebuke today, his good discipline. For the Father disciplines those he loves (Heb 12:6).

.