Reflection by The Rev'd Dr Deborah Broome

Who is this?

When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” This took place to fulfil what had been spoken through the prophet: 

“Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you,

    humble and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”

The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting,

“Hosanna to the Son of David!  Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!

Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”  (Matthew 21:1-11)

On Palm Sunday the church commemorates Christ’s entry into Jerusalem at the start of this tumultuous week. Worship begins by processing in with palms to remember and celebrate his arrival into the city, but this isn’t just about the past. It’s also our own expression of praise to Christ, our king and the one we seek to follow. There’s always a tension about Palm Sunday: triumph and misunderstanding, celebration and looming suffering. We acclaim Jesus as a king – but a very different kind of king – as we prepare to go with him to the place of suffering and death. 

When Jesus enters Jerusalem the whole city is in turmoil. People are asking each other, “who is this?” – and that’s the crucial question.  Jesus enters Jerusalem as a king – but a gentle king, riding on a donkey, not on a huge war-horse. A king who comes not to dominate but to save – a strange sort of king, who walked in humility all his life. The readings show us who he is: he’s the sort of king who didn’t try to hang on to his power, didn’t try to exploit his equality with God, but who emptied himself and became like a slave. He’s the listening, obedient servant Isaiah told of, the one who comes in the Lord’s name, bringing steadfast love to the people, as Psalm 118 reminds us. 

When Jesus rides in on that borrowed donkey, he’s greeted by a large crowd, spreading cloaks and branches on the road. The crowd shouts; they’re excited; they’re not entirely wrong, but they don’t yet have a full answer to that question about who this is. They’re shouting out their hosannas, their shouts of praise, their cries for the saving power of God. Jerusalem, currently in the grip of a foreign power, was keen to see the victory of its God. So the crowd shouted out to Jesus, and welcomed him with palm branches and cloaks, and with their enthusiasm for what they thought he was going to do next. 

What were they expecting him to do? Did they think he was some sort of military messiah, going to overthrow the Romans and return Israel to its former glory? What sort of agenda lay tucked inside the cloaks they threw in his path? When did they begin to realise that Jesus wasn’t like that?  That this was no military messiah, no over-thrower of the emperor, but instead someone who emptied himself and became like a slave. It’s uncomfortable: we realise that those crowds with the palm branches and the shouting heralded his entry into the city, and less than a week later were there as he left it, carrying a cross. When did they change? When did they gather up their cloaks and their agendas, and turn nasty? Like other crowds they were fickle and willing to be manipulated. 

The crowd often wanted Jesus to be something he was not – and we often fall into the same trap. But Jesus is the one who leads us, loves us, heals us. He’s the humble self-giving Lord, gentle and vulnerable, who brings God’s kingdom. 

As we celebrate Palm Sunday, today circles around that question “Who is this?” and turns it back on ourselves: “who are we?”  We are people shaped by the Servant who listens, those who bear the mind of the Christ who gave up power for the benefit of others. We are those who follow Jesus and who are prepared to keep following when the excitement dies down, the palms dry out and get all brown and faded, and things get really tough. We are those who accompany each other on the road of love that leads through Holy Week. 

Today invites us to leave behind our agendas, our false expectations, our assumptions that power is the answer to everything. What does it look like this week for us to walk with the Servant-King rather than the king we might prefer? Today invites us to empty ourselves and to follow Jesus wherever it will take us. We find ourselves among the crowd, waving our palms, and as we go into the rest of this week, knowing what lies ahead for Jesus, we take with us a reminder of those palms. Folded into the form of a cross – a cross that can so easily become unravelled, just like our lives can sometimes seem to us – it reminds us that at the centre of Christ’s reign is the power of costly unconditional love. As the crowds once asked, “Who is this?” we answer: this is Jesus, the Servant, the humble King, the crucified and risen Lord. May we walk with him, not just today, not just this week, but all the days of our lives.