In light of recent tragedies and ongoing conversation in this country around gun violence, I would like to lift up the work of March for Our Lives, RAWtools, and Bishops Against Gun Violence as good starting places for education, advocacy, and resources. It is impossible for me to reflect on the ministry of Jesus and especially the final days of his earthly life without thinking also about the more than 10,500 people who have already died due to gun violence in 2023 as of this writing, over 400 of whom were children under 18. Good Lord, deliver us.
Matthew 21:1-11
Something I learned recently, something I can’t believe I didn’t know before now, is what the word Hosanna actually means. I have heard it used as a synonym for Hallelujah, a joyful exclamation. I’ve said it myself hundreds of times by now as I celebrate the Eucharist, and countless more times heard it on the lips of other priests and musicians. And I have only now come to understand that this word, which we do not translate from its original language, means “Save us.” It does not mean “Praise God,” which is the literal translation of Hallelujah. Hosanna is a Hebrew word, and when we hear the familiar phrase “Hosanna in the highest,” what we are actually hearing is “Please save us now.” Hosanna in the highest, the shouts of the crowds as Jesus entered Jerusalem for the final time, was a desperate prayer for salvation, a protest chant.
This shout of prayerful pleading takes place during an anti-Imperialist demonstration. On Palm Sunday, we are remembering a protest, a march for our lives. During the holiest week of the Jewish year, the Roman Empire increased their presence in the holy city of Jerusalem and held military demonstrations to remind the Jewish population that their deliverance from Pharaoh would not be repeated under Caesar. At the same time, Jesus stages his own display of a different kind of power, and his people join in.
On one side of the city, Pontius Pilate enters from his coastal palace on the back of a massive warhorse. A cavalry follows behind him and trumpets and drums march ahead to herald his approach. The Roman governor is bedecked from head to toe in gold and silver armor, and brightly colored banners fly, an extravagant display of costly fabrics and dyes and jewels from all over the Empire. With Pilate, a host of soldiers armed to the teeth, an omen of violence for any who would dare question the status quo.
On the other side of the city, an itinerant man who refuses to own more than one cloak rides into town on the back of a borrowed donkey with her foal, a young colt, tagging along. His ragtag band of young students follow him on foot, the street too clogged with onlookers to establish anything like a neat procession. The following crowds rip limbs from nearby trees to wave like makeshift streamers, and take the clothes off their own backs to create a chaotic patchwork marking the path to Jesus’s destination. And all the while the people welcome him with shouts of “Save us please, Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord. Save us now, please!”
Jesus knows exactly what he is doing. He enters Jerusalem one last time when her population is three or four times its normal size thanks to the pilgrims traveling in for the Passover, the largest crowd he will ever address. He makes arrangements for his ride- a donkey and her colt, a familiar image from the scriptures that the crowds flocking to Jerusalem might recognize from the prophet Zechariah. At the same time that the Empire is flexing its muscles and staring down its nose at an occupied nation, Jesus is playing the fool, mocking the pomp and circumstance of the oppressors as the oppressed smile and wave and should Hosanna to their unassuming king. The triumphal entry of Palm Sunday is a parade of misfits, a comedy taunting the impending tragedy. On the one hand, a kingdom won with weapons. On the other, a kingdom armed with ploughshares and palm fronds.
Today we take a moment to remember which kingdom has the true claim on us. Empire and patriarchy and greed and stubborn pride may march through our streets with chariots and stallions and banners waving, and the spectacle may draw our attention. The strength and stability and power might even make some of us feel safe. But the safety of that armor is made of fool’s gold, and the weapons are indiscriminate in finding their targets. There is another way, if we can only blink away the blinding glare from the parade of lies. Jesus has already shown us what that way looks like, and we keep choosing Caesar. Every day we have an opportunity to follow a way prepared by palm fronds and tattered cloaks, the way that leads to a cross and a tomb but never ends there. Every day we have the choice between the kingdoms of this world and a kingdom whose Prince answers to the name of Peace, a king who has heard the people sing Hosanna and has chosen to answer it even for the ones who sentenced him to death. Hosanna, save us, Lord Jesus. Hosanna in the highest heaven.
Mother A Writes 