This is why they wanted him silenced. If necessary,
executed. It’s not only the persistent message of love
and forgiveness. Not only the embrace of outsiders, or
those piercing parables of reversal and transformation.
No, the crowds were growing too large, upsetting the
delicate balance between political and religious forces, a
threat to order. It was becoming clear that the movement
surrounding Jesus of Nazareth needed to be snuffed out
before it gained more momentum.
We began worship this morning with a procession, a
parade of palms. Scholars suggest that there were two
separate parades entering Jerusalem on the day we call
Palm Sunday, the beginning of the Passover week.
One was a peasant procession, the other an imperial
march. From the east, Jesus rode a donkey down the
Mount of Olives, cheered on by his followers. Jesus
was from the peasant village of Galilee in Nazareth, his
message was about the kingdom of God, and his followers
had journeyed one hundred miles south. The story of Jesus
has been pointing toward Jerusalem for many months, and
it has now arrived. On the opposite side of the city, from
the west, Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, entered
Jerusalem at the head of a column of the imperial cavalry
and marching soldiers. One procession proclaimed the
kingdom of God; the other, the power of empire. These
two processions embody the central conflict of the week
that led to Jesus’ crucifixion. i
Palm Sunday is a protest. It always has been. Two
processions enter Jerusalem: one of empire, military
might, and political power; the other of humility, sacrifice,
and radical hope. Two different visions of the future. Two
kinds of kingdoms. Then and now, the two collide. Across
history, rulers have demanded absolute loyalty, silenced
opposition, and crushed dissent. And in every era, brave
people of faith have lifted courageous voices in defiant
hope, refusing to bow to oppressive power. On a Sunday
morning in March of 1965, protesters marched across
the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama. They
were armed not with weapons but with a conviction that
justice must prevail. That love must overcome hatred. And
you know what they faced that bloody Sunday. Tear gas,
batons, brutality. A show of force. Power, fearful of being
challenged. And yet, they marched on. Twice more that
month. They lifted their voices on the way to Birmingham,
and their witness shook the foundations of injustice to their
core. They testified to the truth.
For the faithful, the question persists in every generation. It is
asked of us now.
Which procession will we join?
The gospel writer Luke records another Sunday morning
march. A multitude of disciples lined the streets shouting
their praise for the mighty deeds of power they had seen
from Jesus. This is what we remember on Palm Sunday:
the large crowd, the psalms of praise, the power of this
palm-punctuated passionate parade.
Power—its source and purpose—has been central
to Luke’s story from the very beginning. You might
remember the gospel opens with an angel’s visit to
a powerless young woman in a forgotten town. Mary
receives a shocking promise: she will bear a son whose
kingdom will never end. He will reign forever and ever. But
in her song of praise, she makes it clear: her king will not
seize human power; he will upend it. She sings, “God has
brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted
up the lowly.”
When her son begins his ministry, he is led into the
wilderness, where he is offered authority over the
kingdoms of the world. All he must do is forfeit his soul
and bow low to the forces of evil. What is offered to Jesus
is a shortcut to dominance, a temptation to rule by force.
And he refuses. His power will not come from thrones or
armies, but outstretched arms and open tables.
And now, he enters Jerusalem. The contrast is crystal
clear. Jesus rides the colt of a donkey. The prophet
Zechariah had seen it in a vision: “your king is coming,
humble and lowly, riding on a donkey.” It is a public act
of defiance, an anti-imperial procession, a claim that
God’s power looks nothing like the tyranny of Rome,
represented by Pontius Pilate. Recognizing Jesus’ claim,
the crowds tore the branches from the trees and the
cloaks from their backs, threw them down and erupted
in praise. In frenzied anticipation that their savior had
finally come, they lifted their voices in that ancient, royal
acclamation preserved in the psalms. “Blessed is the one
who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and
glory in highest heaven!” Their voices echo the multitude
of angels who sang to lowly shepherds on a hillside to
announce the birth of the Messiah. “Glory to God in the
highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom
he favors!” The lowly lifted up.
Well, the religious leaders, who have been watching
Jesus closely since early in the gospel, now understand
precisely what is happening. They see those cloaks
spread on the road, hear the shouts of jubilation, feel the
enthusiasm growing, and they sense the coming collision.
This is no parade—it is an uprising.
And so, they respond. They demand that Jesus and his
disciples cease and desist this dangerous display. Words
every movement for justice has heard. Don’t make trouble.
Fall in line. Order your disciples to stop!
In those words, two understandings of power that have
been aiming for each other since the gospel began finally
meet. Make your disciples stop!
But they cannot stop. Not on the bridge in Selma or on
the streets of Jerusalem. We cannot stop. Not now. We
must not leave the praising to the stones, though they
too would shout praise to God. We cannot stop when
the world still bows to power that crushes, silences, and
oppresses. Not when the fear quiets the voices of truth.
Not when the kingdom of God is still breaking in all
around us. We cannot stop because the power of God is
alive and on display this day, calling us to lift palms, raise
voices, and join the march.
So, where do we stand? Which procession will we join?
For the sake of faith’s future, do not listen to the voices
of fear that aim to silence your praise or your protest of
perverse power. Not today, and not ever. Do not stop
following Jesus, humble and riding on a donkey, your
mighty king. Do not stop celebrating the presence of
God in unlikely places. God’s power is alive in you. So,
with the crowds who waved palms two thousand years
ago, let us tell the world about the power of God, and do
not be silenced.
It will not be easy. This week, the road will be rough. We
will walk through the streets of Jerusalem as the tide
begins to turn against this peaceful prophet. We will stand
and watch a trial filled with corruption, injustice, and
abuse of authority. We will climb a hill called Golgotha
where this march might have ended. Where the whole
world thought it did.
But there is another power at work this week. There is a
truth set down deeper than all that seeks to undo God’s
purpose. Look for a king who embodies power not by
domination but sacrifice. Look for a king who does not
wield warhorses, weapons, or wealth. Look for a king
whose power leads not to the royal throne but to an old
rugged cross. There you will see—only there will you
see—the power of love in all its terrifying beauty and life-
changing truth.
Even from the foot of the cross, some demand dramatic
display. If you are the Son of God, save yourself! Come down
from the cross. It’s what a real king would do. He could fix it.
It’s what we would do, given the chance. Jesus recognizes
the old demonic temptation. He will not save himself. His
strength will be sacrifice. His power, compassion.
What about us? Which procession will we follow?
The forced march? Or the journey of love? Jesus is not the
king we expect; He is the one we need.
So, will we bow down to power that destroys? Or will
we lift our palms, raise our voices, and join the parade?
You see, we are always making that choice. In every
era we must decide which procession to follow. The
world is watching, wondering if following Jesus sets us
apart in any meaningful way. Our children are watching,
wondering whether our faith makes any difference in
the way we live. For their sake, let the world see the
procession you have chosen—not just today with palms
in hand, but tomorrow in the way you work, the way you
serve, the way you speak. Let this powerful parade move
beyond the pew and into the places we walk every day.
This is how we follow the King who rides on a donkey.
So, which will we choose? Which will you choose?