Jesus’s dramatic entry into Jerusalem is a breathtaking piece of political theatre.
Every element of it echoes great themes in Jewish history and religion/culture and critiques the contemporary political environment.
These events occur at Passover, the most critical commemoration in the Jewish calendar. It is hard for us to grasp how central Passover was for the Jews of Jesus’s time.
If we combined ANZAC Day, Australia/Invasion Day, Proclamation Day, the King's Birthday, Easter, and Christmas, we still would not get close to experiencing what Passover meant. Passover gave Judaism and Jewish people their mental, emotional, religious/political, and cultural shape.
For Jews who longed for the liberation that Passover so graphically illustrated, the commemoration of this sacred event was paramount. If Passover began the liberation of the Hebrews from Egypt, the dominant superpower of that day, can it not begin the liberation from Rome?
Passover celebrated at any time was important – celebrated under the heel of Rome made it vital. Passover celebrated at any place was important – celebrated in Jerusalem, the city of David, Israel’s ancient liberator, made it dynamic.
Palestine was Rome’s most fractious and difficult province and Jerusalem was its most volatile city. During Passover, it was so volatile that not only did the Romans need to reinforce the Jerusalem garrison with troops from the Roman administrative centre, Caesarea Maritima, but the Roman provincial governor himself (at this time Pontius Pilate) needed to be in attendance to demonstrate Rome’s determination to keep a lid on any possibility of insurrection.
It is in this explosive atmosphere that Jesus enters Jerusalem.
And how does he enter? He rides. It is the only time we read this. All four gospels tell us that Jesus walked in his ministry, so why does he ride here? Because Pilate rides.
In their book, The Last Week, Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan tell us that Pilate, on a fine warhorse, with his troop reinforcements, rode in through the west gate of the city.
Jesus, on a donkey, rode in through the east gate – political street theatre at its finest!
Look at the deliberate contrasts. Pilate on a war horse: Jesus on a donkey, a symbol of peace. Pilate grudgingly greeted by a crowd dragooned into service: Jesus greeted in gladness by those who had been following and listening to his teaching. Pilate comes to control; Jesus comes to release. Pilate demonstrates the power of force: Jesus, the energy of love. Pilate’s troops carry the banners of dominance: Jesus’s followers carry the branches (in John’s gospel, palm branches) of peace. Pilate’s legions carry the eagle, each legion’s most precious item, made of gold: Jesus’s followers carry branches, the most common of items, made of God’s good creation. Pilate represents the world-conquering might of empire: Jesus represents the world-making energy of the universe.
Pilate arrives from the west, from Caesarea Maritima, Rome’s provincial centre of power. Jesus arrives from the east, from Bethphage, a small village the centre only of the lives of its few inhabitants. The west is where Rome is. It is from the west that destruction and domination come. The East is where Eden is. It is in the east that God plants the garden in which humans are to live and thrive and in which God, God’s self walks in the cool of the evening (Genesis 3:8).
The east is also from where the star that heralds the birth of Jesus originates. The star in the Jesus story appears 40 or 50 years after a comet appeared in the story of Julius Caesar, the first Roman emperor. That comet was taken as a sign that Caesar had, following his murder, become a god. In the Gospel of Matthew, the star was a sign that Jesus was born king of the Jews (Matthew 2:2).
From the very beginning of this gospel, the life of Jesus has been presented as a contrast to the might of Rome. And now, here, in the entry to Jerusalem that contrast is on full display.
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! the people shout as Jesus enters. On the other side of the city, one comes in the name of a different lord: Caesar. And Caesar and his like are the ones who are supposed to be blessed. The blessed are the rich and powerful – their blessings are obvious. But here the crowd that greets Jesus remembers Jesus’s radical reinterpretation of the meaning of blessed. Blessed are the poor in spirit, the meek (Matthew 5:3-10). The one who comes in the name of the Lord is Jesus but, if Jesus is right, it is also the crowd who greet him who are blessed. Jesus turns the world upside down, or rather, right side up.
Palm Sunday is a story about a different world, the world Jesus pointed to and lived out all through his ministry. In Matthew’s gospel, he called it the kingdom of heaven.
This kingdom is a contrast to, and a critique of, any kingdom that uses power to dominate and exploit, to control and dehumanise. The branches that the people spread on the road are a reminder that it is the gifts of the earth, not the Roman armies that sustain the world. The cloaks that the crowd spread on the road are tokens not only of honour, they are a symbol of trust. There will be a time when cloaks will no longer be needed for warmth or protection. In their experience of the kingdom, they will not need cloaks. And that experience, Jesus says, is near (Matthew 3:2)
However, as Jesus’s provocative entry into the city makes clear, this will not be a kingdom that arrives with might and power. His entry into Jerusalem is no Roman triumph, no victory march. Rome arrives with power to crush and control: Jesus arrives with energy to release and restore. All through Matthew’s gospel Jesus does what the gospel writer calls deeds of power. Those deeds are the lame walking, the blind seeing, lepers cleansed, the deaf hearing, the dead raised and the poor hearing good news (Matthew 11:4-6). This is a totally different definition of power from Rome’s.
But this piece of political/religious/cultural street theatre is even more shocking and disturbing for what happens next.
You might think that a crowd who hailed Jesus as the one who entered the city in the name of a different Lord to Caesar would be the perfect foundation for a coalition of Jews and Jewish groups who could foment revolution. However, rather than form his own legion or guerrilla force, Jesus actively works against that possibility by alienating an influential and powerful group; those who control the activities in the temple precinct: Jesus entered the temple and drove out all who were selling and buying in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the money-changers and the seats of those who sold doves (Matthew 21:12).
Jesus's entry into Jerusalem was a carefully crafted piece of theatre that critiqued the power of Rome; his entry into the temple was a carefully crafted piece of theatre that critiqued the power of the religious authorities.
The kingdom of heaven is a root and branch reordering of the way the world works. But it is a reordering that will be missed by those who look to force and control, to creeds and doctrine (Matthew 13:15). Jesus’s metaphors for the kingdom things easily missed or ignored – seeds, yeast, and small treasures hidden in big fields (Matthew 13).
The kingdom, the world God is bringing into being, the world that Jesus insists is near (Matthew 10:7), will come closer still in the events of Easter. The insignificant will have deep significance, the hidden will be seen, and a moment that should be the end turns out to be a beginning.
Awesome post, Paul. Was ruminating on such things, as we are here. There is no other way to describe it; the reordering of order.
Paul I'm loving your reflections, great work!