PALM SUNDAY

March 24, 2024

Saint Mark’s Episcopal Church, Warwick, R. I.

 

Mark 11:1-11

Mark 15:1-47

 

An iconic moment in the concluding stages of the Second World War was the Liberation of Paris on August 26, 1944. One commentator remarks that it was neither the most dramatic nor the most decisive event in the war, but certainly one of the most romantic. The day after the commander of German forces in the city surrendered, General Charles de Gaulle led a victory parade down the Champs Elysee from the Arc de Triomphe to the Place de la Concorde, where he addressed the wildly cheering crowds. He then went into the Cathedral of Notre Dame, which was packed for a Solemn High Mass offered in thanksgiving for the city’s liberation.

 

Consciously or not, de Gaulle was re-enacting the ancient pattern of a ceremony known as the Royal Entry. In the time of Jesus, the ceremony was known as the Adventus or “arrival” of the King or Emperor. 

 

Whenever such a ruler would arrive in one of the cities or towns in his realm, a delegation would go out to welcome him and escort him in through the city gates to the acclamation of the crowds lining the road. Then, in the town square, arena, stadium, or some other public place, the ruler would address the citizens, exchange gifts with local officials, and bestow public favors or privileges on the town or city itself.

 

A well-known variant of this ceremony was the Roman Triumph. After a great wartime victory or successful campaign of military conquest, the conquering emperor or general would return to Rome and stage a festive procession into the city, featuring exotic animals, like elephants and camels from far-away lands, captives in chains, and wagons loaded with the spoils of war – some of which would be used to pay for the ensuing public entertainments. This procession always included two spotless white oxen; the conquering hero’s first stop was always the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline Hill, where the oxen were sacrificed in thanksgiving for victory and military supremacy.

 

This background illuminates Our Lord’s Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. All four Gospel writers want us to understand that the King is arriving at the gates to take possession of his capital city. He rides on a donkey in fulfillment of Zechariah’s messianic prophecy: “Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on an ass, on a colt the foal of an ass." 

 

The crowds come out to meet him, spreading in his path their garments and—as Mark’s Gospel puts it—“leafy branches that they had cut in the fields.” (only John’s Gospel specifies that they were palm branches.) Palm leaves were signs of victory and dominion; coins minted in Judea in the early second century show children bearing palms to greet the Emperor Hadrian. 

 

The acclamation hosanna means something like “Lord, save us!”—said not in despair but in joyful anticipation of imminent deliverance. Drawing on verses of Psalm 118, the crowd’s acclamations “Hosanna!” and “Blessed is the one who comes in the Name of the Lord” clearly identify Jesus as the Messiah, the Lord’s anointed, the true King of Israel arriving to take possession of his capital city and end its long subjugation under enemy occupation. 

 

Upon entering the Holy City, Jesus goes into the Temple. This, again, follows the standard pattern of the Royal Entry: the first thing the Emperor did in a Roman Triumph was to offer sacrifice in the Temple of Jupiter; the first thing de Gaulle did after his victory parade in Paris in August 1944 was to enter Notre Dame for Solemn High Mass.

 

None of the four Gospels tell us, however, that Jesus offered any sacrifice in the Temple. The reason for this omission may well be that Jesus is himself the sacrifice. Here, then, lies the deepest connection between the two liturgies of Palm Sunday, the Liturgy of the Palms, and the Liturgy of the Lord’s Passion. Unlike the Emperor bringing oxen to be sacrificed in a Roman Triumph, Jesus, so far as we know, brings nothing to sacrifice in the Temple; he enters the city not only as the triumphant King of Israel, but also as the spotless victim who, within the week, will shed his own blood upon the altar of the cross.

 

Every year I like to incorporate the hymn “Ride on, ride on, in majesty” into the Palm Sunday procession. For its lyrics make explicit this deep connection between the Lord’s Triumphal Entry and his coming Passion:

 

         Ride on, ride on in majesty,

         The angel armies of the sky

         Look down with sad and wondering eyes

         To see th’approaching sacrifice.

 

The great irony is that many among the same crowds who shout “Hosanna” to welcome the Lord into the Holy City shall, within the week, also be shouting “Crucify Him.” The same Lord who enters in through the city gates shall, within the week, carry his cross outside another set of gates on the other side of the city to the place of execution. Palm Sunday thus challenges us to open up the gates of our hearts to him—and, having done so, to remain faithful even at the cost of taking up our cross to follow him on the road to Calvary.

 

Today, then, with joy we commemorate the Lord’s Entry within the walls of Jerusalem, and we contemplate with sorrow his Passion and Death outside those same city walls. Still, as we shall see next week, both events are the prelude to a greater victory than anyone present can possibly imagine:

 

         Ride on, ride on in majesty,

         In lowly pomp ride on to die;

         Bow thy meek head to mortal pain,

         Then take, O God, thy power and reign.