PALM SUNDAY

March 29, 2026

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R. I.

 

Matthew 21:1-11

Matthew 26:36-27:66

 

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 it certainly was one of the most romantic. The day after the German forces in the city surrendered, General Charles de Gaulle led a victory parade down the Champs Élysées from the Arc de Triomphe to the Place de la Concorde, where he addressed the wildly cheering crowds. He then went to 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 New Testament times, it was known as the Adventus or “arrival” of the King or Emperor. 

 

Whenever such a ruler would arrive outside 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, such as elephants and camels from faraway, captives in chains, and wagons loaded with the spoils of war – some of which would 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 these unfortunate beasts were sacrificed in thanksgiving for military victory and political supremacy.

 

This background illuminates Our Lord’s Entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. All four Gospel writers want us to understand that the true King of Israel is arriving at the gates to take possession of his capital city. He rides a donkey in fulfillment of Zechariah’s 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 St. Matthew’s Gospel puts it—“branches from the trees.” (Only St. 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 impending deliverance. Drawing on verses of Psalm 118, the crowd’s acclamations “Hosanna to the Son of David,” and “Blessed is he who comes in the Name of the Lord” clearly identify Jesus as the Messiah, the Lord’s anointed, arriving to take possession of the holy city and end its long subjugation under foreign occupation. 

 

Upon entering the Holy City, Jesus goes to the Temple. This, again, follows the standard pattern: 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 was to enter Notre Dame for the celebration of Solemn High Mass.

 

None of the four Gospels tells us, however, that Jesus offered any sacrifice in the Temple. The reason for this omission may well be that the Gospel writers want us to understand 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 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. 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 the 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 opposite side of the city to the place of execution. Palm Sunday 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, we commemorate with joy the Lord’s Triumphal Entry within the walls of Jerusalem, and with sorrow his Passion and Death outside those same city walls. Still, as we shall see next week, both events are preludes to a greater victory than anyone present that first Palm Sunday 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.