"Dulverton - Saint Stanislaus - Palm Sunday Painting" by david cronin, on Flickr

Mark 11:1-11
​When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, [Jesus] sent two of his disciples and said to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. If anyone says to you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.’ ” They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. As they were untying it, some of the bystanders said to them, “What are you doing, untying the colt?” They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it. Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting,

“Hosanna!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.

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At the Minnesota State Fair,
walking through the livestock barns,
we came eye to eye with the tallest horse we’d ever seen.

His back, as tall as the top of my head;
his eyes, the size of oranges,
long-lashed and omniscient.
His head, towering above and
his mane, trailing down the slope of his neck.

Strong-stepped and graceful,
terrifying and gentle,
fully creature and yet otherworldly.

Next to his giant hooves, we were
but ants
or rodents.
The usual categories of “big” or “small”
seemed too narrow to contain
the height and weight and depth and length
of such a beast.

To ride such a creature would be to lord over all creation below.
Speed, height, strength, divinity, all conveyed
by the outline of a giant gentle beast.

But it was not upon this massive steed that Christ rode into the city.
It was not upon a Clydesdale, nor a racehorse, nor a wild horse from Chincoteague.

It was upon a mockery of a horse that this Savior came to town
(himself to be mocked).
He rode in on donkey.
On a colt, the foal of a donkey.

Humble beast of humble beasts,
low to the ground, pot-bellied,
like a zebra without its stripes.
Barely enough room for one man to ride,
slow-stepping, stubborn, clumsy,
a loyal but low down beast of burden.

Upon this ordinary creature,
an extraordinary Savior
crept in the back door of the city.

Pilate, doing political duty,
marched in the front gate
making an appearance (as politicians do).
The Passover festival meant a city
crowded with constituents.
His procession was
the hand of Rome marching to the heart
of Jewish celebration and identity;
He was a governor, lord over an occupied people,
marching in to celebrate with them
the ancient circumstances
of their liberation.

Through the front gate,
the noble procession of the Roman governor,
whose fanfares and banners and stewards preceded him,
who waved to a wide road
flooded with tourists and travelers and subjects.

Jesus entered the city from the other side.

Concerning Jerusalem,
Jesus did not hold the keys to the kingdom.
Concerning his entrance into Jerusalem,
there were no banners raised, no trumpets sounding,
just the cloud of faithful witnesses,
turning their garments into a fervent, pathetic red carpet,
decorating the path not with streamers and ribbons,
but tree branches plucked from the side of the road.

Who is this king of Glory?
The Lord, strong and mighty?
Is it this one, who totters in on a donkey’s child,
along a back road littered with leaves and muddy overcoats?

Hosanna! Blessing! -
to the one who comes in the name of the Lord,
who does not exploit the name of the Lord,
nor the fame of Pilate,
but turns his face toward Jerusalem,
setting his course,
riding in
knowing that he will not ride out
until his resurrected body will
ride up on the clouds.

Hosanna! Blessing! -
to the one who takes the back roads
into the back gates of
the holy city
but who does not turn backward
from his terrible destiny.

Palm Sunday is a story for
all those who sneak in the back door,
who arrive late,
who leave early,
so that no one will catch their gaze
or notice them
or judge them.

It is a story
for those who hang back
because of
fear shame vulnerability
grief anxiety secrets
doubts humility—humiliation.

Ride on,
ride on in majesty, king Jesus,
through the back streets,
through the back pews,
through the back doors,

ride on in pomp
to suffer
to die
to take on the depth
of our shadows and our tears.

Palm Sunday Jesus
took on flesh to save us in the flesh;
took on life to give us life;
took on the prick of pain and sting of death
to poke fun at the powers of
sins, devils, deaths…
and to trample them underfoot,
like broken palm branches marched over
by hoof and foot alike.

Hosanna! Blessing! -
if we were not shouting,
the very stones would cry out,
for the King of kings and Lord of lords
has come near,
has come here,
to fling wide the gates,
to be our courage,
to return our dignity,
to restore our lives,
to lead us from the back gates
to the pearly gates.

Hosanna! Blessing! -
to the Christ who comes in the name of the Lord.
He enters the city.
His face is set like flint

For this city,
the Jerusalem for whom Jesus wept,
is his destiny.

It is not his kingdom,
it is not his destination,
it is not his glory.

It is his self-emptying.
It is his demise.
It is his end.

And it is our beginning.

Hosanna.
Blessed is the one who comes
in the name of the Lord.

Hosanna.