"The next day the great crowd that had come to the festival heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem. So they took branches of palm trees and went out to meet him, shouting, 'Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord--the King of Israel!' Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it; as it is written, 'Do not be afraid, daughter of Zion. Look, your king is coming, sitting on a donkey's colt!'" [John 12:12-15]
Say what you will about the brutality of the Roman Empire (and there's plenty to say), but they sure did know how to put on a spectacle. The pomp and circumstance of an imperial procession would have been breath-taking to behold--and of course, it was also supposed to be intimidating. The gleaming metal of the polished helmets and armor of soldiers flashing in the light as they moved in formation. The blood-red banners flapping in the wind, staking a claim that wherever the army was marching was under the authority and power of Caesar. The thunderous sounds of feet marching in step. And the regal appearance of a commander, or a Roman governor, or even Caesar himself, riding a powerful war horse, which had surely been properly trained to march along and to help the rider project dignity and strength.
And then there's Jesus, who seems deliberate in his attempt to do the opposite in his entry into the city. He's not trying to intimidate or threaten anybody with his parade, and in fact, he's really sort of kicking off a sort of parody of the Roman spectacle that surely would have been taking place around the same time as his entry into Jerusalem--since the Romans would have wanted to clamp down on any possible rabble-rousing at the great Jewish festival of liberation, the Passover. Jesus' entry on what Christians have come to call "Palm Sunday" seems designed precisely to take the ominous "shock and awe" of a Roman military parade and turn it on its head. He is deliberately offering an alternative--a different kind of kingdom, with a different kind of king.
Now the hitch--the thing that will eventually sour the crowd by the end of this week's events--is that Jesus hasn't come to just replace one bully on the throne with another bully. He hasn't come to replace Roman brutality and violence with his own, merely switching out the title "King of Israel" on the letterhead in place of "Emperor of Rome" where Caesar's name had been. Jesus has come to turn kingship itself upside down, as the one who reigns in serving and self-giving love, rather than domination and fear-mongering. The tools of his work will be different as well--he won't need a scepter or a sword, but will bear the basin and the towel for washing feet. He won't need to flog, torture, or crucify his enemies or potential competition, but will bear being crucified at their hands to break the very power of death itself. And Jesus won't be needing a Roman war horse--instead, he rides a donkey. The animal on which he enters the city is a tip-off that Jesus hasn't come to play Rome's game by Rome's old rules. He has come to upset the whole imperial order of things by offering an alternative parade, with an alternative kind of king leading the way.
It's true that John the Gospel writer sees the choice of animal as a fulfillment of prophecy--the old visionary Zechariah had envisioned a coming king, riding "humble" as well as "victorious" on a donkey and establishing peace for all nations. But even Zechariah understood how different a donkey looks from a war horse--and Israel's kind of kings were always--always--intended at their best to be servant-leaders rather than tyrants, and shepherds of their people rather than conquers of others. For Jesus to step into that royal image of a donkey-riding king is still to question all of the imperial propaganda that Rome surely had in mind when it marched in a garrison of troops, led by a horse-mounted commanding officer to tighten their grip on the city of Jerusalem.
The symbolism in the switching of animals is huge: a donkey is far smaller and less imposing, because Jesus doesn't have any intention of trying to intimidate anybody. He doesn't need to rule by instilling fear in people. And instead of a military-trained horse that is obedient to its riders commands (or the pain of a whip and spurs), Jesus rides an animal, on which, as Mark's gospel tells it, "that has never been ridden." This ain't a properly trained steed that has been broken by a human master to make it submissive--this is an already stubborn donkey that has never had a person ride on it, and here, Jesus rides it into town. I have to picture it moseying along, needing constant redirection, not keeping a regular efficient pace, but looking all around and wondering what it's gotten itself into. Jesus doesn't need to ride an animal whose spirit has been broken--he doesn't require breaking spirits to accomplish his purposes, after all. And of course, the kicker is that this lowly, stubborn, unbroken animal isn't even Jesus' own possession--he has to borrow the donkey and have his disciples promise to return the creature when his little parade of protest is over. All of this together points to an alternative to Rome's brutally efficient and intimidatingly cruel kind of kingship. Jesus calls of that into question by the way he rides into town, and the followers of Jesus have been trying to follow in his footsteps (often with our own internal resistance, mind you!) ever since. But in an important sense, the journey that leads Jesus to the cross makes total sense in light of the choice to ride a donkey to get there. He is not only criticizing Rome's kind of rule and pointing to an alternative kingdom, but he is turning the old playbook upside-down by modeling a reign that doesn't depend on bluster or propaganda, but rather humble service. Jesus is showing his hand from this moment on, just in his choice of mount to enter Jerusalem. He has come as a different kind of king, indeed.
The challenge for us, then, is to find ways in our own lives and in the day before us to point to this same upside-down (which is really right-side-up) kind of kingdom. Rather than looking to dominate and intimidate, our calling is to serve and free people from fear. Rather than needing to have things "our way" our calling is to meet people where they are and offer the acceptance we've found from Jesus already. And where there are modern-day Caesars intimidating, bullying, or threatening people to try and get their way, we are meant to point to another way--to be the brave ones saying that the emperor is wearing no clothes. We walk in a different sort of parade--one without the regimented rhythm of marching jackboots and clanging armor, but with cloaks strewn in the road, palm branches cut down spontaneously, and a king at the front riding a stubborn ol' donkey because he doesn't have any need to intimidate anybody. How will we live in that kind of kingdom this week? How will we point to the humble, self-giving kind of King we have met in Jesus? That's the direction of our path today.
Lord Jesus, let us live as reflections of your upside-down kingdom in the places and times where you have placed us.
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