A Show of Farce
Matthew 21:1-11
A couple of years ago there was a viral Tik Tok trend in which people answered how often they think about the Roman Empire. I’m not on Tik Tok, but I caught wind of it regardless. As a pastor who preaches every week about Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified by the Roman Empire, I think about the Roman Empire quite a bit. That’s been the case even more so of late because I’ve been watching the TV series Rome, which originally aired on HBO about 25 years ago.
Rome is set between 50 and 30 BC, a time of massive upheaval in the greater Roman world that included civil war, assassination, and the demise of the Roman Republic. While the two main characters are fictional, the primary historical figure in season 1 is Julius Caesar. There is a memorable scene late in the first season in which a victorious Caesar, having defeated his enemy on the battlefield, parades into the Eternal City as a conquering hero. Caesar rides triumphantly in his golden chariot pulled by a team of white horses, his face painted red to symbolize the Roman god of war, Mars. Throngs of Roman citizens line the street cheering, chanting, and throwing flowers.
This was how the Romans did a triumphal entry. In fact, this kind of victory parade for a conquering Roman general was called a triumph. Stallions, chariots, trumpets—these were elements of a Roman triumph. By contrast, what we see in Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem appears almost comical, more parody than parade. Rather than being pulled by a team of horses, Jesus sits upon a young donkey, an animal not suited for the battlefield but rather a farmer’s field. In place of a fully armed and armored Roman legion marching in lockstep, there are twelve disciples carrying nothing more than the cloaks upon their backs. Most ridiculous of all, while Rome holds a triumph to celebrate the defeat of her enemies, Jesus enters Jerusalem prepared to die for his enemies.
By contrast, what we see in Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem appears almost comical, more parody than parade.
This is the mission for which Jesus has come to the holy city—not to be crowned as a king but to be crucified as a criminal. This was always the plan. From the time Mary and Joseph fled from King Herod with the infant Jesus, then all throughout his ministry of teaching and healing that brought him into conflict with the religious authorities, the shadow of the cross has been looming ever larger. Three times Jesus told his disciples that he was going to Jerusalem to be handed over to the authorities, condemned to death, and crucified, yet they could not bring themselves to accept such a ludicrous claim. Jesus, they believed, was the Messiah, and there was no way that God would allow the Messiah, God’s own anointed, to suffer and die, especially in such a horrific manner. And for what? What could possibly be achieved by his suffering and death?
The triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem is found in all four Gospels, and in all four the outline is similar. Jesus sends disciples into the nearest village to procure a donkey. Jesus rides the donkey from the outskirts of Jerusalem toward the city. The crowds lining the road cut branches from the trees and spread them along the road as they shout words of praise and acclamation toward Jesus, who is welcomed as the Son of David. Yet Matthew states explicitly something that the other Gospels only imply. Verse 10 reads, “When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?”
The whole city was in turmoil. Jesus arrives in Jerusalem during Passover, the Jewish holiday that celebrates the Lord’s deliverance of the Israelites from captivity in Egypt. In Jesus’ day Passover was a weeklong festival during which all adult male Jews from throughout Judea made a pilgrimage to the Temple to offer sacrifices. The city would have been filled to overflowing with pilgrims who had come to remember and to celebrate the exodus. But Passover wasn’t solely about remembering; it was also about expectation. God had redeemed Israel from the hand of their oppressor once before. As pilgrims poured into the city center under watchful Roman eyes, the hope, the expectation, was that God would do so again.
Now, it’s true that under Roman rule Jews were not enslaved as they had been in Egypt, but they weren’t entirely free either. What was once the nation of Israel was now Judea, a Roman province. There was no Jewish king in Jerusalem, not even one appointed by Rome. Jerusalem and all of Judea were under the authority of the Roman governor Pontius Pilate.
While Pilate governed Jerusalem, he didn’t live there. He preferred to stay along the Mediterranean coast, not only for the sea air but to keep a good distance between himself and any especially zealous, independence-minded Jews who might wish to do harm to the face of Roman authority in the region. Yet each year at Passover Pilate would parade into Jerusalem, accompanied by columns of Roman soldiers armed for battle. The show of force was intended to send the message to the Jewish people that you can celebrate your holiday, make your sacrifices in the Temple, eat your bitter herbs and unleavened bread, but don’t forget for a minute who’s in charge here. Let there be no talk, no whispers even, of rebellion against Rome.
The two processions are polar opposites. One is a show of force, the other a show of farce.
Coming from his home along the Mediterranean coast, Pilate would have approached Jerusalem from the west. At roughly the same time that Pilate was coming from the west, Jesus and the disciples were approaching Jerusalem from the east, from Bethphage. Picture the scene. To the west you have the might of Rome, columns of soldiers marching in perfect unison, the ground quaking beneath their feet. To the east Jesus and his disciples stroll gently into town, their steps softened by the palm branches thrown at their feet. On one side are soldiers armed with swords, spears, and shields—a display of fearsome intimidation. On the opposite side smiling crowds wave palm branches in spontaneous celebration. At the head of one procession sits the Roman governor mounted upon his war horse. At the head of the other procession a Jewish rabbi rides upon a juvenile donkey. The two processions are polar opposites. One is a show of force, the other a show of farce.
None of it is happening by accident. That’s the amazing thing! This is all by design! The prophet Zechariah foretold it:
“Tell the daughter of Zion,
Look, your king is coming to you,
humble and mounted on a donkey,
and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”
Zechariah wrote those words more than five hundred years earlier! “Tell the daughter of Zion (meaning the people of Jerusalem), your king is coming to you.” How will the people recognize him? Will he come with royal splendor, decked out in a purple robe, riding a white horse, and surrounded by a court of servants? Actually, no. He’ll be wearing his regular clothes, riding a working animal—an immature one at that—and accompanied by his twelve disciples, a bunch of former fishermen and at least one tax collector.
And yet still the whole city is in turmoil. There’s a mixture of excitement and unease in the air. “Who is this?” they wonder. Even amid the humble trappings, the people sense a power on display—a power wholly unlike the power of empire. In this donkey-riding rabbi from the backwater of Nazareth, there is something different at work, even if the crowds, the Jewish authorities, the Roman authorities, and even his own disciples don’t yet grasp what it is.
What it is, is the kingdom of God come to earth as it is in heaven. “Look, your king is coming to you, humble and mounted on a donkey.” Jesus’ arrival in the holy city has caused a stir. His presence has upended the order of things as surely as he will upend the tables of the merchants and moneychangers in the Temple directly following his entry, as as surely as he upends the lives of all who follow him. The twelve disciples who walked with him on the road leading into Jerusalem never imagined that the road was leading to the cross. They believed that Jesus would establish his kingdom the way any earthly king would, only with the power of God behind him. His victory was assured.
But victory in the kingdom of God is often unrecognizable to the world. Redemption appears as rejection, salvation as suffering and sacrificial love. To the forces of empire Jesus’ offering himself up to death on the cross appears to be no more than a fool’s errand, but it is the fount from which God’s forgiveness flows. “For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom,” Paul writes, “and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength” (1 Cor. 1:25).
In the coming days, after the choruses of “Hosanna” go quiet and we enter into Holy Week, look and listen for the ways in which Jesus is entering your life, upending your priorities, and reorienting your relationships. Rest assured, he is coming. “Behold, your king is coming to you, humble and mounted on a donkey.”