Two Roads
Luke 19:28-40
If the phrase “two roads” means anything to you, then there are two possibilities, one much more likely than the other. There’s a small chance that, like me, you hail from the town of Stratford, Connecticut, which is home to Two Roads Brewing Company, a popular regional microbrewery. I’m not much of a beer drinker, but I do like their Road to Ruin Double IPA, which at 8% alcohol can live up to its name if you have more than one.
The slogan for Two Roads Brewing is “The road less traveled,” which leads directly to the second possibility.
Much more likely is that you’re familiar with the famous poem by Robert Frost titled “The Road Not Taken.” The poem begins “Two roads diverged within a yellow wood.” Coming upon a fork in the road while wandering through the woods, the narrator wants to take both roads and ponders whether he can travel first the one and then double back and take the other:
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever turn back.
After deliberating for some time, the narrator chooses the path that looks less traveled, but then quickly determines that the two roads look equally worn:
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
That the two roads look much the same makes the ending rather ambiguous:
Two roads diverged within a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by.
And that has made all the difference.
A common interpretation is that the poem is an ode to nonconformity, not following the herd but going your own way. However, not only do the two roads appear equally traveled, as we’ve just seen, but the title of the poem is not “The Road Less Traveled” but “The Road Not Taken.” That title draws our attention to untapped possibilities and “What if?” scenarios. Contrary to the narrator’s conviction, the title suggests, “What if I had taken that other road instead of this one? Where would I now be?” If anything, the poem seems to be about how we rationalize and justify the decisions that we make.
At the time of Jesus there were two roads leading into the ancient city of Jerusalem, one from the east and one from the west. Both roads factor into today’s reading from Luke, although only one is specifically mentioned. While both roads lead into the holy city, their ultimate destination is worlds apart. The road that Jesus chooses truly does make all the difference…for himself, for his disciples, for us, and for everyone everywhere.
In last week’s reading from John, Jesus was in Bethany, a village just two miles east of Jerusalem, visiting the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. Bethany is once again where we find him today, on a hill known as the Mount of Olives. Leading down from the Mount of Olives is the eastern road to Jerusalem. This is the road that Jesus will take to enter the city.
There is another road that leads into the city from the west. This is the road that will be taken by Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor of Judaea, whose job it is to maintain order and keep the peace. The period from 27 BC to 180 AD, which encompasses the life of Jesus, the formation of the church, and the writing of the New Testament, was a time of relative peace throughout the Roman Empire, such that it was named the Pax Romana or Peace of Rome. Throughout this era the borders of the Empire continually expanded as onetime enemies of Rome were defeated and absorbed into the Empire, including a tiny nation at the eastern edge of the Mediterranean called Israel.
Although Israel was a conquered nation and militarily no match for the might of Rome, the Romans were ever mindful of potential disturbances to their hard-fought peace. The festival of the Passover, during which Jews from all over the surrounding region would gather in Jerusalem, would certainly have drawn their attention. After all, the Passover commemorates the deliverance of the ancient Israelites from the hand of an oppressor. Rome would want to keep a lid on any patriotic fervor that might bubble beneath the surface of this religious festival.
What’s more, many Jews harbored expectations that the Messiah would come in the form of a political and military figure like David who would lead the people to rise up against Rome and reclaim their independence.
And so you have masses of Jews gathering in Jerusalem for a religious festival with highly charged political overtones. The atmosphere would have been combustible. All it would take to set it aflame would be a spark, such as that from a charismatic Jewish leader with a large following parading into the city. It was Pilate’s task to make certain that no spark would catch fire on the dry kindling that was Jerusalem at the time of Passover.
To keep an eye on the situation, Pilate would need to make an appearance, given that he did not live in Jerusalem. Rather, Pilate made his home many miles away along the coast in a place called Caesarea Maritima, named in honor of Caesar Augustus, the first Roman emperor. Coming from Caesarea Maritima, Pilate would have approached Jerusalem from the west and therefore entered the city through the western gate, i.e., the main gate.
The road that Jesus chooses truly does make all the difference…
for himself, for his disciples, for us, and for everyone everywhere.
To send the appropriate message Pilate would have come in a show of force mounted upon a war horse and accompanied by row upon row of battle-hardened legionaries armed with spears and swords. Pilate’s grand entrance into the city would have left no doubt about who was in charge.
At roughly the same time that Pilate entered the city from the west, another procession was making its way toward the city from the east, from the village of Bethany and down the Mount of Olives. This second procession bore little resemblance to Pilate’s. In fact, it was pretty much an inverse image, a caricature even—not a show of force but a show of farce.
The followers of Jesus did not come carrying weapons of war, only palm branches that they waved and then tossed at his feet. They wore no protective metal armor on their bodies, just their cloaks, which they spread on the road. They did not march into the city chanting a military song; they praised God joyfully and celebrated the peace of heaven that was coming to earth.
Then, of course, there was the figure at the head of the procession. In contrast to Pilate mounted upon his war horse, Jesus rode upon a donkey, an animal more useful for working in agricultural fields than on battlefields. That Jesus rode into Jerusalem upon a humble donkey was no accident. He had given his disciples specific instructions on where to find it and how to procure it. If anyone were to question them why they were untying the donkey, they were simply to say, “The Lord needs it.”
The Lord needs it. The Lord needs it because he needs to show the people that he comes in fulfillment of the words of the prophet Zechariah:
Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion!
Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem!
See, your king comes to you;
triumphant and victorious is he,
humble and riding on a donkey,
on a colt, the foal of a donkey (Zech. 9:9).
In riding into the holy city upon a donkey, Jesus is sending a message to his followers about who he is and what he has come to do, and at the same time he is sending a message about what he has not come to do.
He has come not to overthrow the Romans but to conquer the imperial powers of sin and death.
He has not come to establish peace as the world understands it, certainly not a peace that the Romans would understand—a peace that comes at the point of a sword. Rather, the peace of heaven that his coming signifies is not merely the absence of conflict but the presence of God’s justice and mercy.
The deeds of power that his followers celebrate are not military victories but miraculous healings that restored people to wholeness, miraculous feedings that were signs of God’s abundance, and miraculous words of God’s wisdom, grace, and forgiveness that reached into the hearts of people who were dead inside and raised them to new life.
And finally, Jesus will not raise his arms to brandish a weapon but to have them nailed to a wooden cross upon which he will die. This is where the road was leading all along. From the moment he was baptized by John along the banks of the Jordan River, this is the road that Jesus has been on—the road that leads to the cross.
When he called disciples to come and follow him, it was on to this road that he led them. When his appearance was transfigured before them atop the mountain, and they saw him in his glory, he led them down the mountain via this same road.
And when he entered Jerusalem to the cheers of a multitude of his followers, most of whom likely had no idea what was awaiting him at the end of the road, Jesus knew exactly where the road was leading. And yet he chose to walk this road of sorrow, this road of sacrifice, this road of redemption, and for sinners like us that has made all the difference.