Palm Sunday – 13 April 2025
Today, throughout the world, marches for peace are held. Palm Sunday has become a day on which rallies for peace are staged in many of the cities of the world. It leads us to ask what is it about this day that speaks of peace, of the hope for peace? Though many who march for peace today may not even be Christian, and though perhaps a number of people take part in the walks do so for quite a mixture of motivation, nonetheless it would seem that the story of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem that we commemorate on this day has something that speaks of the possibility of peace. How is this so?
It is perhaps lies with the stress in the story on the way in which Jesus comes into the city. Clearly the writers of the gospel wish to present this moment as symbolic of Jesus’ kingship. It is not the first time Jesus has entered the city of Jerusalem, but this is the visit that will culminate in his arrest and death. Therefore, it is the visit that encapsulates his life and ministry. He is the one for whom the people have waited. He is the messiah, the one who will save his people from their shame and from their oppression. He comes to take possession of Jerusalem the ancient seat of power for his people. For the one who conquers Jerusalem is the one who has delivered his people, the one who has set them free. So Jesus enters the city with all this in mind. He knows the story of his people, he knows their expectations. He knows what Jerusalem means to them, and he knows the hopes which people have invested in him.
For Jesus it is that moment that he must confront the dynamism of power. Does he seek to take power, to invest himself with power, to act with power, to satisfy the expectations of those around him? Or does he put forward something different altogether? His entry into Jerusalem essentially re-defines the logic of power. The ordinary logic is that power means strength, control, domination. Its symbol is the mighty stallion. Jesus, however, enters on a beast of burden, a donkey. His choice laughs in the face of expectation. It laughs in the face of the expectations of his time, and it laughs in the face of our own expectations about who has power. How can a donkey overpower the Roman cavalry? How can a donkey inspire us in our own search to have power?
It can’t, and for this reason Jesus chooses this animal to proclaim that the power in which he is interested is not about strength, control, domination. It is not about conquering, overcoming, overpowering. It is about what happens when we let go of these ambitions, and rather find our reality in service of one another. When we surrender the ambition for power, we find a different kind of power, the power that alone can truly change the world, the power that manifests itself only through the exercise of mutual self-giving, and mutual care. Thus the very heart of power, symbolised in the city of Jerusalem, is transformed into the power of the heart.
As the German theologian, Moltmann writes:
“This is no longer the glory of victory, it is the splendour of peace. It is no longer the power of panzas and rockets, it is the force of help. This is no longer the love of power, but the power of love. This is not the riches that make many poor, but the poverty of God which makes many rich. Anyone who hopes for the future of this Lord – poor, and riding upon an ass – does not themselves become strong in performance and achievement or mighty in the competitive struggle. They become receptive in love, open in participation, and vulnerable in community and fellowship.”[1]
This is the only power in which Jesus is interested – the revolution of tenderness as Pope Francis calls it. The peace that comes about through subjugation is always an illusion. But when tenderness is engaged, peace can not but manifest itself. Yes, Palm Sunday truly is a day when genuine peace becomes at last a possibility. But first we must re-define the nature of what is genuine power. Jesus does so not by his words, but by his actions. May we, too, do the same.
[1] Jürgen Moltmann, The Power of the Powerless (London: SCM Press, 1982), 23.
