The Good News is... inspiring us to act! — Palm Sunday

Scriptures: Mark 11:1-11

Message for All Ages

Hi Friends! I have a question—

What does a king look like?

Well, let’s think about it… 

How does a king get around? 

Maybe a carriage… a fancy car… Or his own personal plane…? 

In Jesus day, a king would ride on a big horse. One that made them feel tall and powerful. 

And how does Jesus get around? And what does he ride when he comes into the city? 

A young horse, a cold… Or a donkey, depending on the account!

What does a king wear? 

Robes… velvet… fancy clothes! 

And what does Jesus wear? 

Regular clothes! They were simple and durable—made for work and travel… not impressing people. 

So Jesus does seem to act like a king… And yet… 

How do people act when a King is around? 

They try to make him like them… give gifts… compliments… 

In Jesus day, people would roll out the red carpet for a king. They would throw him parades and tell him how wonderful he is! Sometimes that would do this even though they didn’t want to, but they had to… because he expected to be treated this way.  

And Jesus isn’t like that… but he did inspire people… to treat him like a King… the king of God’s Kingdom… 

Today, many Christians say we should devote ourselves to NO King… but Christ! 

Because Jesus is the best sort of leader… one who loves the whole world, who speaks up against things that are wrong, and who saves people in trouble. 

Sounds like good news to me—how about you?

Sermon

Throughout the Gospel of Mark, we have tracked his journey from Galilee, where his ministry has been focused, south to Jerusalem. Today, we step into the crowded streets of Jerusalem just as Jesus finally arrives in the capital city. 

Just like today, Jerusalem in Jesus’s time was the center of the Jewish faith—the place people went to worship, to offer sacrifices, to get right with God. And like many observant Jews, Jesus and his disciples were there for the Passover—the celebration in honor of the people’s liberation from slavery in Egypt. 

But Mark’s Gospel makes it clear—this journey is about more than worship. Already, Jesus has warned his disciples three times that this journey will lead to his death and resurrection.

It is here that Jesus will have his final showdown with the powers and principalities of his day—conflict has been brewing, and now he is entering this final confrontation. 

As they arrived at the city gates, the subtle and excessive violence of ongoing occupation was everywhere. 

One of the ways the Roman Empire maintained its power was through state religion. In Roman theology, the emperor wasn’t just a ruler—he was the Son of God. And he expected to be worshiped. Proper worship was one of the many loyalty tests the Empire requires of its subjects. 

Jewish communities were given a kind of exception. Because of their fierce commitment to their singular God, the Romans have compromised, allowing them to continue practicing their ancestral faith, so long as they were loyal to the empire.  

But that religious tolerance was fragile. In a world where politics and religion were never separate, refusing to perform devotion to the emperor could still be seen as an act of defiance.

So Jewish leaders had to navigate that tension carefully. Instead of worshiping the emperor, they offered prayers and sacrifices for him in the Temple—showing loyalty while trying not to compromise their faith.

But remaining faithful to God while surviving within an empire that demanded both obedience and devotion was a constant balancing act. 

And always, there was the constant threat of arrest—or worse—if you did step out of line.

The threat of death wasn’t abstract—it was often in plain sight. The most brutal sign of Rome’s power was crucifixion. The Romans nailed political dissidents to crosses along the roads into the city, putting their suffering on display.

Much like the lynchings of Black, Jewish, and Native Americans under Jim Crow, these executions were meant to send a message: if you threaten the order, this is what awaits you—a slow, brutal, humiliating death.

And it is in the midst of this political and religious pressure… that Jesus plans a protest. 

If this sounds strange… let’s look at the evidence. 

The Bible makes it clear—this first Palm Sunday did not simply emerge spontaneously. It was a staged, intentionally defiant act. 

This was neither a routine ritual nor an accident. Jesus has a vision (perhaps prophetic) and a plan. And so he sends his disciples ahead to carry it out.

He tells them that in the next village, there is a colt waiting for them. If anyone questions them, he gives them this code phrase to use: “The Lord needs it.”

When the disciples bring the colt to Jesus, they spread their cloaks upon it. 

Everything is deliberate. Every step is prepared.

To Roman eyes, Jesus’s procession would have looked familiar, because it clearly resembled a royal, military parade—the kind of display meant to signal power and control.

It was one of the strategies Rome used to intimidate its subjects… including the Jewish community. 

This was especially important during the Passover holiday, when Jewish communities remembered they had already defeated an empire—Egypt—once before. Rome knew that these religious practices cultivated resistance among Jewish communities, who longed for liberation. 

So Roman authorities responded the only way empires know how—with intimidation. With spectacle. With force.

That is why Pontius Pilate was in Jerusalem—to remind the people who the Son of God really was—Caesar.

But while Pilate’s imperial parade entered the city from the West gates, Jesus entered from the East. While Pilate parades into the city in a show of masculine might, atop a war horse, Jesus rides in on a young colt, or a nursing donkey, accompanied by her colt, depending on the account. 

Jesus’ march mocks the militarism of Rome. Though he is the heir of a royal lineage, the True son of God, he rejects symbols of royal authority. He flips them on their head. Like opposite day, they are making fun of Rome’s power by performing its inverse.   

This street theater production is not just aimed at mocking the Empire, but to reveal the Empire’s ultimate weakness. For the power Jesus embodies is of reliance on God and God’s way—a way that is defined by mercy and meekness, love and justice. This is not the power of an earthly sovereign but of divine servanthood. Not the power of the sword, but of sacrifice. 

It is the unveiling of God’s reign, this upside-down kingdom in which the first shall be last and the last shall be first.  God’s kingdom is different. That is why so many today call it God’s Kin-dom. For it is within this community that we are transformed not into subjects, but family. 

The people, seeing this group of triumphant tributors, begin to respond. 

Bystanders join the disciples in taking off their cloaks and laying them in the road. They cut branches from the trees and spread them before him. Like a red carpet… they are lining the street with signs of honor.

The defiant act of Jesus and his disciples inspires them to join in! 

Now jubilant, the crowd cries out, “Hosanna! Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.” 

This word, Hosanna, is an interesting one. It comes from a Hebrew phrase that could be translated as “Save us.”

So, while today, it may sound to us like praise or adoration, we shouldn’t miss the undertones: It is a cry to be saved: "Hosanna! You are coming to save us! Hurray! Save us, please!"

If we were in the crowds that day, similarly desperate for salvation from empire, from the death-dealing powers of the day, we might hope something dramatic would happen: a military uprising, perhaps, or Jesus storming and taking over the temple. We might imagine Roman soldiers bowing at his feet. 

But perhaps our desires today might not be that different. Today, we might imagine a democratic revolution, an impeachment, a Canadian invasion, a massive restructuring of the economy that benefits all, maybe the rise of a dictator who would force us to face climate change and get us off coal. 

The people shouting Hosanna might have wished for quick results, too! For although Jesus mocks the militarism of the Empire, when he does enter the city, as one commentator notes,  “he enjoys all the trappings of a great military procession for a triumphant national hero.’

The people want triumph! And they want it now! But we know this isn’t exactly how the story goes. Mark’s account of what happens next is especially anti-climactic… 

A true imperial procession would have ended with a grand ritual or a banquet celebration. Something to make the power of the sovereign. 

Neither happened after Jesus march. 

Instead, Jesus looks around the temple area and, since it's already late… he retreats to the town of Bethany just outside the city. 

And we know that, for all the excitement and fervor and hope of this protest... by the end of the week, Jesus will be dead. 

And perhaps the same people who shouted Hossanna! Save Us! Hosanna! Will be the same ones shouting Crucify him by week’s end! 

We have spent the past weeks of Lent grounding ourselves in the good news of the gospel. 

We have grounded ourselves in the good news that in a world which so often excludes… all are invited… 

That God can surprise us…That together the impossible is possible… 

That we are not called to judge but to love God and our neighbors…

That God demands the care and protection of the vulnerable… because God’s way is rooted in justice and mercy for everyone… 

Yet, as we reach the end of this journey, as Jesus makes his triumphal entry, that triumph is not what it seems. It feels incomplete. Almost underwhelming.

We might ask, what kind of Good News is this?

The truth is, acts of resistance are not always loud or obvious. 

They are not always grand or immediately world-changing.

This sort of urgency and expectation can actually be counter-revolutionary, making us easy prey for the forces of despair and nihilism. Forces that are more like Empire than the kingdom of God. 

Acts of resistance also do not need to be grandiose or immediately altering. They can be small, like mustard seeds that grow into wild, unruly bushes.  Or like the one person who stands on a street corner with a sign saying—No War! No Kings! And next time, there are three, then five, then 10…    

Acts of resistance can also be hard to pin down, seen but immediately unseen, loud and expected but bewilderingly unconventional, like the procession on that first Palm Sunday. 

Or like the grounds singing Singing Resistance and “Brass Solidarity,” who have been bringing music to every ICE protest in Minneapolis. 

Small, persistent, surprising acts of resistance are difficult to control, stop, or even anticipate the next revolutionary act.

And that is precisely what makes them powerful. Because when resistance refuses to play by the expected rules, the powers that be don’t know how to stop it… or even see it coming. And for the people living within empire, like the ancient Jewish community, and us, it is a survival strategy that protects the oppressed from the backlash of the oppressors.

Jesus’s procession uses unconventional tactics to jab at the empire’s power.

Through reversals, he reveals a different kind of power—the power of God—the one true sovereign—power that acts in embodied service and solidarity with the oppressed.

This is not the triumph of domination. This is the creative, courageous beginning of a different kind of kingdom, led by a different kind of King. May it be so.

And all God’s people said—Amen! 

This sermon was originally preached by Rev. Delaney Piper on 3/29/26.