Being of a certain age, Palm Sunday always conjures memories of Jesus Christ Superstar. I owned the original Broadway soundtrack, an album with a simple brown cover with gold lettering that vaguely resembled a Bible. I knew all the words by heart, and especially loved the song of Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem:
Hosanna, hey sanna, sanna sanna ho
Sanna, hey, sanna hosanna
Hey J.C, J.C, won't you smile at me?
Sanna ho, sanna hey, Superstar
Like liturgical clockwork, as Lent turns into Holy Week, I find myself humming it over dishes and belting it out in the car. Needless to say, every Holy Week I sing it a lot.
Not until recently did I realize that I didn't actually know what "hosanna" meant. I'd always assumed it was a synonym for alleluia, an expression of praise. But hosanna and alleluia are not the same. Hosanná is a transliteration of the Hebrew term (hôsî-âh-na) meaning "Oh, save now!" or "Please save!"
In other words the crowd at the procession wasn't shouting praises to Jesus. The crowd was begging Jesus to save them.
Well that raises an interesting question, from what?
In 2006, John Dominic Crossan and Marcus Borg published The Last Week. The book begins with an unforgettable image:
"Two processions entered Jerusalem on a spring day in the year 30. . . One a peasant procession, the other an imperial procession. From the east, Jesus rode a donkey down the Mount of Olives, cheered by his followers. On the opposite side of the city, from the west, Pontius Pilate, entered Jerusalem at the head of a column of imperial calvary and soldiers.
Jesus' procession proclaimed the kingdom of God; Pilate's proclaimed the power of empire."
I have no idea how many sermons have been preached on this passage in the years since the book's publication. In the last fifteen years however, I've never not heard a Palm Sunday sermon allude to it, to borrow this image, or to quote this passage directly. The "two processions" have become nearly a commonplace in liturgical, mainline and liberal churches.
This year, I'm wondering about the crowds watching the processions. Luke tells us that they are shouting blessings. But Matthew depicts the throng cheering, waving branches, and singing hosanna. The author interlaced the Jesus procession with a prophecy from Zechariah. In the Hebrew scriptures, Zechariah envisioned a humble king who arrived in Jerusalem on donkey and a colt. That king will end all war. There would be no more chariots, warhorses, or battle-bows. The king will command peace.
Of course, Pontius Pilate wasn't a king of peace. He commanded an army on behalf of Caesar. He and that legion were there to keep the peace during the holy days of Passover --- making sure that the Jews caused no trouble for the Roman rulers. As his procession made its way to the city gate, most likely no one cheered him. The crowds hated and feared him.
Perhaps a few paid supporters were sent out to shout Ave Pilate --- Hail Pilate as he entered --- to soothe his imperial ego. Maybe a few powerful people in Jerusalem actually approved of him, or wanted something from him, and shouted their praise from alongside the road. Chances were, however, the road to the west gate was relatively deserted as the Romans approached. The only sounds were the dreaded clomp, clomp, clomp of armored horses and chariot wheels traversing the cobblestones. Pilate, in regal splendor, probably longed to be home in his seaside villa instead of in Jerusalem, with these unruly Jews.
Meanwhile, at the eastern gate, Jesus' noisy supporters were crying out Hosanna Save us! Please save us now! They weren't asking for some sort of spiritual salvation, for a place in heaven, or for eternal life. They wanted to be saved from Pilate, from the legion that was entering the other gate, from Caesar, from the faux peace of Roman swords. They were well aware there was no Pax Romana, it was nothing but misery and death.
Hosanna Jesus! Hosanna free us, we pray you! Deliver us! Save us from Pilate, from Herod, and Caesar and all of the misery of Rome! Hosanna, hey sanna, sanna sanna ho! Now, Jesus, now!
There wasn't an ave or an alleluia to be heard in this bunch. These branch-waving protesters were begging to be rescued from oppression and injustice, shouting for liberation from the forces of violence and death.
Palm Sunday has always confused me. Because when it is depicted as a jubilant crowd welcoming Jesus, it doesn't make a lot of sense. But, when the crowd is understood as desperate subjects of a bloody empire, Palm Sunday comes into better focus. Why do they later turn on Jesus? Just a few days after what we call this triumphal entry. Well, once the Roman soldiers entered the fray, and their hoped for savior is arrested, the reality of their situation sets in. No amount of palm waving hosannas can free Jesus from his Roman fate. The only thing that is left to this crowd is the hope that they can still save their own hide and look forward to some better situation when the next promising savior arrived. They really didn't betray him. They did what fearful subjects of a brutal regime usually do --- they capitulated. They capitulated to their overlords who had thousands of chariots, warhorses, and battle-bows at their command. The Romans essentially forced them to join the imperial procession. By Friday, they weren't begging Jesus for salvation; they were praying that they could avoid being crucified with him.
They accepted their fate under Caesar. They would be slaves of empire still. We are afterall a frail people and fearful people.
The story of this coming week is that Jesus will still save them, capitulaters, fearful, frightened and all. Jesus will still save them from violence and death --- although not as anyone hoped or expected. By the end of the week the salvation will come when His body is broken by state torture. When He is forced to drink Rome's bloody cup. The journey to the kingdom of God, the journey to an anti-imperial kingdom will be marked by a cross. And Palm Sunday is the first step along the way that will end with a stunning event in a cemetery garden.
And yet, even after the tomb, even after that garden: hosanna will still sound. In a week, we may still shout our Easter Alleluias, but the truth is that in our day we cry out hosanna. Children and teachers die in pools of blood at school, lies pervade and divide a desperate people, the rich steal everyone's share, courts unwind justice, and even a poisoned earth and sky rage against us. Is this the Pax Americana? Well we may have believed that once, subject to all its deceptive promises. But the mask has come off and its faux peace has made itself known. This peace is one enforced by fear and violence and submission. A peace of privilege and guns and money. Hosanna, Jesus, hosanna! Hosanna Save us, NOW!
This year I am stricken by the bodies and the blood,. I am stricken by the billions by the price of empire. I've got no ave or alleluia left. But I can wave my palm in protest, and I can shout: Hosanna, hey sanna, sanna sanna ho / Sanna, hey, sanna hosanna! Jesus Christ, pay attention, now!
That chorus sounds more than ever. And the road to the eastern gate beckons, opening toward the commonwealth of God. Wave your palm. Sing with me.