Welcoming the King

Matthew 21:1-11

March 29, 2026 (Palm Sunday) • Mount Pleasant UMC

He arrived in Bethlehem under the cover of night. Quietly, almost secretly, in a way no one expected. The only ones to know that night, besides his mother and earthly father, were some no-good lowlifes who job meant they were out in a field this time of year. After they knew, they went and told everyone around, but no one listened to them. Their testimony was useless, inadmissible in court and unlistenable in the streets (cf. Card, Luke: The Gospel of Amazement, pg. 48; Hamilton, The Journey, pg. 113). So, for a while, the news that the king of the world had arrived was kept quiet. Maybe there was a stir when some astrologers arrived in Bethlehem from a far-off land, but after that the family disappeared for years and no one thought much about them. There was no one there besides his parents and a few animals to welcome the king.

Thirty years later, this baby moved from obscurity to prominence. He began teaching and preaching and gathering followers. Even though he had never been through a formal training, he acted like a Jewish rabbi, a teacher of the faith. Only he didn’t just preach about the accepted ways of doing things. He didn’t just quote other rabbis. This teacher had new ideas and radical thoughts that upset a lot of people. “Blessed are the poor in spirit…blessed are the peacemakers…blessed are the persecuted…” (Matthew 5:3-12). The whole Jewish law is summed up this way: love the Lord your God with everything you are and love your neighbor as yourself (Matthew 22:37-40). A despised Samaritan might be the hero of the story (Luke 10:25-37), and a son who disgraced his family might be welcomed back home with a big party (Luke 15:11-32). And bit by bit he gets attention—the wrong kind from our perspective—from the religious leaders and from the Romans and even from one of his own disciples who decides Jesus needs to be turned in. But the people loved him. Crowds welcomed him wherever he went.

At the end of three years of preaching and teaching, Jesus’ life comes down to one week. Seven days that changed the world. And that week began at the top of the Mount of Olives. This mountain sits on the eastern side of Jerusalem, directly facing the Temple mount or, as it’s known today, the Muslim Dome of the Rock. This mountain, which is actually two hilltops, stands between the barren landscape of the Judean wilderness and the thriving city of Jerusalem. To get to the city, you basically have to cross the mountain. Over on what I would call the “back side” of this mountain is the village of Bethany (“the house of figs” and the home of Jesus’ friends Mary, Martha and Lazarus) and Bethphage (“house of the unripe figs”). It’s from Bethphage that Jesus secures a donkey and begins his final week with a ride down the western side of the Mount of Olives, across the Kidron Valley and up to Jerusalem (21:1; cf. Luker, An Illustrated Guide to the Holy Land, pgs. 109-111).

Today, the Mount of Olives is covered with tombs, 10,000 Jewish tombs along with separate Christian and Muslim cemeteries, along with an assortment of monuments and churches (cf. Beck, The Holy Land for Christian Travelers, pgs. 68-71). In Jesus’ day it would have been a much more rugged place. Still, the effort has been made to preserve a path down the side of the mount that approximates the route Jesus would have taken from Bethphage, down into the Kidron Valley and up into Jerusalem. I’ve walked that path several times myself and it’s a rather steep and sometimes slick walk downhill. I always wonder how in the world Jesus stayed on a donkey from the top all the way into the city.

But the donkey is important. In fact, everything here is important. There is nothing left to chance and nothing without meaning as Jesus enters the city on this final, holy week. The journey begins as Jesus sends two of his disciples—none of the Gospel writers tell us which two—into Bethphage to secure a donkey and her colt. Jesus even gives them instructions on what to say if they are questioned. Most of the time, I think, we see this as “Jesus knows the future,” and that’s possible, but it’s also just as likely Jesus might have prearranged this transaction. It almost sounds like Jesus is giving them the “secret password” to share with the owner when they go to pick up the animals (cf. Card, Matthew: The Gospel of Identity, pg. 184). Either way, Jesus sends them into town and they come back with a colt and a donkey (most likely the mother). This colt, Mark tells us, has never been ridden, so it’s very likely they brought the mother donkey along as a calming influence on the small animal (cf. Card 184). Jesus rides on the colt and together, this motley crew of mother donkey, colt, Jesus and the disciples begin the descent down the Mount of Olives.

Matthew tells us that the colt is a symbol predicted way back in the writings of the prophet Zechariah, 500 years or more before Jesus: “Say to Daughter Zion, ‘See, your king comes to you, gentle and riding on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey’” (21:5; cf. Zechariah 9:9). The colt is a vital symbol here because it tells us what kind of king Jesus is. He is not a conquering king; he has not come to judge or destroy Jerusalem. If he had come on an armed horse, a warhorse, they would know he had come in opposition to them. But instead he rides a symbol of peace. You aren’t going to do much fighting from the back of a donkey’s foal, and you’re certainly not going to charge into the city on such an animal. Jesus is the true king who comes in peace; all the signs point toward that truth. And that is, in part, what sets both the Jewish and the Roman leadership off (cf. Card 184; McKnight, Matthew, pg. 313). He’s not the king they wanted or expected.

A crowd gathers around Jesus as he comes down the mountain. Let’s be clear about who this crowd is, because a lot of time people wonder how the same people could go from “hosanna” to “crucify him” in a single week—or really, only a few short days. But those two crowds are not the same. It appears that the crowd on Friday are residents of Jerusalem, people who are influenced heavily by the chief priests and teachers of the law, the religious leaders. But this crowd on the Mount of Olives seems to made up mostly of people, like Jesus and the disciples, who are headed into the city for the Passover celebration. They are pilgrims from other parts of Israel, probably many of whom have heard Jesus preach in one place or another. Most of them might even be followers of his. It’s a “very large crowd,” but made up mostly of people from elsewhere. Thirty-three years before this, we were told that “all Jerusalem” was disturbed when the Magi came asking about a new king who had been born (Matthew 2:3). By Friday, “all Jerusalem” will again be disturbed (or Matthew says “stirred”) and bothered by the arrival of this king, but the crowd outside the city is loud and confident: “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” In other words, the king is finally arriving (cf. Card 185). And all of that takes place before they ever get to the city proper (21:9-10). 

The crowd, of course, is singing: “Hosanna to the Son of David!” They’re chanting verses from Psalm 118, which is one of the traditional psalms that people would sing as they headed to Jerusalem for Passover. It’s a psalm of celebration, of God’s protection, of that fact that God’s love endures forever. People would sing it to prepare their hearts for the arrival in Jerusalem, but suddenly as Jesus is riding down the mountain, this song takes on special significance. It was a call and response sort of thing as they neared the city, sort of like how in a pool one person calls out, “Marco” and without thinking about it other people say, “Polo!” Only this one went like this: one person would sing, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” And really without thinking about it the crowd would cry out, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” Let’s try that. Hosanna to the Son of David! BLESSED IS HE WHO COMES IN THE NAME OF THE LORD (cf. Rawle, The Final Days, pg. 32). The song itself proclaims a message: Jesus is the king. He is the son of David. And he is a king entering the royal city.

So what’s happening here on the Mount of Olives is meant to prepare that city for the royal visit. In ancient times, when a king was coming to visit a city, they would go out and greet the royal entourage (cf. Wright, Surprised by Hope, pg. 133). They would go early in order to smooth out the road; that’s what’s behind the famous passage in Isaiah made famous by Handel: “Every valley shall be raised up, every mountain and hill made low; the rough ground shall become level, the rugged places a plain” (Isaiah 40:4). They were preparing for the Lord, their king, to arrive. You smoothed out everything so that the king had a smooth path to ride in on, and then you put your clothes on the ground so that it was a soft road for the entourage to arrive on. Everything happening on that mountain is pointing to who Jesus is. The people there on the path are welcoming their king.

One interesting sideline: the disciples of Jesus don’t say a word during this whole parade. New Testament scholar Scot McKnight calls them “partly observant and partly clueless” (315). They do what Jesus tells them to do in terms of getting the donkey and the colt, but they don’t say a word the whole time. There is no record of them joining in the psalm or the praise, and they are not the ones who answer the question, “Who is this?” As far as we know, they are confused and wondering what is going on the whole time. At a time Jesus probably needs them to speak up more than ever, the disciples go silent. Even Peter.

And that brings us to the symbol that gives its name to today: the palm branches. Today we tend to think of waving palm branches as a symbol of peace. In Jesus’ day they were a symbol of nationalism, of Jewish independence. And so the palm branch reminded them that they were not really free. Rome was their oppressor, their overlord, and they were the conquered people. Everywhere they looked there were reminders of Rome’s occupation, from the style of a lot of the architecture, to the presence of Roman soldiers in their streets, to the taxes they paid to keep the empire going. Is it any wonder they had come to believe that when the messiah, the savior, came, he would be a military leader who would overthrow the Romans and set up a Jewish kingdom based in Jerusalem? For Jesus to enter Jerusalem at this time of year, in this way, fed into that hope, that dream. Here he comes, the king who is going to set us free! So they grab palm branches, the sign of independence, and they start waving them and singing of a new kingdom. “Hosanna!” Lord, save! Rather than being a peaceful and somber celebration, the palm branches told everyone around, probably including the Romans, that the crowd believed Jesus was coming to bring conflict and start a revolution (cf. Rawle 33).

On a day like today when we gather and wave palm branches, we let the children do it and we always sing the “Hosanna, Loud Hosanna” hymn, and we talk about how cute the kids are (which they are) and how sweet and wonderful the palm parade was. And we try to keep the palm leaves out of the hands of particular kids because we know they will pretend they are swords and start fighting with one another. Now, I’m not advocating for the palm swords, but I will say that such a use is probably closer to what was intended on the first Palm Sunday than our nice, orderly parade. Jesus wasn’t having a parade. He was coming to bring revolution—just not in the way that most of them thought he was. He was bringing a new kingdom—just not the kingdom they thought he was. He was coming to turn the world upside down—except rather than doing it by killing Romans, he would do it by offering his own life. His crown would be made of thorns and his throne would be a Roman cross. Wave the palm branches. The revolution is starting. The king is on the way.

Our Lenten series this year has been about mountains and valleys, places where significant events in the Biblical story have taken place, and today’s story brings us to one of each. As Jesus came down the Mount of Olives, he would have crossed the Kidron Valley before going up to the Temple. This is the same valley he will walk through later on in the week when he goes from the Upper Room to the Garden of Gethsemane; all of John 15-17 takes place while Jesus and the disciples walk the length of this valley. Today, the Kidron Valley is full of monuments and has a road running through it. On one of our visits to Jerusalem, a colleague of mine and I asked our guide if we could walk the length of the valley and meet the bus at the other end; he wouldn’t let us because he said it wasn’t safe. So even now, the Kidron Valley is a rough place. In Judaism, Christianity and Islam, this valley is understood as a place where divine judgment has and will take place (Beck 69). And Jesus rides purposefully into this valley, proclaimed as king and bringing judgment with him. But not like they thought. He comes bringing judgment on sin and brokenness and the evil one (cf. John 16:8-11). Jesus enters the valley and rides on toward his death.

There’s more going on in this so-called “triumphal entry” than we usually notice. The king is on his way. He’s bringing revolution. He’s bringing change. He’s bringing upheaval. After this day, after this week, the world will never be the same. But Jesus will do it on his own terms. He will not follow the path that the crowd lays out for him. He will not meet their expectations. And, as I hinted at earlier, the disciples are most likely quiet because they don’t get it either. Their expectations, even after about three years with Jesus, aren’t any different than the crowds. They seem to believe this is the moment Jesus is going to take his throne; that’s why James and John ask to be placed on his right hand and on his left in his kingdom (cf. Mark 10:35-45). But they won’t be. In fact, the ones on his left and his right when he takes his throne are two common criminals, condemned to die just like Jesus (cf. Mark 15:27). No, the disciples don’t get it anymore than anyone else. But one of them is bold enough to take action. Judas has another idea. He wants to push Jesus into action. If Jesus won’t act on his own, Judas will force him to act by threatening him with arrest later in the week.

And how often are we like Judas? We think we know best. We want to suggest another way. Jesus says, “Blessed are the meek, for their will inherit the earth” (Matthew 5:5). No, Jesus, blessed are the powerful, the ones who get close to the rulers and authorities. They are the ones who really get it done! Jesus says, “Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy” (Matthew 5:7). No, Jesus, the important and beautiful people (even if they’re not very nice), those are the ones we want to get to know and get close to. They are the ones who can improve our life. Jesus says, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God” (Matthew 5:8). No, Jesus, blessed are the influencers, the ones everyone listens to. They help us get in touch with ourselves. Jesus goes to the wilderness, which is where God’s people have always been shaped (cf. Matthew 4:1-11). But we prefer the land of plenty—health, wealth and prosperity. Name it, claim it, it can all be yours. We want the mountaintop experiences without the valleys. And Jesus descends the mountain, into the valley, moving always, ever toward the cross. Unlike us, whose goals and motives change like the wind, Jesus stays absolutely focused on the cross because only if he stays focused on the cross can he save us from the things that threaten us the most.

The king is on his way. We have waved palm branches, but I’m wondering if there might be other ways we could welcome him into our lives this week of all weeks. First of all: do you know him? There were many in the crowd that day who undoubtedly got caught up in the excitement. Some of them didn’t even know why they were there or who they were celebrating. “Who is this?” they asked (21:10). And maybe that’s some of you. Maybe that’s even some of you who have been coming here for a long time, week after week, and you know about Jesus but you don’t know him. In this social media-driven world, it’s sometimes easy for us to get that confused. We think we know this sports star or this movie actor or this influencer because we read all their stuff and we follow them online. When we were in Puerto Rico in January, we met a woman who said she was going that evening to the Bad Bunny concert; he was performing down the street and she was going to be on the front row and he was going to see her and they were going to fall in love. She knew him, she said. But all she knew was what she had learned and seen and read online. She knew about him. That’s the way some of us treat Jesus. We know about him, but we don’t know him. Have you welcomed the king into your life? Is he your constant companion or he is just an acquaintance? That’s the first thing to settle this Holy Week: is it time to welcome the king into your life?

And if you have already welcomed him, is there room in your life for him? Do you have time each day to spend with him? My time is first thing in the morning; for some of you, that might be the best time and for others it might be at the end of the day. The time doesn’t really matter; it’s more a matter of setting the time aside. For me, it means getting up a little earlier than I would want to, and I’ll be honest: there are some mornings the alarm goes off and I really struggle to get up. Sometimes I don’t make it, but on the mornings I do, I’m always glad I do. I read my Bible and spend some time in prayer, sometimes lifting up all the concerns on my heart and sometimes just repeating the name, “Jesus.” His presence gives me strength and courage for the day. I said it a few weeks ago: he’s the reason I get up in the morning. When you love someone, you want to spend time with them, so we welcome the king by making room in our lives for his presence.

And we welcome the king through worship, especially this week of all weeks. Will we walk with Jesus through the hardest week of his life? Will we spend time with him around the table and in the garden praying on Thursday night? Will we go with him to the cross and the tomb on Friday? I say this every year even though no one listens to me: you can’t fully appreciate and celebrate the empty tomb next Sunday if you haven’t walked with Jesus through the week. Easter is a glorious celebration, but if we haven’t been to the cross it just seems like a party more than a triumph. To fully experience the joy of the empty tomb, we have to go with Jesus to the table, and the garden, and the cross, and tomb, and stand with the women as the stone is rolled over the entrance. Will you welcome the king by worshipping him this week? Will you stand with him in his time of need?

Finally, one more way we welcome the king not only into our lives but into our world is by living out the great commandment. We have it as the first two parts of our vision statement: love God, love others. The Old Testament prophet Micah put it this way for all God’s people: “What does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8). Love God, love others equals doing justice, living the way God intends us to not just in our own personal lives but toward others as well. We welcome the king by pursuing and practicing what is right toward all of God’s creation. I think Jesus was actually updating Micah’s instructions when he said this: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you…Do to others as you would have them to do you” (Luke 6:27-28, 31). Welcome the king by loving everyone he loves—which, by the way, is everyone. So, how will you welcome the king this week?

“Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!…Who is this?…The is Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth in Galilee” (21:9-11) and he is our king. Let’s pray.