Matthew 21:1–11 (CEB)
When they approached Jerusalem and came to Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, Jesus gave two disciples a task. He said to them, “Go into the village over there. As soon as you enter, you will find a donkey tied up and a colt with it. Untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, say that their master needs them.” He sent them off right away.
Now, this happened to fulfill what the prophet said, Say to Daughter Zion, “Look, your king is coming to you, humble and riding on a donkey, and on a colt the donkey’s offspring.” The disciples went and did just as Jesus had ordered them. They brought the donkey and the colt and laid their clothes on them. Then he sat on them.
Now a large crowd spread their clothes on the road. Others cut palm branches off the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds in front of him and behind him shouted, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessings on the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!”
And when Jesus entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred up. “Who is this?” they asked. The crowds answered, “It’s the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”
Around the year 4 of our current era, the Jewish King Herod died. A vassal to Rome, his kingdom was divided between his sons. Archelaus was given half the kingdom, including Jerusalem. In just two short years, he created such public dissent that Caesar Augustus stepped in and took direct control over the area
Unfortunately, while still honoring the autonomy of the Jewish people within the Empire, Augustus stopped short of making Judea an Imperial (or even Senatorial) province. Provincial status would have afforded the Jewish people the education, sewage and plumbing, roads, and government infrastructure of Rome in return for taxes, making the situation more palatable for most of the Empire’s conquests.
Instead, however, in an unusually short-sighted move for Augustus, he turned the ancient Jewish homeland—and the surrounding territory—into a Syrian satellite state.
And while the Syrian governor was a Roman, he was not as sympathetic to the special treatment Rome had traditionally afforded the Jewish people. Neither were the Jewish people happy about paying taxes now being sent to Syria instead of being reinvested at home.
In spite of this slight, over the next 25 years, the Jewish religious leadership in Jerusalem forged close ties with the Roman government, lining their own pockets at the expense of the people, forgetting their solemn oath to God to care for God’s people.
By the time Jesus was on his final Passover pilgrimage to Jerusalem, church and state shared an uneasy division of duties. Blasphemy and other “moral” infractions were legislated by the Jews, while the Romans legislated treason and other “civil” trespasses.
It was a very cozy structure that benefited the wealthy and the privileged. So, when stories began circulating the occupied territory about some Jewish religious zealot who wanted to bust up the entire thing, you bet the establishment power structure took note—especially because Jesus was telling everyone to do something previously unthinkable: resist.
Jesus urged his students to envision and live an alternative government—what he calls the kingdom of heaven. And while a lot of his followers wanted Jesus to be their new Jewish King, and like David reunite the disparate Jewish lands, Jesus resisted.
Unlike the Romans, unlike even Herod the Great, Jesus told his followers (and still tells us) they don’t need a human king or even a human/divine king. They need a personal God that’s fundamentally part of them and their human experience.
That deep understanding of God gave Jesus a very different idea about the structure and duty of religious and civil systems So, Jesus’ ceremonial entrance into Jerusalem through the service gate at the same time Augustus Caesar was being lavished with military pomp was an intentional act of defiance against both the political and religious establishments.
Throughout his life, Jesus would have visited Jerusalem many times to celebrate Passover. Never before did he come in riding a donkey to the cheers of adoring throngs.
He knew he’d already raised the hackles of Jerusalem’s religious and secular authorities. The Jewish leadership was prepared to charge him with blasphemy, and the Romans were considering charging him with sedition—which was one of the only crimes punishable with death by Crucifixion.
Jesus, knowing that at this point, one of the established power structures would kill him, makes a final, grand, anti-establishment gesture and enters Jerusalem. Not merely Augustus, but God in the flesh, riding into town on an ass.
That, my friends, is what Jews call chutzpah.
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It’s impossible to separate our political and religious/moral beliefs. They feed each other like an Ouroboros.
For our entire human history, we’ve created civil laws based on our understanding of morality. Over time, what is morally accepted by society changes. Our politics and political systems then change to conform to our contemporary moral norms, and so on.
Jesus understood that both religion and politics must be informed by our belief in a God of unconditional, inclusive love and exceptional grace. For all people. Even the ones who crucify us.
Politics, like religion, is the work of the people. Jesus understood this. His entire ministry is one divine, political movement urging his followers to get involved in changing the world.
The disciples weren’t lounging about campfires every night. They went from town to town to empower the people. Jesus tells us not to wait for God to create the kingdom of heaven. Instead, Jesus demands his followers—us—create that alternate vision of the world right now. Today.
How do we change the world without being political? Why celebrate, follow, or even worship an itinerant, rebellious Jewish Rabbi if we’re not going to do the difficult work he demands and follow him through the service entrance in an act of defiance against the empire?
Why celebrate Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem if we don’t have the chutzpah to follow him?
Amen.
