Looking back on Palm Sunday

As I write, it is the day before Easter Sunday. Just six days ago, it was Palm Sunday, and I wrote a ‘backyard meditation’ post. It was set in an Australian suburb in the 21st century. In that post, I said that ‘psalms, palms and prophecy were significant.’ However, I didn’t elaborate at the time due to space limitations.

Today I am thinking back to a very different time and place. In my imagination, I have tried to go back to first century Jerusalem. In this post, I reflect on the significance of psalms, palms and prophecy that first Palm Sunday.

I wonder what devastated followers like Mary, Martha, Susanna, Joanna, Mary the mother of Jesus and others were thinking that first Easter Saturday. Less than a week earlier, they had reason to think that Jesus was entering Jerusalem as the Messiah, the victorious king. Yet within days he was crucified, a sign over his head aptly proclaiming that he was ‘King of the Jews’.

Imagine now, as you read the rest of this post, the voice and perspective of one of the women who had followed Jesus. At just one point, though, as the modern woman penning this blog post, I will insert a note of explanation in italics.

Psalms

“Hosanna,” we shouted joyfully last week. ‘Hosanna’ is a Hebrew word meaning, ‘Save us.’

Salvation … that’s what we thought was happening. We thought that the time had come when Jesus’ true identity as God’s Messiah would be revealed. We had thought that this procession was the prelude to our salvation.

“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the LORD,” we yelled with all our energy as we followed the donkeys, mother and foal, carrying our Lord.

The words we cried came directly from one of our psalms.

O LORD, save us (literally ‘Hosanna’);
O LORD, grant us success.
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the LORD.
From the house of the LORD we bless you.
The LORD is God,
and he has made his light shine upon us.
With boughs in hand, join in the festal procession
up to the horns of the altar.

Psalm 118:25-26 NIV

The psalm is beautiful and full of hope. It is all about God’s goodness, love and salvation. We thought that the time had come for its fulfilment…..

The first sign that things weren’t going as we had expected was that horrible pause along the way. When Jerusalem came into view, Jesus stopped and sobbed. He said some dreadful things about Jerusalm’s future destruction. And the children … oh, the children…….. “Dashed to the ground,” he declared.

My heart felt like a knife had penetrated it. I determined to convince my son to send the grandchildren far from Jerusalem.

Somewhat subdued, we kept going towards the Temple, its gold exterior reflecting the sunlight. Once we reached it, Jesus didn’t go straight to the altar, like the Psalmist had suggested. No, he actually stopped in the Court of the Gentiles, which is part of the Temple, but not where the altar is located. Traders there were selling sacrificial animals and exchanging currencies. The Messiah pushed the traders roughly towards the exits, shouting, “It is written, ‘My house will be a house of prayer’, but you have made it a den of robbers.”

“My house……” What do you think that was about? He often aligned himself with our God. That’s what led to his subsequent arrest, actually.

There is so much to ponder, as I look back on last week’s procession.

I think about the psalm from which we had been quoting. The ancient Hebrew is sometimes translated as “With boughs in hand, join in the festal procession up to the horns of the altar,” (Psalm 118:27b NIV). But perhaps it would be better translated as, “Bind the festal sacrifice with cords, up to the horns of the altar!” (Psalm 118:27b ESV). What sacrifice? How would it be bound to the altar? With cords? Boughs?

Are we missing something? There is another phrase in that same Psalm that I can’t help but think must be significant in light of all that has happened this Passover. “The stone the builders rejected has become the capstone….” (Psalm 118:22)

We had thought that this was the beginning of the end. And so it was. But it wasn’t the end we had anticipated.

Palms

We all waved palm branches last week and laid them on the road, too, along with our cloaks. Palm branches symbolise victory in our culture.

We carried them all the way to the Court of the Gentiles, there in the temple. That’s where we left them.

Victory…..

What followed was anything but victorious, it seemed.

PS from Suzanne: Years later, as an old Christian lady, our first century Jewish woman would have learned of another crowd waving palm branches before Jesus. The vision was given to John by the risen Christ. John wrote it up and sent it around the churches to encourage them to persevere in the waiting. John would write:

… there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands. And they cried out in a loud voice,
“Salvation belongs to our God,
who sits on the throne,
and to the Lamb.”

Revelation 7:9-10

Prophecy

When I saw Jesus sitting on the donkey last week, with the colt by its side, how could I not think of the words of the prophet Zechariah? In fact, by being part of that procession into Jerusalem, I was fulfilling prophecy myself. Fancy that – me – an ordinary Jewish lady – fulfilling prophecy! Zechariah called for daughters of Zion to rejoice and to shout, and that’s exactly what I did.

Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion!
Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem!
See, your king comes to you,
righteous and having salvation,
gentle and riding on a donkey,
on a colt, the foal of a donkey.

Zechariah 9:9

Just six days ago, the righteous king rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, a symbol of peace. I know. I was there. I rejoiced and shouted along with many other women. Salvation, the Psalmist promised, and salvation is what we were expecting.

But see what they did to our king…….

Two days ago, the Passover lambs were slaughtered. They killed our Saviour, our Messiah and king, that same day. The day the sun went dark. The day the earth shook. The day the curtain in the Temple split from top to bottom. The day that changed the world.

And now, I wait.

Waiting

I wait for the Sabbath to finish so that I can go with some of the other women to put spices on his precious broken body.

We don’t know yet how we will get into Joseph’s tomb, which is where they have laid him. There is an enormous rock blocking the entrance, plus Roman guards. But we must try.

Perhaps God will make a way. After all, Jesus was, in some mysterious way, in very nature God himself.

A week ago we happily marched into Jerusalem behind the King of Peace, who was riding on a donkey. We waved palm branches. We shouted psalms. We fulfilled prophecy. We expected salvation.

And now, broken hearted, we wait.

We wait for Sunday.