The Irony of Palm Sunday

I find Palm Sunday unsettling.

Of course, outwardly Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem is exhil­arating.  Crowds of followers with visions of victory cheer the arrival of His Royal Majesty:  “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!  Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!” (Luke 19:38).  But do his exuberant fans see that Jesus weeps for the unrepentant city (19:41)?  Probably not—too busy celebrating.

But then, consider their deafening silence in the days to follow.  The festive throng casting palms and coats on the road to honor King Jesus—where do they go?  As the soldiers march to the Garden of Gethsemane in a plot to apprehend Jesus, where are all his followers with their energetic praises?  As Jesus prays, where are his trusted men—the inner circle of Peter, James and John?  Answer:  sleeping (22:45).  As the grim events of the week unfold, the only shouts are from enraged masses crying out, “Crucify him!” (23:21).

Hymn writer Henry Milman saw this sad Palm Sunday irony (1820):

Ride on, ride on in majesty, As all the crowds “Hosanna!” cry: Through waving branches slowly ride, O Savior, to be crucified.

Ride on, ride on in majesty, In lowly pomp ride on to die:  O Christ, your triumph now begin With captured death, and conquered sin!

Ride on, ride on in majesty—The angel armies of the sky Look down with sad and wondering eyes To see the approaching sacrifice.

In fact, the seemingly upbeat Palm Sunday pierces the soul.  It brings a subtle rebuke of my fickle faith and your fair-weather discipleship.  This Sunday, brothers and sisters, receive the Lord’s good reproof.  For the Father disciplines those he loves (Hebrews 12:6).