To me, this is the most difficult service of the year. Good Friday is tough, but I know what to expect; here, the transition between the Palms and Passion always catches me off guard. I don’t like saying, “Crucify him!” because it reminds me of all the times that I, too, have betrayed and rejected the presence of Christ within myself and others. It causes me to reflect, again, on that point of no-return that happens in life itself, whenever an earnest appeal to “save us” turns into a mocking challenge to “save yourself”. The branches dry out and turn into ash, and so do our admiration and worship turn into misplaced ownership and demands to prove oneself, to live up to our expectations, that we at times impose on God and people. 

I’ve been reading some autobiographies lately, and found a common theme in how famous people describe their relationship with the media: it builds one up for as long as it may capitalize on one’s fame, and tears one down when there’s nothing new to gain. Peter’s, “I don’t know him,” may not seem so bad, but that’s how the shift towards, “Crucify him!” begins. Mistakes that make stars relatable, “just like us,” suddenly turn into sins that let us think, “at least I am not like them”. And all along, fans believe that buying an album or movie lets them own the artist herself. Freedom seems to be the price for making an impact. I wonder if Jesus felt the same way when he was on his way to celebrate this Passover. He was simply happy to worship, as any Jewish person would; grateful for the opportunity that, I imagine, he could afford only every so often. But as he walked with the tens, possibly hundreds, of thousands of pilgrims, someone recognised him as the one who had just saved Lazarus from his death.

Organically, the crowd began to praise him. Did he enjoy their praise or resent the intrusion? Was he nervous about the Romans’ scrutiny? He didn’t need to worry at the moment, as the scale of this display was less than that of the simultaneous arrival of Pilate; plus, only 1000 or so soldiers, stationed on Mt Olivet to prevent similar expressions of nationalistic spirit, were unlikely to risk dealing with a potentially large riot (during the reign of Herod Archelaus in 4 AD, thousands died, so they may have learned). Unfortunately, the event did not go entirely unnoticed, and in a few days, Jesus was arrested and charged with inciting a revolt. 

Decades later, each evangelist described this event with some variations, connecting it to their sacred texts and cultural symbols. Of these, three symbols appear in every account: donkeys, palms, and words from Ps 118. The donkey colt, which Jesus even manages to ride at the same time as the colt’s mother (Matt 21:7), referred to the custom of a military man arriving on a donkey, rather than a courser, to signify peaceful intentions. This is also how Zechariah 9:9 utilized the symbol centuries prior. Today, the donkey represents our ideals of humility, service, obedience, acceptance, bearing each other’s burdens – in a way, Jesus himself. 

The palms, sacred since the Mesopotamian times, also represent peace, as well as victory, eternal life, and Judea itself. In ancient Egypt, they were carried in funeral processions; in the Greco- Roman world – awarded to athletes and lawyers, held by the goddess Victory in artworks, and adorned the toga palmata that a general would don to signify the laying down of arms, similarly to riding a donkey. In Judea, palms were stamped on coinage in reference to dates being an important crop; and more significantly, the closed frond of the date palm was waved in processions and covered the little outdoor huts built during the festival of Sukkot, celebrating the miracles of Exodus (i.e., freedom). The palms may have given the people the idea to chant the lines from Ps 118 – originally a thanksgiving processional chant, which by Jesus’ time, became used at Sukkot morning prayer. So as some sang, “Hoshiah na! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord” (vs. 25-26), others may have been crying out “Yehoshua!” (Jesus), which is of the same root as “Hoshiah na” – “save us”. So today, the waving of the palms carries such multi-layered, multi-cultural symbolism: Near Eastern eternal life, Greco-Roman “peace as the aftermath of victory”, and Jewish freedom, thanksgiving, and salvation. 

But wait, when does Jesus mention Ps 118? He uses it to conclude the parable of the vineyard owner, whose son is killed by the wicked tenants, by stating that, “the Son of Man has to suffer and be rejected” (Matt 21:42), as “the builders rejected the cornerstone” (Ps 118:22). He had just been anointed for burial, and promised to tear down the Temple (of his body). Tradition has Jesus ride the donkey through the Golden Gate, where the Messiah was expected and the Presence of God once appeared – but, he had got to Temple Mount by way of Bethphage, the way of the sacrificial lambs. As time went by, etymologically unrelated words “pasthein” (suffering) and “pascha” (Passover) fused in the minds of early Christians, and informed our Paradox of Faith: the Paschal mystery of Christ.

This week, we will continue to reflect on how easily the tables may turn, how quickly we may betray those whom we love, saying “I don’t know you – prove yourself!” And yet, intuitively, we know that, “when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead… Death itself would start working backwards” (C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe / The Magician’s Nephew). This week, let us continue to ponder the hope of the paradox of our faith, and whenever we arrive to worship, may we bring the only sacrifice with which we can fully respond to that of Jesus — “the sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving” (as per our Eucharistic Prayer). Amen.

Reflection Questions

Consider the poem by Mary Oliver, “The Poet Thinks about a Donkey”.

1. As the donkey waited, tied up, on the outskirts of a busy city, he
observed the doves and horses who moved freely. Do you think the
donkey felt jealousy, resignation, duty, or something else? Recall
some situations in your own life when you felt “stuck”, tied up, bound
by obligations or circumstances, and watched others “fly” and
“gallop”. How did that make you feel?

2. Did you notice that in the second half of the poem, it becomes less
clear whether the poet is really still thinking about the donkey, or
shifts her attention to Jesus himself? What characteristics of the
animal echo those of Jesus and create this impression?

3. Do you think Jesus was brave and filled with understanding, could
imagine what was to happen, or simply “lifted one dusty foot and
stepped, as he had to, forward”? When have you felt the same way?