Palm Sunday: A New Way to Read the Story

A talk given on April 13, 2025, for the Unitarian Universalist Church of Pensacola

Click here to watch a recording of this talk

My background is in Christian ministry, and one thing you carry with you from Christian ministry is just how foundational Bible stories are. Not just in the practice of Christianity, either, but in the broader culture that evangelical Christianity has spread its roots through. Many of the systems we’ve developed are built on a cultural imagination informed by these stories, and so it’s been my experience that when you start to mess with these stories, people get a little touchy. I mean, of course they do. They’ve built a lot on these stories. They’ve invested a lot of authority in them. But that’s why messing with them every so often isn’t just helpful… It’s imperative. Because if they serve such an important part in upholding systems that need to be challenged, then challenging those stories is also a means of directly challenging the systems.

Case and point: The Palm Sunday story. In certain readings, this story doesn’t have a whole lot going for it. It’s the kickoff to Holy Week—Jesus’s last week in Jerusalem, moving towards Good Friday and culminating in Easter. It’s about the day Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey as people waved palm branches and cried “Hosanna.” The Jesus in this story is fairly mild—really just a mouthpiece for later theological claims about fulfilling prophecy and justifying atonement theories… but if we start to mess with that story… if we turn the jewel of interpretation just a little bit to make room for some possible broader cultural context… the story not only becomes far more interesting, but can actually pose an active threat to many of the narrative assumptions about Jesus that support oppressive systems in our place and time.

So, this morning, as an example of the kind of work we can do with these stories, I’d like to take a closer look at the Palm Sunday story. I’d like to look at the way it’s typically told, at something that happened that changed the way I read it, and then I’d like to walk through the story to ask ourselves: What does this mean for us?

Let’s start here: For those of you unfamiliar with the Palm Sunday story—or who need a refresher—let’s start with a brief reading from the Gospel of Luke. Here, Jesus has been working his way across the countryside, going on a tour of villages, teaching and healing, and generally attracting attention by being a great guy… and by Luke 19:29, he’s headed back to Jerusalem for the Passover festival.

The text says: Jesus pushed onward, climbing the steep hills toward Jerusalem. He approached the towns of Bethphage and Bethany, which are near the Mount of Olives, and he sent two of the disciples ahead. “Go to the next village,” he said. “When you enter, you will find a tied-up colt—a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you why you’re untying it, say, “The Lord needs it.”  (Which, quick pause, how is that a good excuse? What are you doing with my car? Oh, “The Lord needs it…”) So, the two disciples found things just as he had told them. When its owners did indeed ask why they were untying the colt, the disciples answered as they had been instructed, saying, “The Lord needs it.”  (And apparently, it worked.)

They brought the colt to Jesus, threw their coats on the colt’s back, and then sat Jesus on it. As Jesus rode along, some people began to spread their garments on the road as a carpet. When they passed the crest of the Mount of Olives and began descending toward Jerusalem, a huge crowd of disciples began to celebrate and praise God with loud shouts, glorifying God for the mighty works they had witnessed. They sang, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven! Glory in the highest!” (In some gospels, they sang, “Hosanna to the son of David!”) Then, some Pharisees who were in the crowd tried to reason with Jesus, saying, “Teacher, tell these people to stop!”

But Jesus answered them, “If they were silent, the very stones would start to shout!”

This is the Palm Sunday story.

Now, I don’t know what kind of baggage you’re bringing to this story, if any, but growing up, I heard this as a story about checking boxes and balancing equations. This story references four(ish) different Hebrew scriptures about the Messiah, each proving that Jesus is, in fact, our guy. He’s the savior we’ve been waiting for.

There’s Zechariah 9:9: Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, a colt.

There’s Psalm 118: Hosanna, O Lord! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord. (Which is what the people are shouting as he rides in.)

There’s Zechariah 14:4: On that day his feet shall stand on the Mount of Olives east of Jerusalem…

And there’s 2 Kings: They hurried and took their cloaks and spread them under him on the bare steps...

Other gospels also incorporate Isaiah 62… and so on.

For me, then, this story was about proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jesus is the Messiah. It was part of the formulaic foundation for being able to believe confidently that everything happening was part of God’s divinely ordained plan to save humanity from their sins. It establishes Jesus as the ultimate authority to whom every knee shall bow and every government ultimately submit. It may not have been that compelling a story, but it was sure important to the Christendom I defended.

Now, maybe it’s clear from the way I talk about it, but that reading isn’t so interesting to me anymore. I’ve seen the kind of world it creates, and I’m not all that interested. I’m uncomfortable with this image of God. I’m less comfortable with a Divine plan that justifies as much suffering as this one does. And I’m even less comfortable with the kind of theocracy tellers of this story seem hell-bent on creating. But luckily, this isn’t the only way to read it. In fact, there’s an alternative reading that doesn’t just go in a different direction, but actively challenges the kind of world this original reading creates.

Around 2016, I started to come into contact with the work of authors like Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan. It’s a reading that requires us, for a moment, to zoom out. To see the bigger contextual story taking place here and, against that background, how everything starts to change. Now, there are a few things we need to know for this reading to make sense.

The first thing we need to know: The Palm Sunday story happens at Passover. This is the time of the year when pilgrims came from all of Judea to sacrifice and tell the story of when God overpowered Egypt’s armies, throwing horse and rider into the sea and leading slaves into liberation.

The second thing we need to know: A lot of people came to this festival. The population of Jerusalem rose from 20,000 to 200,000 for about a week.

The third thing we need to know: This whole thing made Rome a little jumpy. Rome, it turned out, did not love it when its subjects got together to tell stories of overthrowing oppressive armies. So, in true Roman form, at the beginning of the festival each year, the Governor—who usually lived in Caesarea—would make a big show of riding into Jerusalem with his armored war horses playing fanfare and waving banners. He wanted to remind the people just who was in charge—to dissuade them from getting any… ideas. Of course, the Roman Governor at the time of this story was named Pilate, and if you know the Good Friday story, you see the pieces falling into place.

So, to recap: It’s Passover. There are a lot of people telling a very subversive story. And it makes the occupying powers that be nervous enough to stage a show of force, entering the city in a great parade.

Which leads me to the last thing we need to know: It is very possible that as Pilate’s parade is entering from one side of the city, the Palm Sunday procession Jesus is leading, is happening on the other side of the city, at the exact same time. And in that context, things get a lot more interesting.

In that context, Jesus’s Triumphal Entry doesn’t become about checking prophetic boxes, but about using prophetic images to protest a very specific thing.

While Pilate rides in from the west, Jesus rides in from the east.

While Pilate rides on a war horse, Jesus rides on a donkey.

While Pilate’s people sing war hymns, Jesus’s people sing “Hosanna”—which means, “save us!”

While Pilate’s people wield banners, swords, and spears, Jesus’s people wield palm branches—symbols of Judean liberation.

Against his backdrop, Jesus’s parade isn’t a coronation; it’s a parody of a coronation. It’s a protest. Anti-imperial street theater. And suddenly that story hits different.

So, as I said, I’d like to walk through that story, character by character, to see what we notice—to see what it does to us—and in finding ourselves in this story, may we hear echoes of our own.

Obviously, the first character who stands out to me is Jesus, because the Jesus in this telling not only has courage, but also incredible creativity. Speaking out against Roman injustice is not an easy thing to do with crosses on the horizon, and he recognizes that to do it with sword in hand is not a fight he could ever win—nor, with all his teaching about loving his enemy, do I think he wants to. So, what does he do? He fights with art. Prophetic images. It’s the epitome of what some call “the third way.” In other words, if you only have two options in the face of suffering—taking up a sword or doing nothing—you pick the third way. Take up a palm branch. Find ways to embody resistance and hope without fighting on your opponent’s terms—to disrupt without adding to the cycle of violence. When I see Jesus in this story, I see a courage and creativity that invite me into a different way of thinking about any kind of interpersonal or political conflict. What does that mean for the way I interact with this world?

Then, after Jesus, there are the disciples. We don’t get a whole lot on them in this story, but I can’t help but wonder if they’re kind of embarrassed. Setting aside the whole “the Lord needs it” thing—which is all kinds of problematic—I wonder if, when Jesus told them his plan, they said, “You’re gonna do what? You’re gonna ride in on a donkey? We can get you a horse if you want a horse—do you want a horse?” And yet, because of all the time they’ve spent with Jesus—because they’ve seen his heart and the kinds of things he can do—they trust him. They help make this protest a reality. When I see them in this story, I see all those helpers that surround the big-picture people to actually go get the donkey and make these powerful things happen. How does that change the way I see the kinds of roles that are necessary in affecting change?

Then, after the disciples, there are the crowds. And here’s the first thing I notice about the crowds: They are the protest. It’s tempting to make Jesus the hero in this story, and he is a hero in this story, but without this greater body of Christ showing up… there is no story. There’s just a guy on a donkey. Here, they are just as much incarnations of divine courage and hope and truth as Jesus is—waving palm branches in protest of injustice and crying out for salvation from the boot on their neck. On one hand, if this story is about Jesus, then the whole thing ends in disaster because he doesn’t make it through the week. But if it’s about the people? About this larger “body of Christ?” About this Spirit that they’re all serving and giving hands and feet and voice to? Then that’s a story that’s been going on since the beginning of time and continues to unfold in this room today. When I see the people in this story, I see the truest meaning of resurrection and eternal life that Easter points us to. Jesus died, but this greater body? It did not. What does this mean for the legacy and unfolding story in which I see myself?

So, we’ve got Jesus, the disciples, the crowds, and then there are the Pharisees. They have this single, unflattering line: “Teacher, tell these people to stop!” They try to reason with Jesus, it says. Now, these are the religious authorities. They’re the ones who like to play by the book. God is, to them, the Divine Rule Maker. And also, they are very much aware of who is riding into this city from the west and just how many swords they have. So, in the face of this body of people speaking truth and protesting oppression and hoping for a freer world, they say, “Are you out of your mind?! Do you know what they might do to us?” And, before we judge them too hard, can we acknowledge they have a point? If you doubt it, just fast forward to the end of the week with Jesus naked and beaten on a cross. They just want to survive—to protect the little bit of safety and stability they have left. When I see the Pharisees in this story, I see the drive for self-preservation—to survive and keep me and my kids safe and protect the little bit of stability we have left. What does this mean for how I judge others in this political moment?

But then, in response to the Pharisee’s objection, Jesus says, “If they were silent, the very stones would start to shout!” And this brings me to what I think of as the last (sort of) character. The stones. Nature. The Universe. God, if you will. When Jesus says this line, I hear it as him saying the universe itself bears witness to truth and freedom and equity—the only difference is we have a mouth. The whole cosmos preaches about the freedom that people in power try to tamp down and put a cap on. Nature teaches lesson after lesson about the equity Rome so fears. When I hear about the stones in this story, I see a claim that creation itself is the ultimate prophet, and whether we join it or not, it’ll win eventually. Even if we’re silent, it cries out. Our role is to listen and to echo. What does this mean for the larger story in which I’m caught up?

So, with this Jesus, these disciples, these crowds, these Pharisees, these stones… this is a story that doesn’t just serve a specific Christian tradition, but calls each of us to respond to this deeply human experience of facing suffering and injustice. It gives us spaces to step in and issues invitations that only we can hear, in the unique context of our lives. So, with our last couple of minutes, I’d like to read that story one more time, but this time, I want you to engage it with your own sacred imagination, asking yourself where you fit into this story. How is the world of the story like our world, and what does it invite you to do now? Where does it challenge or encourage you? Close your eyes if you like, but just let the story play out on the screen of your mind, seeing what you notice about how this telling interacts with the moment we’re in.

A reading from Luke 19: Jesus pushed onward, climbing the steep hills toward Jerusalem. He approached the towns of Bethphage and Bethany, which are near the Mount of Olives, and he sent two of the disciples ahead. “Go to the next village,” he said. “When you enter, you will find a tied-up colt—a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you why you’re untying it, just say, “The Lord needs it.” So, the disciples found things just as He had told them. When its owners did indeed ask why they were untying the colt, the disciples answered as they had been instructed, saying, “The Lord needs it.”

They brought the colt to Jesus, threw their coats on the colt’s back, and then sat Jesus on it. As Jesus rode along, some people began to spread their garments on the road as a carpet. When they passed the crest of the Mount of Olives and began descending toward Jerusalem, a huge crowd of disciples began to celebrate and praise God with loud shouts, glorifying God for the mighty works they had witnessed. They sang, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven! Glory in the highest!”

But some Pharisees who were in the crowd tried to reason with him, saying, “Teacher, tell these people to stop!”

But Jesus answered them, “If they were silent, the very stones would start to shout!”

This is the Palm Sunday Story.

So, moving into this week, what do these characters call you to do? What does this story do to the systems and assumptions we live in? How does this telling of the story speak an invitation to you?

Amen.