There’s Always Some Dude Behind a Podium: A Palm Sunday Reflection
Last week my wife and I got to introduce our friend, Esther, to our city. During our tour of downtown, while walking through a plaza we approached a statue of a general riding a horse. “Who's that?” Esther asked. “General Osório,” I replied. “I don’t know much about him, but stuff is named for him all over Brazil; in Rio too.”
Brian Zahnd, in his book Postcards from Babylon, remarks that in all his travels, especially in European capitals, he always happens upon a statue like this. He told his wife in Lisbon one day, “There's always some dude on a horse.” She agreed, and it became a running joke for them during their trip.
The reason for these statues is to remind everyone of the state’s power, often demonstrated through violence and bloodshed. As Zahnd remarks, it makes a difference if the dude on the horse is your dude. I may have no connection to General Osório, but in Washington D.C. I can admire George Washington on horseback.
Zahnd goes on to talk about how horses represented even in biblical times the power of military might, so (naturally) the Bible frequently downplays horses. It was conventional wisdom for worldly empires to trust in them, so in contrast God told his people not to keep too many of them on hand (Dt 17:16). That way they could rely on God. Of course, as is often the case in the story of God’s people, the gravitational thrust to be like the rest of the world led to plenty of horses for the armies of Israel, much to the dismay of God and his prophets (Is 2.5-8).
The prophet Zechariah has a series of poems that rail against worldly empires and their reliance on riches, military might, and, yes, even horses. And in a promise of hope for God’s oppressed people, Zachariah shares the image of a different kind of leader, riding a different kind of animal:
Rejoice greatly, Daughter Zion!
Shout, Daughter Jerusalem!
See, your king comes to you,
righteous and victorious,
lowly and riding on a donkey,
on a colt, the foal of a donkey.
I will take away the chariots from Ephraim
and the warhorses from Jerusalem,
and the battle bow will be broken.
He will proclaim peace to the nations.
His rule will extend from sea to sea
and from the River to the ends of the earth (9:9-10 NIV).
During the first century Rome’s military might was unquestioned and its leaders proudly paraded around on horseback, surrounded by both cavalry and infantry. They loved to show off their lethal potency and violent strength. The time of the Passover was a volatile time in Jerusalem each year under Roman occupation, as Israel’s freedom was limited with the specter of Rome’s governance and military might always looming over the festivities. Festivities that, ironically enough, commemorated Israel's deliverance from their enslavement in Egypt under a mighty military power—one that definitely used horses (Ex 14 and 15).
Although Pontius Pilate was no Jew, he made a habit of coming into Jerusalem this time of year to remind everyone who’s really in charge of the city. Zahnd pictures the grand entrance of Pilate, riding on horseback, at the front of a military parade with all the uniforms, pomp, and weaponry such parades like to display. There would be no doubt as to the lethality of Rome’s army and the potential for violence, death, and destruction under Pilate’s command were things to get out of hand during the Passover. In other words, Pilate that week was Rome’s dude on a horse, which brings us to the first Palm Sunday when Jesus fulfills the prophecy of Zechariah.
Palm Sunday
Jesus entered Jerusalem, not on a horse—not even on a donkey, but on a colt, the foal of a donkey. Zahnd imagines Jesus struggling to keep his feet of the ground because such a small animal is nearly impossible to ride on as a grown adult. Instead of a mighty military surrounding him with pomp and weapons, Jesus was with his all-too-ordinary disciples who were armed with palm branches.
Although this display was as much of an anti-military parade as it could be, Jesus’ entrance still got people’s attention. The Pharisees, worried about heightened tension with Rome exploding during this volatile week, asked Jesus to quiet his disciples, but he refused (Lu 19:39-40). It turns out, though, that the Pharisees had nothing to be worried about. The people of Jerusalem, even the ones waiting for the coming of the promised Messiah, were looking for their own dude on a horse, one who would wage a bloody, deadly, and costly uprising against Rome. No one like that paraded into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. Instead, Jesus came in peace on a colt, the foal of a donkey. And he was rejected by the city for it, as Luke tells us:
As he [Jesus] approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace—but now it is hidden from your eyes. The days will come upon you when your enemies will build an embankment against you and encircle you and hem you in on every side. They will dash you to the ground, you and the children within your walls. They will not leave one stone on another, because you did not recognize the time of God’s coming to you (19:41-44 NIV).
The bloody, deadly, and costly uprising eventually did come, except once it came its aftermath left Jerusalem in ruins and many of its people dead—just as Jesus lamented.
People love a good parade, but it’s often an open question which parade God’s people will get excited about marching in: The one led by some dude on a majestic horse with a lethally-trained, weaponized army following him, or the other one led by a lowly, peaceful king on a little donkey surrounded by ordinary people waving palm branches.
I wonder what statues the future will bring because today’s warriors don’t ride horses anymore. Instead, they dress up in suits and appear in front of a podium with a microphone. But their message remains the same: promises of lethality and threats of violence, all while shrugging off widespread death and destruction of innocent people and their communities as merely the cost of doing business. Today’s armies also don’t march in many parades either. Instead, they advertise themselves through social media videos that glorify violence in a way that I can only describe as ghoulish, setting aside any scrap of recognition of the sanctity of all human life.
There’s always some dude behind a podium. There’s always some celebration of military might. And as God’s people there’s always the temptation to trust in military might, war, and violence. Some of us can’t wait to break the third commandment and try to put God’s rubber stamp of approval on it all. But on Palm Sunday as God’s people we can gather once more to imagine a peaceable kingdom that has at its center our righteous and victorious Savior.
Before Isaiah lamented about God’s people trusting in horses, he writes about that peaceable Kingdom of God:
In the last days the mountain of the Lord’s temple will be established as the highest of the mountains; it will be exalted above the hills, and all nations will stream to it.
Many peoples will come and say, “Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the temple of the God of Jacob. He will teach us his ways, so that we may walk in his paths.” The law will go out from Zion, the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.
He will judge between the nations and will settle disputes for many peoples. They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore.
Come, descendants of Jacob, let us walk in the light of the Lord (2:2-5 NIV).
Were Isaiah writing in the 2020s there’d be language about stripping down the parts of Tomahawk Missiles to build tractors and repurposing war drones to deliver humanitarian aid instead of bombs. But the last part would remain the same for us spiritual descendants of Jacob - Let us walk in the light of the Lord. Or as the Moravians used to sing, “Our lamb has conquered, him let us follow!”