Broken Hosanna
“This who went ahead and those who followed shouted, ‘Hosanna!
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!’”
Mark 11:9
Dear Friends,
Today is Palm Sunday—a day I’ve long envisioned with parade floats, fireworks, and a marching band. In my imagination, this day involved a rushed and excited crowd ready to build a throne to crown Jesus king, like this parade was an upcoming coronation. But this day on that West Side of Jerusalem didn’t include a marching band ready to celebrate or marching troops ready to defend.
That day was crowded with desperate people needing rescue, desperate people needing hope, desperate people needing a word of life, not death.
This wasn’t a crowd who wanted popularity, influence, huge homes, or big bank accounts. I think this crowd was made up of people at the bottom of power whose entire lives were wilderness existences of loss and lack. The crowd contained widows whose husbands were crucified by Rome, walking alongside formerly blind and homeless men. The people shouting “hosanna” had lost land and lives to Roman occupation. They lived moment by moment, day by day, and wondered where their next meal would come from. They weren’t looking for better vacation homes. They were looking to survive.
In the midst of Jewish religious elitism and Roman political oppression, Jesus came sauntering in on a donkey—making an ass and mockery of human power like some form of guerrilla theater. Jesus arrived into Jerusalem, not with fireworks and streamers but with protestors and demonstrators. This was a desperate crowd shouting and demanding in the craziest of fashions, “Save us!”. With tears of bold hope, this crowd laid bear raw-emotional vulnerability.
But we know the story because we bought the book and know the “ending.” The crowd wasn’t whisked away and rescued in the form they probably hoped for. I’m also not whisked away from this wilderness and rescued in the form I hope for. Palm Sunday isn’t the beginning of rescue from the wilderness. Palm Sunday was the start of a gentle wind, a slight breeze that disrupted religious elitism and political oppression when Pnuma tipped the scales away from posturing and towards presence. Away from escapism and towards self-sacrifice. Away from control and towards inner-transformation. The wind of the Holy Spirit sauntered into Jerusalem and disrupted all notions of violent retaliation on that Palm Sunday when people were so very desperate.
We desperately shout “hosanna” at the injustice and hatred of this world, holding signs of protest. We shout “hosanna” towards Christ and away from political power and human might, knowing their promise of rescue looks like earth instead of heaven. We shout “hosanna” with voices cracking and tears falling because things aren’t made right, yet. Today we shout, “Hosanna! Save us!” with the same holy desperation and sacred disappointment as those when Jesus sauntered into Jerusalem in the exact opposite way of power. "Hosanna" has the potential to usher heaven to earth--rescue to broken places today.
Hosanna, my friends. A desperate and broken hosanna.
With (love),
Bethany