[Catholic Caucus] The Sacred Page: Jesus Cheered, then Killed: Readings for Palm/Passion Sunday

This Sunday’s readings might seem bipolar or schizophrenic. We begin Mass with exultant cheering as we relive Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. We end the Readings on a note of solemn silence, unable to process the reality of one of the most egregious abuses of judicial process and power in human history, in which the only innocent man ever to live is executed. What does it all mean?

Despite a few mysterious prophetic texts that seemed to intimate this possibility, the idea that the Messiah could arrive and subsequently be killed was radically counter-intuitive to most of first-century Jews.

Yet the conviction of the early Christians, based on Jesus of Nazareth’s own teachings about himself, was that the radically counter-intuitive impossibility was actually prophesied, if one had the eyes to see and the ears to hear it in Israel’s Scriptures.

The Readings for this Mass offer us two of the most poignant prophecies of the suffering of the Messiah.

1. Isaiah 50:4-7, the First Reading, is part of one of the several enigmatic “servant songs” characteristic of the second part of Isaiah (Isaiah 40-66). (I follow Benjamin Sommer in seeing Isa 40-66 as a literary unit.) The subject of these “songs” or poems is a mysterious “servant” of the Lord, who is described variously in the first, second and third person:

The Lord GOD has given me a well-trained tongue, that I might know how to speak to the weary a word that will rouse them. Morning after morning he opens my ear that I may hear; and I have not rebelled, have not turned back. I gave my back to those who beat me, my cheeks to those who plucked my beard; my face I did not shield from buffets and spitting.

The Lord GOD is my help, therefore I am not disgraced; I have set my face like flint, knowing that I shall not be put to shame.

Isaiah 50:4-7 is a first-person account of the Servant. He refers to his persecutions: “I gave my back to those who struck me, and my cheeks to those who pulled out the beard.” Yet he is confident of vindication: “I have set my face like a flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame.”

This is the lesser of two passages in Isaiah that speak of the sufferings of the servant. The other, more famous and longer, passage is Isaiah 52:13–53:12, which the Church saves for the Good Friday liturgy.

With respect to both passages, we may well take up the query of the Ethiopian Eunuch (Acts 8:34): “About whom does the prophet say this, about himself or about someone else?”

It is a puzzle. Traditionally the passage has been understood as the writing of Isaiah the prophet of Jerusalem. Yet we know of no physical persecution of Isaiah like this. Modern critical scholarship divides Isaiah into at least three different main sections, with different authors and a multitude of anonymous “redactors” or editors. Isaiah 50 might be attributed to an exilic “deutero“ or “second Isaiah.” Yet nothing is known about the personal life or ministry of this hypothetical prophet, aside from speculation based on the text of the oracles themselves.

The common conviction of the followers of Jesus of Nazareth is that these texts speak of Him; moreover, that the prophecies of the Scriptures of Israel only make sense and come into focus when seen in the light of the life, death, and resurrection of this Jesus, who was and is the anointed Servant.

So we can take the words of Isaiah 50 as the words of Jesus himself. Although he submits to torture and death (“I gave my back to those who beat me …”) he knows that he will be vindicated (“knowing that I shall not be put to shame”). This confidence in the midst of suffering is important for interpreting the Gospel for this Sunday.

2. The Responsorial Psalm—Psalm 22:8-9, 17-20, 23-24—is perhaps the most dramatic in the psalter, and has always been understood as a prophecy of the passion:

All who see me scoff at me; ,
they mock me with parted lips, they wag their heads: ,
“He relied on the LORD; let him deliver him,
let him rescue him, if he loves him.”R.

Indeed, many dogs surround me, ,
a pack of evildoers closes in upon me; ,
They have pierced my hands and my feet; ,
I can count all my bones. R.

They divide my garments among them,
and for my vesture they cast lots.
But you, O LORD, be not far from me;
O my help, hasten to aid me. R.

I will proclaim your name to my brethren;
in the midst of the assembly I will praise you:
“You who fear the LORD, praise him;
all you descendants of Jacob, give glory to him; revere him, all you descendants of Israel!” R.

In Christian interpretation, we are used to thinking of the Old Testament as speaking literally (for example, of the “promised land”), but these literal statements receive a figurative fulfillment in the New Testament (the “promised land” = heaven). In certain instances, however, this pattern is reversed. Psalm 22 is an example.

In certain places, the psalmist (David, according to tradition) describes his afflictions in a way that can only be figurative or hyperbolic: “I am poured out like water,” “all my bones are out of joint,” “they have pierced my hands and feet,” “I can count all my bones.”

We know of no instance where any of these things were true literally of David or any other Old Testament figure. They are emotive overstatements of the psalmist’s suffering. Yet, they receive a literal fulfillment in Christ. The literal fulfillment in Christ’s passion is a condescension of God to us. It is God writing in big letters in order that we get the point.

Todah means “thanks” or “praise,” and the Todah is the “sacrifice of thanksgiving” legislated by Moses in Leviticus 7:11ff. It was a kind of animal sacrifice not offered in reparation for sin, but out of thanksgiving for some saving act that the LORD had done for the worshipper.

Excellent work on the Todah and its significance for the psalms has been done by Hartmut Gese, followed by Joseph Ratzinger, and summarized superbly by our own Michael Barber.

The Todah was a festive sacrifice offered as part of a lived cycle of experiences in which you (1) began in a situation of distress, (2) cried out to God, (3) made a vow to offer the Todah if God would save you, (4) God saved you, (5) you paid your vow by offering the Todah sacrifice in the temple, (6) you had a festive party as you and your family and friends ate the meat of the sacrifice and all the bread that was required (see Leviticus 7:11ff), and (7) you gave public testimony to all assembled in the Temple concerning how God saved you.

Interestingly, the Passover, if categorized according to the genres of sacrifices in Leviticus 1-7, would fall under the category of the Todah sacrifice.

The Todah is significant to the Psalter, because it seems that a large number of Psalms were written for part or all of the Todah cycle described above. Important Todah psalms include Psalm 116 (my personal favorite), Psalm 50, 56, 100, and several others, including perhaps the most complete, today’s Psalm 22.

Jesus cites Psalm 22 from the cross. The so-called “Cry of Dereliction,” (“My God, My God ...”) is, of course, actually the first line of Psalm 22.

I think Jesus’ cry from the cross is over-read theologically sometimes, as if it indicated that Jesus felt utterly separated from the Father and had lost the beatific vision. Of course, Our Lord’s sufferings were extreme, and difficult for us to comprehend, but the cry of dereliction is not proof that he lost the beatific vision or experienced radical separation from the Father.

The psalms in antiquity were almost certainly not known by their present numberings, because the numbering systems varied according to different editions of the psalter (for example, Qumran’s 11QPalmsa). The way to refer to a psalm was probably by its first line—a practice similar to the traditional Jewish naming of biblical books by their first words (also done in the Catholic tradition with Papal documents).

So when Jesus cites “My God, My God ...” from the cross in today’s Gospel, he is really making a reference to all of Psalm 22, inviting the bystanders to interpret what is happening to him in light of this psalm.

With that in mind, fast forward to the end of Psalm 22. How does the Psalm end? Our Responsorial includes some of the end:
I will proclaim your name to my brethren; in the midst of the assembly I will praise you: “You who fear the LORD, praise him; all you descendants of Jacob, give glory to him; revere him, all you descendants of Israel!”

The “assembly” spoken of here is the qahal in Hebrew, the ekklesia in Greek, the Church in English. It’s a mystical prophesy of the glorification of God in the Church, which will ever praise Him for the salvation he accomplished for his messianic servant.

Too bad our Responsorial only quotes part of the end of the Psalm, because many other things are mentioned in Psalms 22:22-31, including the “poor” eating and being satisfied (v. 26; Eucharistic typology) and future generations praising God (vv. 30-31; the transmission of the faith through the generations).

I suspect he did. Though he was in agony on the cross, he also knew this was the path to triumph (see Mark 8:31; 9:31; 10:34; 14:58; 15:29). Psalm 22 begins in agony but ends with eternal victory.

3. The Second Reading is the famous “Christ Hymn” of Philippians 2:6-11:

Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness; and found human in appearance, he humbled himself, becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Because of this, God greatly exalted him and bestowed on him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, of those in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

This famous passage—often thought to be a early Christian hymn or creed that St. Paul is quoting—gives an outline of the whole Gospel. Jesus did not see “equality with God as something to be seized,” using the Greek word harpagmon, from a root harpazo, “to snatch or seize, often quickly or violently.” Jesus is thus a contrast with the Greco-Roman mythical hero Prometheus, who ascended to the realm of the gods and “snatched” fire, bringing it back to man in an effort to attain equality with the divine. So Prometheus has always stood as an icon of rebellion against God or the gods, and a worldview that imagines the divine as opposed to or limiting the human. In this worldview, humanity is liberated and fulfilled at the expense of the divine; the realm of God must be rolled back to make way for the kingdom of man. This spirit continues to animate the New Atheist movement in our own day (with their flagship publisher, Prometheus Books), which is more a miso-theistic (God-hating) cultural force than an a-theistic (no-God) one.

In contrast to Prometheus, Jesus does not conceive of the relationship between God and man as one of antagonism, in which the divine nature must be violently “snatched” from the Divinity. Jesus empties himself of the glory of his divinity in order to descend to the status of creature, of “slave.” Crucifixion was the form of execution mandated for slaves; citizens could not be crucified. Having taken on human nature, he submits to the death of slaves: “even death on a cross.” But paradoxically, this great act of self-giving love shows the glory of Jesus and the glory of God. Truly, a God who would so empty himself out of love is greater, more lovable, more worthy of worship, than a God who will not give of himself. The cross is the glory of our God. So God the Father bestows on Jesus “the Name which is above every name”, so that at the Name of Jesus, “every knee should bend.” St. Paul probably has in mind here the ancient ritual of the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), on which, according to the Mishnah, the High Priest would exit the Holy of Holies after making atonement for Israel and pronounce the priestly blessing of Numbers 6 upon the gathered worshipers. This was the one day a year (apparently) when the Divine Name YHWH was pronounced audibly, and each time the assembly heard the name pronounced, they dropped to the ground in prostration. The name of “Jesus” is now heir to the glory of the divine name YHWH. In the Name of Jesus we now find salvation. Thus, in the Catholic tradition we bow the head at the Name of Jesus and celebrate the Feast Day of the Most Holy Name of Jesus (Jan 3), for which our present text is an optional Second Reading.

Unlike the New Atheists, the Jesus and his disciples do not regard the divine-human relationship as one of antagonism where goods are “snatched” from each other, but a relationship of communion, love, and self-gift. The human is not exalted at the expense of the divine; rather, human and divine are exalted together. God and man are mutually glorified by loving each other. Humanity becomes more human by becoming more divine. Divinization also humanizes.

4. Our Gospel Reading is one of the longest of the year: the whole Passion account according to Luke 22:14-23:56. There is so much going on in this passage, it is impossible to comment on it all. Just a few remarks:

· In his account of the Institution of the Eucharist, Luke stresses Our Lord’s insistence that he would not eat or drink again until the coming of the kingdom. This sets us up to appreciate the significance of the meals Jesus shares with the Apostles after his resurrection (Acts 10:42). They indicate that the kingdom has indeed come. The Church is the manifestation of the kingdom on earth.

· Luke also stresses the identification of the Eucharistic elements as the new covenant itself: “This cup is the new covenant in my blood,” that is, consisting of my blood, Jesus says. Luke alone records Jesus saying “new covenant,” a rare phrase that occurs only one place in the Old Testament, in Jeremiah 31:31. Jesus clearly means to indicate that the promised new covenant of Jeremiah 31:31-34 (worth re-reading!) is being fulfilled here and now. The new covenant IS Jesus’ body and blood. As Scott Hahn is fond of pointing out, the new covenant is not a book, but a sacrament. The Eucharist is the new covenant, full stop. That’s worth pondering. Since a covenant is the extension of kinship by oath, what better oath-ritual could there be than to actually have the covenant members eat the flesh and blood of the covenant-maker. You are what you eat! We are Jesus! No, seriously. Ponder these verses: Galatians 2:20, Acts 9:4.

· Jesus actually confers the kingdom on the shoulders of the Apostles, who are his 12 officers over the Kingdom (see 1 Kings 4:7), right at the Last Supper. The Greek word used is actually the verb, “to make a covenant.” Jesus literally “covenants” the kingdom to the Apostles. This shows us the close relationship between the new covenant and the kingdom, which becomes visible in the Church.

· The promise of thrones to the Apostles is fulfilled and manifest in their successors the bishops, who sit on their kathedra and judge the various “tribes” of the reconstituted Israel.

· Simon Peter’s weakness and authority both come to light. Jesus knows he will flee (weakness) but commissions him to regather the other apostles when he comes to his senses (authority). The whole history of the Papacy is wrapped up in those few verses.

· The threefold denial of Our Lord is a round number. Jesus meant: deny me at least three times. Actually, Peter made many formal and informal denials during the whole process. The different Gospels are selective, and sometimes choose different episodes as examples of the “three denials.”

· Jesus response to the Council when questioned about being the Messiah: “You say that I am,” is not as ambiguous as it sounds to us. It’s clearly an affirmation and they understood it as such. It’s a bit like our English idiom, “You said it!”

· Luke records Pilate trying to evade condemning Jesus by sending him to Herod (a descendant of Herod the great). Pilate clearly doesn’t think Jesus has done anything wrong and uses several techniques to try to get Jesus off the hook, like making the crowd choose between Jesus and a hated terrorist (Barabbas). Nonetheless, Pilate cannot be excused for capitulating to the unjust demands of the crowd. It was a failure of fortitude.

· Luke records Jesus’ last words as “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit,” a quote from Psalm 31:5. It is a todah Psalm, very similar to Psalm 22, and with the same significance. Much of Psalm 31 sounds like a description of Jesus’ sufferings on the cross, yet it ends with triumph. Jesus knew he would be vindicated by a resurrection (Matt 16:21).

· Luke alone records the words of the centurion proclaiming the innocence of Jesus, probably because he knew his Greek-speaking Roman readers would appreciate the testimony of a relatively high-ranking military officer.

· The “linen cloth” that Joseph uses to wrap the body of Jesus is often thought to be the Shroud of Turin, that amazing cloth which seems to have taken a snapshot of the deceased body of Jesus just prior to his resurrection.

All of us have been baptized into the death of Christ (Romans 6). The mystery of the cross makes itself felt in all of our lives. The Christian life is, in fact, in constant tension between suffering death and being raised to new life. We can’t hold on to our lives as Christians: the only path forward is constant consent to our own interior (and sometimes exterior) deaths, which constantly leads to interior (and ultimately bodily) resurrection. It’s not an easy path of salvation and I think I would have preferred God had chosen another, but we must trust that a God who loves us so much as to die for us, also chose for us the best path of salvation.

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Dr. John Bergsma is Full Professor of Theology at the Franciscan University of Steubenville, in Steubenville, Ohio. He holds the M.Div. and Th.M. degrees from Calvin Seminary, Grand Rapids, Michigan, and served as a Protestant pastor for four years before entering the Catholic Church in 2001 while pursuing a Ph.D. in Theology from the University of Notre Dame. He specialized in the Old Testament and the Dead Sea Scrolls, graduating with high honors in 2004. His major study of the interpretation of the Year of Jubilee in ancient times is published as The Jubilee from Leviticus to Qumran (Brill Academic, 2007). These weekly meditations are now available in three hardcover volumes as "The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Years A, B, & C" (2021, Emmaus Road) https://www.johnbergsma.com/biography/

Also from the Sacred Page blog, here is a meditation on the Processional Psalm (Gospel before the Gospel) by Dr. Brant Pitre, an associate of Dr. Bergsma:

The Jewish Roots of Palm Sunday and the Passion

On this coming Sunday, the Church will bring us to what may be one of my favorite Masses and my favorite sets of Scripture readings in the entire liturgical year: Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord, popularly known simply as ‘Palm Sunday’.

With the Palm Sunday readings, the Church ushers us into the climax of the liturgical year in the celebration of Holy Week. This is the last Sunday feast before the beginning of the Triduum, which will climax in the celebration of Easter (Latin Pascha), what the Catechism calls the “feast of feasts” (CCC 1169).

As you may recall—especially if you have young children who need to be held the entire time the Gospel is being proclaimed!—this is one of the longest sets of readings in the entire liturgical year. For on this Sunday, the Church not only commemorates the Triumphal Entry of Jesus into Jerusalem six days before the Passover; she also lays before the faithful the complete account of Jesus’ Passion and death, according to one of the Synoptic Gospels (This year, being Year C, it is Luke’s account that we will hear.)

Given the sheer number and length of readings for this Sunday, it should go without saying that I can’t give a full analysis of them all. (Whole books have been written just on Luke’s account of the Passion!) Instead, what I’d like to do in this post is focus our attention on the Old Testament roots of the opening Gospel—the Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem—and show the deeper meaning behind Jesus’ actions and the way in which it anticipates the mysteries that will be revealed in the rest of the Palm Sunday readings, in his Passion, and in the Mass itself.

The Triumphal Entry of Jesus according to Luke

Unlike other Masses, Palm Sunday contains two proclamations of the Gospel. The first is from Luke’s account of Jesus Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem:

Jesus proceeded on his journey up to Jerusalem. As he drew near to Bethphage and Bethany at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples. He said, “Go into the village opposite you, and as you enter it you will find a colt tethered on which no one has ever sat. Untie it and bring it here. And if anyone should ask you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ you will answer, ‘The Master has need of it.’” So those who had been sent went off and found everything just as he had told them. And as they were untying the colt, its owners said to them, “Why are you untying this colt?” They answered, “The Master has need of it.” So they brought it to Jesus, threw their cloaks over the colt, and helped Jesus to mount. As he rode along, the people were spreading their cloaks on the road; and now as he was approaching the slope of the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of his disciples began to praise God aloud with joy for all the mighty deeds they had seen. They proclaimed: “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord. Peace in heaven and glory in the highest.” Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples.” He said in reply, “I tell you, if they keep silent, the stones will cry out!” (Luke 19:28-40; New American Bible)

Now, there are many aspects of this event that could command our attention. But the two that I think are most critical to a proper understanding of the event are (1) the Jewish roots of Jesus’ act of riding the colt into the city, and (2) the Jewish roots of the crowd’s response to his action.

Why Does Jesus Ride a Colt into Jerusalem?

As is fairly well known, by choosing to publicly mount and ride a “colt” into Jerusalem in the midst of the procession of so many Passover pilgrims into the city, Jesus is performing what scholars refer to as a prophetic sign—a symbolic act which is meant to both symbolize and set in motion some major event in the history of salvation. In this case, Jesus’ act of riding the colt into Jerusalem harks back to Zechariah’s prophecy of the advent of the Messiah—the long-awaited king of Israel—to the city of Jerusalem (see Zechariah 9:9). However, there is more here than simply an implicitly messianic public act. For when we go back to the prophecy of Zechariah and read it in its full context, we discover several other important features of this particular messianic king:

Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on an ass, on a colt the foal of an ass. I will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war horse from Jerusalem; and the battle bow shall be cut off, and he shall command peace to the nations; his dominion shall be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth. As for you also, because of the blood of my covenant with you, I will set your captives free from the waterless pit. (Zechariah 9:10-11)

Three aspects of Zechariah’s prophecy are worth highlighting here: (1) he is a king of peace, not war; (2) he is king of the whole world; and (3) he will set his people free from “the Pit”—the realm of the dead—through the blood of the covenant. Let’s take a minute to look at each of these in turn and see how they are fulfilled in the Passion of Jesus.

1. The King Who Rides the Colt will be a King of Peace

First, notice that according to Zechariah, the messianic king who will come riding on a colt into Jerusalem is not just any kind of king: he is a king of peace. He will not be coming to wage earthly warfare, but to make the chariot and the war horse cease from Jerusalem.

The Palm Sunday readings will make the same point in Luke’s account of Jesus’ Passion: in Gethsemane, when Jesus’ disciples realize that he is about to be arrested, they begin to fight back with the sword, and one of them (Simon Peter, as we know from John’s Gospel), cuts off the “right ear” of the high priest’s servant. In response to this, Jesus declares:

“Stop, no more of this!” Then he touched the servant’s ear and healed him. (Luke 22:51 NAB)

Although he is Messiah, neither Jesus (nor his followers) will rule through the power of the sword, but through the power of imitating him---the “one who serves”--and by taking up their crosses to follow him (see Luke 22:24-27).

2. The King Who Rides the Colt will be King of the World

Second, notice also that according to Zechariah’s prophecy, the king that will come riding a colt will also be a universal king; his dominion shall not be just over the people of Israel, but to the ends of the earth (Zech 9:10).

Once again, we see this element of Jesus’ Triumphal Entry fulfilled in his Passion and death. Although the inscription his executioners put above his head read, “This is the King of the Jews” (Luke 23:38), at the moment of his death, it is a Gentile centurion who recognizes the innocence of Jesus:

It was now about noon and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon because of an eclipse of the sun. Then the veil of the temple was torn down the middle. Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit”; and when he had said this he breathed his last. The centurion who witnessed what had happened glorified God and said, “This man was innocent beyond doubt.” When all the people who had gathered for this spectacle saw what had happened, they returned home beating their breasts… (Luke 22:44-48)

As I was preparing this reflection, I could not help but note one striking application to the present celebration of the liturgy. Not only does Jesus’ rule over the Gentile nations begin when the Gentile centurion recognizes his innocence, but it is also at this very moment—the moment of his death— that the Lectionary contains a rule for the faithful throughout the world to kneel. It says:

[Jesus] breathed his last
[Here all kneel and pause for a short time.]
The centurion who witnessed what had happened glorified God…

By inserting our act of kneeling into the moment between Jesus death and the recognition of the Gentile centurion, in a certain way, the Liturgy itself realizes the prophecy of Zechariah 9. At this moment, on Palm Sunday, throughout the world, Gentiles everywhere will kneel to the King of the Jews. Indeed, one cannot help but see in the liturgical act of the faithful kneeling in silence at the death of Jesus a fulfillment of the Second Reading for Palm Sunday:

Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave… he humbled himself, becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Because of this, God greatly exalted him and bestowed on him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend… (Philippians 2:5-10)

3. The King Who Rides the Colt, the Blood of the Covenant, and the Release from “the Pit”

Third and finally, according to Zechariah’s prophecy, the king who rides the colt into Jerusalem will not deliver his people through the shedding of blood in battle, but through the mysterious “blood of the covenant,” which will somehow set captives free from the realm of the dead known as “the Pit” in the Old Testament (Zech 9:10-11).

Once again, this Old Testament background of Jesus’ Triumphal Entry on Palm Sunday ultimately points forward to what he will accomplish in his Passion. For in the Upper Room, at the Last Supper, we find a striking parallel with Zechariah’s prophecy:

When the hour came, Jesus took his place at table with the apostles…Then he took the bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, which will be given for you; do this in memory of me.” And likewise the cup after they had eaten, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which will be shed for you.” (Luke 22:19-22)

In other words, by means of his Triumphal Entry, Jesus is signaling much more than just the fact that he is the Messiah. He is also signaling what kind of Messiah he will be, and by what means he will set his people free from captivity—not by the blood of warfare, but by the blood of the covenant, which he will pour out under the appearance of wine in the Upper Room and on the wood of the Cross on Good Friday. It is by means of this blood, poured out upon the Cross on Calvary, that he promise the penitent thief that he will not go down to the shadows of the Pit, but into the glory of Paradise:

Now one of the criminals hanging there reviled Jesus, saying, “Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us.” The other, however, rebuking him, said in reply, “Have you no fear of God, for you are subject to the same condemnation? And indeed, we have been condemned justly, for the sentence we received corresponds to our crimes, but this man has done nothing criminal.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” He replied to him, “Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” (Luke 22:39-43)

Note it well: the difference between the ‘good thief’ and the ‘bad thief’ is really about how they understand the nature of Jesus’ kingship. The first thinks Jesus Messiahship means that he will save his subjects from suffering and physical death. The good thief recognizes that Jesus kingdom is not of this world, and Jesus reveals to him, in the very midst of his agony, that the restoration he has come to give is not to the earthly land of Israel but to the promised land of “Paradise.”

The Palm Branches and the King Who Goes Up to the Altar to Offer Sacrifice

Finally, bringing our reflection to a close, I would like to make one last point about the crowd’s response to Jesus’ triumphal entry, with their proclamation of the words “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!” (Luke 19:38). As is also well known, the crowd is taking this chant from Psalm 118, a popular song that was sung during the feasts of Passover and Tabernacles. However, once again, when we go back and look at the Psalm in context, we discover yet again several striking features of the king whose arrival is being celebrated:

Open to me the gates of righteousness, that I may enter through them and give thanks to the LORD… The stone which the builders rejected has become the head of the corner... Save us, we beseech thee, O LORD! O LORD, we beseech thee, give us success! Blessed be he who enters in the name of the LORD! We bless you from the house of the LORD. The LORD is God, and he has given us light! Bind the festal procession with branches, up to the horns of the altar! Thou art my God, and I will give thanks to thee.. (Psalm 118:19, 22, 25-28).

Although much could be said about this passage, for our purposes here, one point above all should stand out: When the crowds greet Jesus with palm branches and chants, they are reenacting the words of Psalm 118. Yet in the Psalm itself, notice that the king is not simply coming into the city (‘open to me the gates)—he is going up to the Temple to offer sacrifice. And not just any kind of sacrifice, but the “thanksgiving” sacrifice, known in Hebrew as the todah offering (see Leviticus 7).

Once this Old Testament background to the crowd’s response is in place, the deeper meaning of Jesus’ Triumphal Entry is revealed. The crowds with their branches and their Psalms have it right: Jesus is the king of Israel; he has come to his city; and he is going up to the altar to offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving. But the sacrifice he is going to offer is not that of bulls or goats, but of himself. And the todah that he will give will begin with the Eucharist celebrated in the Upper Room and consummated on the altar of the Cross.

The Catechism on the Triumphal Entry, the Eucharist, and Holy Week

In other words, at every Mass, when we proclaim—“Blessed is He Who Comes in the Name of the Lord, Hosanna in the Highest!”—we are not only remembering the first Palm Sunday. Even more, we are celebration the liturgical coming of the King into our midst, as he 'ascends' to the altar of the Eucharist. As he said at the Last Supper, there he 'pours out' the blood of the new covenant in the one eternal offering by which we too are given peace and prepared to enter into the kingdom of Paradise. In the words of the Catechism of the Catholic Church:

How will Jerusalem welcome her Messiah? Although Jesus had always refused popular attempts to make him king, he chooses the time and prepares the details for his messianic entry into the city of "his father David".

Acclaimed as son of David, as the one who brings salvation (Hosanna means "Save!" or "Give salvation!"), the "King of glory" enters his City "riding on an ass". Jesus conquers the Daughter of Zion, a figure of his Church, neither by ruse nor by violence, but by the humility that bears witness to the truth… Their acclamation, "Blessed be he who comes in the name of the Lord", is taken up by the Church in the "Sanctus" of the Eucharistic liturgy that introduces the memorial of the Lord's Passover.

Jesus' entry into Jerusalem manifested the coming of the kingdom that the King-Messiah was going to accomplish by the Passover of his Death and Resurrection. It is with the celebration of that entry on Palm Sunday that the Church's liturgy solemnly opens Holy Week. (CCC 559-560)

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Dr. Brant Pitre is Distinguished Research Professor of Scripture at the Augustine Institute in Denver, CO. He earned his Ph.D. in Theology from the University of Notre Dame, where he specialized the study of the New Testament and ancient Judaism. He is the author of several articles and the books Jesus and the Jewish Roots of Mary (Image, 2018), A Catholic Introduction to the Bible: The Old Testament (Ignatius 2018), Jesus and the Jewish Roots of the Eucharist (Image Books, 2011), Jesus the Bridegroom (Image Books, 2014), Jesus and the Last Supper (Eerdmans, 2015), and The Case for Jesus (Image, 2016). Dr. Pitre is an extremely enthusiastic and engaging speaker who lectures regularly across the United States. He has produced dozens of Bible studies on CD, DVD, and MP3, in which he explores the biblical foundations of Catholic faith and theology. He currently lives in Gray, Louisiana, with his wife Elizabeth, and their five children.

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