Palm Sunday

One year ago, crowds at London’s many train stations stopped amazed, as flash mobs broke out everywhere to celebrate the end of Covid lockdown. Professional dancers, as well as over 100 volunteers contributed to the surprise flash performances. You can see the joy on people’s faces as they sway to the music and collectively cheer and celebrate together.

It had been a long, rough season. People needed this. The laughter and smiles were infectious, and a new sense of hope swept through the country. Music, dance, and celebration have a way of lifting people’s spirits.

Such was the feeling on the day that Jesus rode into Jerusalem, on a donkey no less.

Not everyone knew what was going on. The disciples who accompanied him by the hundreds were shouting and singing the verses from Psalm 118: “With boughs in hand, join in the festal procession!” They were throwing down their cloaks in his path, waving palm branches in unison, and shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” “Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

The whole city was in turmoil, disrupted by the mob. People were smiling and singing and laughing and dancing in the streets. Young and old joined in. Some were cutting branches to hand out to the crowd, as they saw the donkey coming around the corner of the road that led to the Temple gates.

The mood was infectious. Soon, more and more people joined in.

Some turned to others in the crowd and asked, “Who is this?” Others answered: “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee!”

Some didn’t need an excuse to join in the celebration. Times had been hard. It felt good to dance and sing with the ever-growing crowd. Others knew about Jesus’ plan to ride in through the city gates, usurping the yearly priestly Procession of the Lambs and taking over the parade.

Soon everyone on the streets was joining in, shouting, singing, dancing, and celebrating. The priests, upstaged, tried to calm everyone down. They shouted at the disciples to make them shut up. But Jesus himself put them off saying, “If these were silent, even the stones would cry out!” This made the crowd roar even more fervently. The officials were upset, but the people prevailed and drowned them out.

If this happened today, we’d smile and declare: “Flash Mob!”

A phenomenon in our culture for years now, the very word makes us smile. We love these surprises, these scripted, yet apparently spontaneous outbreaks of joy in the midst of mundanity.

From subways to public squares, to airports, to train stations and malls, flash mobs unite people in a momentary celebration, in which for that period of time, we are all sisters and brothers, all happy, all smiling, all dancing, all joining in a very human show of jubilation just for the sake of celebrating life, creativity, and the human spirit.

Only days later, that mood would turn into a hushed solemnity, as Jesus is arrested and put through a make-shift overnight trial, then removed for crucifixion. But in the moment, all people saw was the infectious flash mob of singers, swayers, and palm tree wavers. For this moment in time, their King was victorious.

The turmoil continued, as the crowd followed Jesus right up into the Temple gates, where he took a seat in the Temple courtyard and began to teach. For the next couple of days leading up to the Passover festival, he taught, angering the Pharisees and Chief Priests more and more, as he cast verbal zingers in their direction.

We can guess that the crowds persisted until the time of his arrest. Were there hushed whispers about what had happened to the popular teacher? Did people withdraw to hide in their homes for fear of retaliation from the Temple officials or rejection by the Priests during Passover?

How did they find out what happened after that fateful Passover Feast when Jesus was arrested by night in the Garden of Gethsemane? How did they react then?

We can only guess that they hid or scattered, carefully exchanging messages about the state of things in the confines of their homes, the hope of that day, that flash mob parade, fading into the recesses of their memories.

Did Jesus orchestrate his “performance” that day? I believe that he did. Otherwise, he would not have sent his disciples for the pre-arranged donkey and colt. Otherwise, the huge crowds that accompanied him would not have known what was happening.

Like all flash mobs, like all art, Jesus was sending a message – one to the Pharisees and Priests, that his movement could not be put down, no matter what they did, and one to his followers, to let them know that the time of celebration would be coming soon.

Perhaps he hoped that this day of joy might offset the devastation he knew was to come before his final resurrection victory. Perhaps he wanted to give his followers a hope to hold on to despite the growing threat to his life and to many of theirs. Perhaps he wanted to assure them that the fight was not over, even if it might appear to be for a little while.

Whatever Jesus’ reasons, for many, his arrest would stifle the joy they felt that day of the procession. Their “Hosannas” would feel like a far away echo as the sound of nails driven into the cross would stay in their minds far longer, driving fear deep into their hearts.

For most people, their messiah was meant to conquer Rome, restore the throne of a rightful King of Israel, start a revolution, take away the corruption rampant in their Temple. Had Jesus made known to the masses that his plan would be to die a few days later, no doubt the crowd would not have believed him. Or they may have uprisen that day, instead of merely celebrating.

So he told only a select few.

For those few though, those disciples that were told what was to come, this procession and the people shouting and singing, dancing and celebrating, were the assurance they would need to carry on after Jesus’ resurrection.

For that moment, they saw the meaning of Jubilee, the joy of restoration, and the faith of those who had put their trust in Jesus, and in the movement that would later be called “The Way.”

Flash mobs may only last an hour or two. But their significance, their impact, their uniting power, their humanizing spirit, the memory of people joined in joy – that lasts a lifetime. It would be enough to power a movement weeks, years, decades, and two thousand years later.

May the spirit of “Palm Sunday” be with us, today and always.