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The biblical account of the original Palm Sunday reveals a complex messiah capable of experiencing multiple strong emotions simultaneously. While Christ’s seemingly paradoxical emotions teach us a lot about him, they also teach us a lot about ourselves. Watch this sermon as we consider the multifaceted image of Jesus and what that reveals about our position as being simultaneously a sinner and justified.

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  During the season of Lent we have been considering the emotional life of Jesus. Rather than merely focusing on Jesus' words or actions, we've been looking beneath the surface to try to gain insight into Jesus' interior life and to understand what he might have been feeling inside. And what we've discovered is that Jesus was not a stoic. Jesus did not bottle up his emotions. No, he let them show. We've seen that Jesus was deeply passionate. He had strong feelings. And what that reveals is that Jesus can not only identify with us, but he can sympathize with us, even in all of our weaknesses, because he experienced everything that we do and more, yet without sin. And that includes his emotions.

  So we're exploring the emotional life of Jesus, not so that we might simply better understand Jesus, but also so that we might better understand how to handle our own emotions as his followers. So today, as we turn to the original Palm Sunday, we will see that Jesus experienced many seemingly conflicting emotions, all within the space of a few moments of time.

  So I'd like us to consider not only what each of these different emotions may have been, but also what we can learn from the fact that Jesus experienced them simultaneously, at the same time. So let's take a closer look at what might have been going through Jesus' heart and mind as he rode into Jerusalem by zeroing in on three particular incidents. And as we consider these three episodes, I would suggest that they all reveal something to us about: 1) the apparent paradox of Jesus' identity, 2) the apparent paradox of Jesus' emotions, and 3) the apparent paradox of Jesus' followers. These three episodes show us things that seem to be a paradox. They seem to be contradictory. They couldn't possibly be true at the same time… and yet they are. They're only an apparent paradox.

  ³⁶And as he rode along, they spread their cloaks on the road. ³⁷As he was drawing near—already on the way down the Mount of Olives—the whole multitude of his disciples began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice for all the mighty works that they had seen, ³⁸saying, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!” ³⁹And some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples.” ⁴⁰He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.”

  ⁴¹And when he drew near and saw the city, he wept over it, ⁴²saying, “Would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. ⁴³For the days will come upon you, when your enemies will set up a barricade around you and surround you and hem you in on every side ⁴⁴and tear you down to the ground, you and your children within you. And they will not leave one stone upon another in you, because you did not know the time of your visitation.”

  ⁴⁵And he entered the temple and began to drive out those who sold, ⁴⁶saying to them, “It is written, ‘My house shall be a house of prayer,’ but you have made it a den of robbers.”

  ⁴⁷And he was teaching daily in the temple. The chief priests and the scribes and the principal men of the people were seeking to destroy him, ⁴⁸but they did not find anything they could do, for all the people were hanging on his words.

  Luke 19:36-48

  The Apparent Paradox of Jesus’ Identity

  Luke provides us with three different incidents that took place on that first Palm Sunday. The first is known as Jesus' Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem, and it reveals the apparent paradox of Jesus' identity. Now here's what I mean by that. At this moment, Jesus has gained a significant degree of attention. No one has met anyone like Jesus. No one spoke like Jesus. No one did the kinds of things that Jesus could do. And so expectations were riding high. They see Jesus as the fulfillment of all of their hopes and dreams and desires, and so they welcome him as a king, but they're looking for a national hero. They're looking for someone who is going to free them from the domination of Rome and restore their political independence. If it's not too cheeky, you could think that they were looking for someone to make Israel great again. But I'm not kidding! Nationalistic fervor would have been in the air, especially at Passover time as pilgrims are making their way to Jerusalem as they remember and celebrate God's great act of deliverance when he rescued his people all those many years before from their bondage in Egypt. 

  And so Jesus deliberately comes to Jerusalem in time for Passover, and along with thousands of other people who would've traveled to Jerusalem every year, Jesus makes that trip from Galilee to Jerusalem. And when he arrives on the outskirts of the city — he's got a few miles left to go — the crowds spontaneously give him the red carpet treatment. They spread out their cloaks on the road and they break out into cheering, “Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna!”

  Now, hosanna in Hebrew is an acclamation that essentially means “Save us, save us now.” So as Jesus makes his way into Jerusalem, they're cheering, “Save us! Save us! Save us!” And then they quote Psalm 118, which says, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord. Peace in heaven and glory in the highest.” Now, Psalm 118 is known as one of the Psalms of Ascent. So every year, at Passover time, as people made their way literally up the mountain to Jerusalem, as they ascended, they would sing these psalms. And they sang Psalm 118 because it praises God for the ways in which God delivers his people from their enemies and establishes his Kingdom. So there is a nationalistic ring to this welcome as they cheer “Hosanna” and say, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord.” 

  But of course, even in the midst of the celebration, there are always haters, and haters are going to hate. So the Pharisees begin to grumble and complain, and they tell Jesus to rebuke his followers. Rebuke your followers, Jesus. Tell them to be quiet. Now, it's interesting, isn't it? Jesus was not an egotist. Jesus wasn't a narcissist. Jesus wasn't someone who was obsessed with himself. Yet he refuses to silence his followers, because he says that it is entirely appropriate for him to accept this praise. He tells the grumblers that even if the people were silent, the very stones would cry out. The very stones would cry out as Jesus comes to his city. Now what he's showing us here is that he acknowledges that it is right for him to be welcomed, not only by the people, but by all of creation as God's promised King, the Messiah, the one who is going to make things right. 

  But here we see the apparent paradox of Jesus' identity, because he accepts the acclimation: Hosanna! Save us! Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord. But then he challenges their conception of what it means to be a king. Now, how would you expect a conquering hero to enter a city? What would you expect someone like Alexander the Great or Julius Caesar or Napoleon to do? Well, you would expect a national hero to enter a city triumphantly, riding on top of some beautiful warhorse, wearing shining armor, perhaps with a large army in his train in order to show off his military might. That's what you would expect a national hero to do. But Jesus enters the city of Jerusalem not mounted on top of some gallant steed; instead, he arrives in Jerusalem riding on top of a humble, stubborn donkey. 

  This is a deliberate move on Jesus' part, and all the commentators agree that this was pre-planned. Jesus arranged the whole thing in advance. It seems that the disciples were given a code word that they were supposed to share in order to identify the right donkey, and the owner would know who was supposed to take it. And Jesus knew the ancient prophecy of Zechariah, and he knew what kind of message he wanted to send. See, Zecheriah had famously said in Zechariah 9, “Behold, your king is coming to you; righteous and having salvation is he, humble and mounted on a donkey.” So Jesus is the promised king. He is the Messiah who brings salvation, who rescues his people. But it's not the nationalistic kind of salvation that they were expecting. 

  So this first incident, Jesus's Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem, reveals the apparent paradox of Jesus's identity. Jesus is the king, but he's not at all the kind of king the people were hoping for because they didn't understand how God was going to save them. They didn't comprehend the kind of salvation that he had to offer. And that's why the people were more than a little disappointed when, before the week was out, Jesus was arrested, tried, and killed. That's not what messiahs do. That's not what conquering kings do. They're supposed to overthrow the oppressors, not get killed by them. A dead messiah is a failed messiah. And as a result, therefore, the crowds prove to be rather fickle fans. Perhaps some of those same people who, on this original Palm Sunday, cheer “Hosanna!” and greet Jesus as a king, are among those same voices that form the angry mob that shout out, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” within a matter of just a few days.

  So what about you? Are you willing to follow Jesus to the extent that he fulfills all your hopes and dreams and desires, but then you'll turn your back on him as soon as you realize that Jesus isn't a genie in a lamp, and he pops out in order to grant us our wishes? No, the only way you know that you're dealing with the real God, the true king, is that the real God is going to challenge you. This is something that the poet W. H. Auden came to realize. He once said, “I believe because He fulfills none of my dreams, because He is in every respect the opposite of what He would be if I could have made Him in my own image.” Now, that's right. Of course, there's places in the Psalms, for example, that say, “Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart.” But you know what? Sometimes our desires are wrong, and they need to be replaced. God replaces the wrong desires with the right ones. Those are the desires of the heart that he promises to fulfill.

  So the way that you know you're dealing with the real God rather than a figment of your own imagination is that the real God will challenge your conceptions, challenge your ideas, and show you what you should truly, rightly desire. Auden, in that same passage, goes on to say something quite chilling. He says, “Thus, if a Christian is asked: ‘Why Jesus and not Socrates or Buddha or Confucious or Mahomet?’ perhaps all he can say is: ‘None of the others arouse all sides of my being to cry “Crucify Him.”’ I believe because He fulfills none of my dreams, because He is in every respect the opposite of what He would be if I could have made Him in my own image.”

  The Apparent Paradox of Jesus' Emotions

  So the first incident, Jesus' Triumphal Entry, reveals the apparent paradox of Jesus' identity. The second incident occurs as Jesus enters the city itself, and it reveals the apparent paradox of Jesus' emotions. How could Jesus experience the emotions that we're about to see at the same time? 

  Now, Jesus would've traveled from Jericho, which was located 850 feet below sea level, all the way to the Mount of Olives, which was located 2,650 feet above sea level. And after arriving at the Mount of Olives, he would've gone down a little narrow valley and then back up onto the small hill upon which Jerusalem was located. And so as Jesus makes this ascent from Jericho to the Mount of Olives, he picks up the donkey somewhere in the vicinity of Bethany and Bethphage, a couple miles left to go before he arrives in Jerusalem. And so as he climbs and as he reaches the summit of the Mount of Olives, now, finally, for the first time, the city of Jerusalem would've come into his view.

  And so as Jesus is riding on this donkey, and he reaches the summit of the Mount of Olives, and now the city of Jerusalem opens up before his eyes, what does he do? He breaks out into tears. As soon as he sees the city, he begins to weep. He's just filled with uncontrollable sorrow. He's sobbing over the city. And why is Jesus crying? Again and again, Jesus has proclaimed the good news of God's grace. Despite all of our rebellion and failure, despite all of our ignorance and mistakes, God has been reaching out to us in love, to do for us what we can't do for ourselves, in order to bring us true peace, shalom, harmony, wholeness, delight, and to reconcile us in relationship to himself. But along with that message of grace, again and again Jesus has warned his people — he warns us — that if we refuse to repent and receive his grace, we'll perish. And so Jesus bursts into tears as soon as he sees the city of Jerusalem because they're missing out. Because of their willful blindness, the truth is hidden from their eyes. They don't recognize him for who he really is. They don't recognize him for what he can truly do. They don't realize the kind of salvation that Jesus will bring, and therefore they refuse the kind of peace that he has to offer. 

  As a result, Jesus predicts that Jerusalem will become the object of a fierce siege in just a very short span of time. Sure enough, the Romans will utterly destroy Jerusalem in 70 AD, leaving not a single stone on top of another, because they didn't recognize the time. They didn't recognize the moment they were living in. They didn't recognize the time when God did the unthinkable and visited them in the person of Jesus. They missed the day of visitation, and it brings Jesus to tears. It causes his eyes to just well up with tears. 

  But here's the thing: Sorrow is not the only emotion that Jesus experiences as he enters the city of Jerusalem. Not only does he weep cool tears, but he expresses hot anger toward those who have made a mockery of God's temple. Luke tells us that as soon as Jesus enters the city of Jerusalem, he cleanses the temple. Mark's Gospel tells us that he enters the city and goes to the temple, looks around, and then leaves, but then he comes back the very next day and cleanses the temple. But either way, all the Gospels tell us that Jesus was shocked. He was shocked by the commercialization of God's house. Some people were just in it for the money. Some were running currency exchange booths so that people could, for a fee, change their Roman coins into a half shekel in order to pay the half shekel temple tax. And then others had turned the outer courtyard of the temple into a veritable zoo. The outer courtyard was called the courtyard of the Gentiles. This was the one place that people from a non-Jewish background could come. It's the closest they could get into God's presence. That's the place where they could come and pray. But now this courtyard is filled with merchants who are selling cattle and sheep and birds for people to be able to offer sacrifices. 

  Now, Matthew and Mark tell us that Jesus overturns the tables of the money changers. The Gospel of John tells us that Jesus very slowly, deliberately, methodically made a whip of cords. Although of course, he didn't hit anyone with it. And all four Gospels tell us that Jesus drove out the money changers and the merchants and all the animals. He just drives everybody out of there. To explain this passionate response, Jesus brings together several different passages from the Hebrew Bible. Isaiah 56:7 speaks of the temple becoming a house of prayer — a house of prayer for all nations, not just the nation of Israel. But Jeremiah 7:11 speaks of the temple being turned into a den of thieves — a hideout for scoundrels. And so when Jesus cleanses the temple, the disciples remember Psalm 69:9, and they apply it to Jesus. The psalmist says, “Zeal for your house shall consume me.”

  So on the one hand, Jesus is filled with sorrow — sorrow over the city of Jerusalem — but at one and the same time, he's filled with zeal. Zeal for God's house consumes him. Jesus’ zeal was not primarily focused on the traders who were just trying to make a little money, but his zeal was primarily focused on the religious authorities who ran the whole temple system, because they're the ones ultimately who had turned God's house into a hideout for scoundrels. They were the true culprits, because they were the ones who had the most to gain as well as the most to lose from that temple system. That's why the religious authorities decide from this moment on that they need to find a way to destroy Jesus. But they can't do it. Not yet at least. They're powerless to do anything now because the crowds, at least for now, were hanging on Jesus' every word.

  But on this Palm Sunday, I want you to reflect on these two concurrent emotions as Jesus weeps over the city, and as Jesus cleanses the temple. Jesus is brokenhearted as he weeps over the city that refuses the kind of salvation that God brings, and yet he is zealous to protect God's house and to protect God's name, and he's not afraid to let his intensity show. Now, we might think that these two emotions are contradictory. We might assume that Jesus would be one or the other, not both at the same time. We might say sorrow or zeal, compassion or severity. But Jesus says both simultaneously: weeping and cleansing, brokenhearted and zealous, compassionate and severe. And here's the thing: If we see these emotions as being incompatible with one another, then it suggests that we either have too soft of a view of God or too hard of a view of God. 

  Here's what I mean by that. One person who wrestled with this tension was the Scottish theologian P. T. Forsyth, who lived at the turn of the last century, and he coined (or at least popularized) the expression “the holy love of God.” He meant that God is not holy instead of being love, nor that God is love instead of being holy. He's not one or the other. Nor is he some muddled mixture of the two, which results in some third thing. Nor is God perfectly balancing holiness and love as if he could strike the difference and find the perfect middle. No, God is holy and God is love. He is both to the extreme, in both directions at one at the same time. 

  This is important because this vision of God's holy love is the one thing that will protect us from falling into false caricatures of God. See, the liberal, relativistic mistake would be to assume that God is nothing more than an indulgent grandfather — someone who just wants to dote on us and spoil us. He gives us whatever we want, because he just wants to make us happy. But if that were the way that God is, it would compromise his holiness. But then on the other hand, the conservative or the moralistic mistake might be to assume that God is a harsh and vindictive judge — that he's nothing more than a capricious bully. He takes delight in holding us to account, and he doesn't mind if he crushes us. He’s not bothered if he torments us. But that would be to compromise his love. No, God is not holy instead of love, nor does he love instead of being holy. He is both, moving in both directions infinitely at the same time. So Jesus is both brokenhearted and zealous, both compassionate and severe, both truth and love. 

  The Apparent Paradox of Jesus’ Followers

  But the final question that I want to ask is, what does this then mean for us as Jesus' followers? These incidents from that original Palm Sunday not only show us the apparent paradox of Jesus' identity or the apparent paradox of Jesus' emotion; Palm Sunday also shows us the apparent paradox of what it means to be his follower. 

  The picture of God that emerges as Jesus enters the city of Jerusalem is more complex than we might have thought at first. On the one hand, Jesus is loving and compassionate. He takes no delight in issuing warnings of judgment. He doesn't want anyone to perish. He desires that all people would be saved and come to a knowledge of the truth. But on the other hand, Jesus is holy and severe. If God is God, he can't shrug his shoulders and simply tolerate human sin and intransigence. He has to hold us accountable in order to be faithful to his own nature. But you see, that's why Jesus rides into Jerusalem the way that he does. Jesus doesn't enter Jerusalem on top of a warhorse; he comes on a humble donkey. And he comes not to wage war against Rome, but rather to wage war against the ultimate enemies of sin, evil, and death. Though he is the king, he enters the city not to sit on some kind of golden throne but rather to hang on a wooden cross. That is why Jesus is coming at Passover. He's coming to be the ultimate Messiah who brings about the ultimate deliverance. 

  So what does the cross of Jesus show us? Well, it shows us that God is so holy, and you and I, we are so sinful. We're so rebellious that Jesus had to die for us. There was no other way for God to destroy sin without destroying us. And yet, at one and the same time, God is so loving, and you and I were so valuable in his eyes, that Jesus was willing to go to the cross. There's nothing that he wouldn't have done for us. He was willing to go to the cross — gladly willing to go to the cross — because you mean that much to him. His love is a holy love. And when we put our trust in Jesus and what he's accomplished for us on the cross, then as his followers (as Martin Luther put it centuries ago in Latin), we become simul iustus et peccator. We become seemingly paradoxically simultaneously justified and a sinner.

  Now, how could that be? This is the apparent paradox of Jesus' followers. When we rely on Jesus rather than ourselves for our relationship with God, we are simultaneously justified and a sinner. See, you are in yourself a sinner. We're still spiritual rebels. We still make mistakes and failures. We're no better than anybody else. Yet at the same time, when you rest in Jesus rather than yourself or your relationship with God, God declares you justified. God declares you righteous. He declares you to be innocent, not guilty. And it's not because of who you are or how you've lived your life. In and of ourselves, we're guilty. But in Christ, he declares us righteous, innocent, not because of who we are or how we've lived but because of who Jesus is and how he has lived for us. Jesus lived the life we should have lived. Jesus died the death that we deserve to die on the cross. He's the one who is judged in our place so that we might be accepted despite who we are and all that we've ever done wrong. And that is what we celebrate at this table.

  So as we conclude, I'd like you to consider something that John Stott, the British pastor, once said about this passage, Luke 19, on Palm Sunday. He said that this passage presents us with three counterintuitive images of God: 1) God on a donkey, 2) God with tears in his eyes, and 3) God with a whip in his hand. So consider what these three images tell us about this God.

  Donkey 

  First of all, consider the donkey. The way in which Jesus entered Jerusalem is the way in which he still enters our lives today. He doesn't come on top of a warhorse with a sword in his hand. No, he comes humbly on a donkey, meaning that he will not use force to gain entry into our lives. He respects our human dignity. He respects our human freedom. He will not push and shove his way into your life, which is why you have to receive him. You have to welcome him. He's not gonna force his way in. 

  Tears

  And then consider God with tears in his eyes. Do you realize that our willful blindness to who God is and what he wants to do for us causes him to weep? Have you ever stopped to think that there are things that we could do or say or think that would cause God to cry? To cause his eyes to, to well up with tears. And what are the ways today in which he's just hoping, just longing, just praying that we would finally come to our senses and repent, so that we wouldn't perish.

  Whip

  And then finally, let's consider God with a whip in his hand. What Jesus shows us when he cleanses the temple is that divine judgment is a serious thing. It's for real. One day he will hold this world to account for how we've lived and whether or not we have responded to him and to his grace. And so we need to take the warning seriously. But we also need to realize that before we ever consider the whip in his hand, we need to see the tears in his eyes. If God's judgment ever falls on anyone, we can trust that his eyes will be brim full of tears. He wants us all to repent. He doesn't want any of us to perish. He wants us all to be saved and come to a knowledge of the truth. And that's what Palm Sunday is all about. 

  So the question that we need to ask ourselves this morning is, how will we respond to Jesus? Will we be like those crowds who one moment cheer for him and the next moment turn our backs on him because he doesn't fulfill our expectations of what God should really be like? Or will we be like the Pharisees? Will we be like the haters, the grumblers, and the complainers who still just don't get it? Or will we receive Jesus as the world's true king, the one who comes to rescue us from our ultimate captivity to sin, evil, and death? Will we receive him as the king who comes not to sit on a golden throne, but to hang on a wooden cross? Now is the chance for us to receive our king. 

  Let me pray for us.

  Father, we thank you for the opportunity to consider that original Palm Sunday and what it reveals about the apparent paradox of Jesus' identity, emotions, and followers. Lord, we pray that we would have the courage and the conviction to receive the grace that you freely extend to us so that we might become simul iustus et peccator — simultaneously justified and yet a sinner — and on the way toward becoming made new when Jesus returns to finish what he started. We ask all this in Jesus' name. Amen.