Lenten Evening Prayer, February 26, 2026

Luke 19:29-40

 When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, ³⁰ saying, “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. ³¹ If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’” ³² So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. ³³ As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?” ³⁴ They said, “The Lord needs it.” ³⁵ Then they brought it to Jesus, and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. ³⁶ As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. ³⁷ Now as he was approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, ³⁸ saying,

“Blessed is the king    who comes in the name of the Lord!Peace in heaven,    and glory in the highest heaven!”

³⁹ Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” ⁴⁰ He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”

Resistant Hope

Every year, we sing “All Glory Laud and Honor to you redeemer king!” while waving palms and processing. We start the service in joy, celebrating Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. We end the service with the stone rolled in front of the tomb. We go from joy to sorrow. But as Paul says in 1 Thessalonians 4:13, we do not mourn as those who have no hope. For we have hope. Dangerous hope. Resistant Hope.

It’s a dangerous time. The government allows it’s agents to enter any home, without cause, to detain anyone they desire. There’s no accountability for violence used, belongings confiscated, inhuman treatment while in custody.

It’s a dangerous time. The government is on edge, watching for any hint of rebellion, ready to come down hard on any dissident. The weight of oppression lies heavily on the people.

That’s the circumstances the people of Judea live in. Jesus lived under Roman oppression. Growing up, he would have seen neighbors taken, travelers forced to carry Roman loads, good confiscated for Roman consumption.

It was a dangerous time. Judea had a reputation as a powder keg, just one spark away from erupting into an inferno. Especially at Passover, when Judeans remembered their liberation from bondage under Pharoah. It’s no wonder that the governor from Rome and the Roman appointed King of Judea make it a point to be in Jerusalem during Passover.

There would have been a show of might when Pilate arrived in the city. A procession of legions demonstrating the glory and might of Rome. Herrod would have also travelled with his army, entering the city in a show of wealth and strength.

That’s the way is was. And the way it always would be.

Except,

This Passover, a counter parade took place on the other side of town. It’s leader, an itinerate preacher from a backwater town, riding on a donkey. Instead of armed legions, ordinary people paved the way with their cloaks, shouting “Hosanna, save us!”

It’s a dangerous time and a dangerous hope. The shout “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord” speaks volumes. It’s a cry of trust in God’s deliverance, a cry of hope. But in naming God’s chosen king, they speak treason against Rome. It’s no wonder that the Pharisees are worried. Rome has a hair trigger. Pilate is particularly on edge because he’s had some problems and is in disfavor with the Emperor. The slightest thing could bring the wrath of Rome down on their heads.

This year, the secrecy of the arrangement for the donkey jumps out at me. Only Jessus and the owner know the plan. So many protests and gatherings are “need to know” with location and details given only shortly before the event. Jesus needed to keep his followers safe.

It is truly a dangerous time. Hope that flourishes in such a time is built on resistance to empire, on faith in God and God’s promises, on remembrance of God’s past faithfulness. All built on a hope that is resilient and resistant.

We are living in dangerous times. Many empires have come and gone in the millennial since that morning in Jerusalem. Our current empire is no less dangerous, no less oppressive, no less cruel. Words of peace and prosperity flow from the lips of politicians in support of empire. But that peace is bought at the end of a gun, and the prosperity procured on the backs of the flows to the top echelon.

We remember the hope in the crowd that shouted, “Hosanna, save us,” and remember the turn from that hope to the despair of “crucify him.” We won’t always get it right. There will be times we will falter. Times we don’t act. Times we are overwhelmed. Times we are afraid for our families, our own bodies.

And yet, there’s still hope. Dangerous, resistant, resilient hope. We see it in the actions of strangers coming together to witness atrocity, to provide necessities, to protect the vulnerable, to rescue those battered by agents of the state and released to the elements. Those random acts of kindness and the not-so-random acts of resistance lift us up when our hope wanes.

Resistant hope is communal. It has to be. The hope of our neighbors lift us when our own hope wavers. Our hope buoys them up. We learn hope from each other’s actions, from lives that show us the next faithful step.

In so many ways, in so many different words, once again we shout, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna, save us.”  Its just as dangerous now as it was that first Palm Sunday. It’s a cry of trust in God’s deliverance, a cry of hope. Hope that flourishes in such a time as this, built on resistance to empire, on faith in God and God’s promises, on remembrance of God’s past faithfulness. A hope that is resilient and resistant.

A hope that places unconditional trust on the King of Glory, arriving humbly on a donkey.