Mark 11

Jesus moves in the same direction as other pilgrims but at a pace and purpose that is his own.

For almost 40 years they have done their plodding, gracious work on me and my vocation.

An odd, charming gospel account that draws from dozens of sources

Palm Sunday makes me cringe.

Humility isn't a stunt for Jesus—it's a condition of his life.

A few years ago, while wandering through the Old City of Jerusalem, I stumbled upon a spray-painted sign on the side of a small factory building. It called out in English: “We need peace.”

It seemed to me like a modern-day cry of “hosanna” coming from the people of Jerusalem.

How does a crowd turn from shouts of joy to cries of murder in such a short span?

When I was a child, I loved Palm Sunday because we got to act out the biblical version of a ticker-tape parade. Later I learned of the ephemeral quality of stardom and parades and decided that Palm Sunday and Passion Week belong together. As a pastor, I have accepted the dismal fact that most of our people skip Thursday, Friday and Saturday, slipping from parade pandemonium to Easter ecstasy with none of the suffering and pain.

The two disciples must have imagined a grander and nobler role for themselves than donkey detail. For this they left their fishing nets?

The term better fits Matthew than Mark, and neither Gospel justifies the church’s celebration of Palm Sunday as though it were an Easter before Easter.

In Mark's Palm Sunday story, Jesus seems to have no understanding of rank.