A View from the Donkey’s Back

“A View from the Donkey’s Back”

Matthew 21:1–11

Preacher: Rev. Mark Bartsch Kobe Union Church

April 13, 2025

The triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem on that first Palm Sunday was the most important parade in history. It was a spontaneous, makeshift procession beginning in the suburbs of Bethany—about two miles from the city gate known as The Beautiful Gate—and winding up the hill from the Mount of Olives toward Jerusalem. That gate has long since been sealed over, but the arches still remain visible in the wall to this day.

At the time of Jesus, Jerusalem’s population was around 120,000, but during the Passover celebration, the city swelled to some estimates of 1 million additional visitors. It was at this time that Jesus enter the city. The scene was unorganized, maybe even chaotic. If we put it in our context, there was no bulletin to follow no order of service, and no one knew what would happen next, except Jesus.

Jesus rode on a donkey, not a war horse or chariot—but a donkey’s colt, walking alongside its mother. Surrounding them were His disciples and close followers—some running ahead to spread palm branches and others trailing behind.

Did you know that in Jewish culture, removing one’s outer garment and being left in only an undergarment (T-shirt) was considered being naked in Jewish culture? A few years ago, I took off my outer shirt and preached in a T-shirt, and Stephanie felt it was too much. Like when I told a funny joke at my church in Toledo Ohio everyone laughed. An older woman of the church came up to me and said that my joke was funny. Then she said, “Don’t tell it again.”

In the Garden of Eden (Genesis 3), after eating the forbidden fruit, Adam and Eve hid from God. When God asked why, Adam responded, "Because we are naked." and not only naked but naked and ashamed (Genesis 3:10).

We, too, often put up barriers between ourselves and God. Rituals meant to help us experience God can become so routine that they make us feel safe—which isn’t bad—but we can also use those same rituals to hide ourselves. That’s not their intended purpose.

When we worship God—truly worship Him (and we’ve got a lot of different styles in this small church!)—we always walk that balancing act between the orderly worship that Paul calls us to in 1 Corinthians 14 and the caution not to quench the Spirit (1 Thessalonians 5:19–22) also talked about by Paul. 

True worship often makes you feel both safe and vulnerable at the same time. It’s about taking off our stuff—our layers—and letting God see us as we see Him. As Paul says, “For now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.” (1 Corinthians 13:12). One woman told me that true worship was like going out in public without makeup. It was uncomfortable and yet freeing at the same time. 

In the story of Jesus’ triumphal entry, instead of covering themselves with another cloak, the people took off their outer garments and laid them down at the feet of the Lord (Will you?), boldly shouting, “Hosanna in the highest!” (Matthew 21:9). And the religious types didn’t like it—because it meant giving control over to God instead of keeping it for ourselves. And that is the major fight that Jesus had with the pharisees. And let’s be honest, giving up control is a hard thing. But like anything, it gets easier the more you make it part of your life.

A cute story comes to mind about being "naked": When our oldest son was four, we were visiting family in State College, Pennsylvania, from Japan. State College is a famous college town, and in the summer, it wasn’t uncommon to see young men walking around shirtless downtown. As I held my son’s hand walking down the street, he started giggling. After the second or third time, I asked what was so funny. With wide eyes, he said, “They’re はだか (hadaka)—naked! Daddy, don’t they know they’re naked?” I told him, “Yes, they know it—and they like it.” It struck me that, apart from the pool, he’d never seen anyone without a shirt in public. So he giggled—and I giggled too, as I saw the world for a moment through his eyes.

And just like I saw the world for a brief moment through my 4-year-old son’s eyes, as we grow closer to God, we begin to see the world through Jesus’ eyes.

The people welcoming Jesus into Jerusalem knew they were exposed—but they didn’t care. In their worship, there was no holding back.

How often do we hold back? How often do we think of covering our sin—like God doesn’t already see it—so that we look better to the other sheep instead of to the Shepherd?

Imagine the view from the donkey’s back with people shouting, waving palm branches, laying their cloaks down in honor, and being laid bare before Jesus. I always felt a little sorry for that donkey—it must have freaked him out! And yet… the donkey knew who was leading him (Do you?).

The crowd expected a king, a conqueror. But the donkey carried not a warrior, but the Prince of Peace.

What kind of king enters his city this way? A king who redefines power—who rules not by force but by love and compassion. The same was asked of David when he danced behind the arc of the covenant as he brought it into Jerusalem (2 Sam 6). And people didn’t like that either. Even his wife didn’t like it. Who by the way was the old kings daughter. 

There’s a phrase: “A penny for your thoughts,” meaning, I would love to know what you’re thinking. I would love to know what Jesus was thinking, knowing that these same people would turn on Him—and on God—in just a few days. And yet, Jesus always takes our worship and love at face value. Here that again. Jesus always takes our worship at face value.

Worship never happens in the past or future tense but always in the present. Do you love me, Peter? (John 21:15–17). Not, “Yes, I did love you,” or, “You know I will love you someday.” Jesus is asking in the present, and there is only one answer: Yes, Lord, I love you right now. While I am broken and not altogether like most pastors, I know that I love Jesus.

By this point, Jesus was well-known in both Galilee and Judea. His miraculous works—healing the sick, teaching with authority, and performing wonders—had become the talk of the town. As we see in Matthew 21:9, the crowds were filled with excitement, shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David!”

All four Gospels report the triumphal entry. In Luke’s account, it’s noted that as Jesus descended the road from Bethany and caught sight of the whitewashed city below, He paused to gaze at it with deep emotion. In preparation for Passover, the buildings—and even the inside of open tombs—had been freshly painted white. This practice echoed Jesus’ earlier words when He compared the people to these tombs: clean and pure on the outside but filled with death and decay within (Matthew 23:27). The outside of the cup was clean but the inside had not been washed for years.

As He looked upon Jerusalem, Jesus began to weep. (Jesus, you’re not supposed to weep at a parade it is supposed to be fun!) It’s one of only two times recorded that Jesus cried—the other when His friend Lazarus died (John 11:35), before raising him to life. In John’s Gospel, that miracle becomes one of the catalysts for this procession. In that moment overlooking the city, Jesus foresaw Jerusalem’s tragic future—the coming conquests by the Romans and its ultimate destruction. But beyond the physical devastation, Jesus mourned the spiritual blindness of the people. Despite their religious devotion, they couldn’t see God as a loving Father who desires mercy, not just sacrifice (Hosea 6:6). Nor did they recognize Jesus as the Savior—the one who would offer living water not the stagnate water the religious types were serving. Jesus knew that many would reject His message of grace and peace, as they still do. Yet, He pressed on toward the cross—both for them and for us.

Jesus wasn’t just crying over a city—He was weeping over people. People who had hardened their hearts. People who clung to who they wanted the Messiah to be rather than embracing who He really was.Have you ever wept for someone who refused to see the truth? A loved one making destructive choices? A friend rejecting the hope you offer. That’s what broke Jesus’ heart that day. And yet, He kept going. He knew the cross awaited Him—but love compelled Him forward.

Martin Luther King Jr. said, echoing the spirit of Jesus:“If a person has not found something to die for, that person isn’t fit to live.”Jesus had told His disciples repeatedly, about ten times—that He was the sacrificial lamb who would be slain. But they didn’t believe it. Still, Jesus knew exactly what He would die for. And that something is you.

Do you realize that it was you who compelled Him? His desire for you to be reconciled with God cost Him everything.Isaiah 53:5 reminds us, “But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.” Jesus didn’t just talk about love—He lived it. “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13).

So, what compels you today? Will you stand for truth, even when it costs you? Will you choose love, even when it’s difficult? Because when you do, you reflect the love of Christ—the love that changes lives.

I say it almost every Sunday, but it’s worth repeating: Jesus died on that cross for you—so that you might truly live not whitewashed lives but real lives.

We often ask, “What would I die for?” But perhaps the harder question is: “What am I living for?” Are we just going through the motions, content with a faith that looks clean on the outside but lacks life on the inside? (Whitewashed lives that lead to whitewashed tombs.) Or do you want to truly live?

Are we walking daily in the footsteps of the One who rode into Jerusalem knowing He would die—yet did it anyway, for you and for me?

As we enter this Holy Week, I want you to ask yourself: If Jesus would die for me, how should I live for Him? What step do you need to take this week to live not just for yourself, but for the One who gave everything for you?

And from the donkey’s back, Jesus urges us to trust Him—and to trust His intentions to provide what we need… what we really need.

On Palm Sunday, as Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, He saw people just like us. We have a difficult time trusting God. Trusting Jesus. Many were filled with enthusiasm, waving palm branches and cheering. But Jesus knew their excitement would fade as quickly as it came. Some who praised Him that day would soon abandon Him for something that seemed safer or more tangible. 

Much of the hostility Jesus faced during His final days came from people burdened by their own guilty consciences. They didn’t truly hate Jesus—they hated themselves and feared He would expose their hearts. So, they put on their cloaks again to hide themselves.

“We want Barabbas! Give us Barabbas!” At least we understand Barabbas.But this man who loves us, heals us, and cares for us—we have no idea what to do with Him.

Jesus knows that same tendency exists in all of us—to shift blame and hide our faults. 

On Palm Sunday, from the donkey's back, He looks upon each of us with eyes full of love. With Him, we need not fear that our hidden sins will drive Him away. He already knows us—every secret, every unguarded thought—and still, He loves us.

From the donkey’s back, Jesus calls to us.He sees us. He knows us. And most importantly he loves us—completely and unconditionally. “Come to Jesus, all you who are weary and burdened, and Jesus will give you rest.” (Matt 11:28) Barabbas can’t give you that only Jesus can. 

Let’s pray

Possible Discussion Questions

1. What does it mean to you to “lay down your cloak” before Jesus today?

2. Jesus rode a donkey, not a war horse. What does this tell us about the kind of King He is? How is the different than the world does it?

3. The crowd on Palm Sunday praised Jesus but later turned against Him.

What are some reasons people may turn away from Jesus today, even after expressing faith or admiration?

4. What makes true worship uncomfortable for us sometimes, and what helps us move past that discomfort?

5. Jesus wept over Jerusalem because of its spiritual blindness. Have you ever felt sorrow for someone who couldn’t see the truth or accept love?