There seems to have been some kind of misunderstanding. The disciples were joyfully celebrating and praising God as Jesus entered Jerusalem, and yet Jesus was tearing up. He said they didn’t recognize the time of their visitation, but people were spreading out their cloaks on the ground for him. They gave him a king’s welcome, but still, he’s weeping for them. Something is wrong here. The people may be thinking of the prophetic words of Zechariah[1] which say “Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” Looking at Jesus, they think that at last, their king has arrived to lead them to victory and freedom!

Normally, it was the Romans who made a spectacle of their arrival into town. They rode in on grand horses with soldiers to guard them. The fanfare was a demonstration. For in showing off their strength and wealth, they reminded everyone of who was in charge. When Jesus makes his grand entry riding on a donkey and surrounded by disciples, it is a demonstration of a different kind. Jesus had no army, no sword strapped to his side, and not even a crown on his head – but still they call him King.

This is the city where Israel’s King’s once ruled, a city now sick of Rome’s abuses, on the week where they celebrate the liberation of their ancestors from Egypt.  So, when they see Jesus, they spread out their cloaks, wave palm branches, and shout Hosanna, which means “God, save us!” It was both praise and prayer for God to do something! This was an act of resistance, a protest, a spark of hope igniting. For people to fill the streets and shout “Blessed is the King” was treason. That’s why we see the pharisees come in, going “Shh! You guys have got to stop, or you’ll get us all killed!”

Peace in Rome was defined by order and maintained through violence. This was risky behavior, but they were ready for Jesus to lead an uprising and save them. Neither they, nor Rome would have been taking this lightly. But they both misunderstood Jesus, and that is why he wept. Jesus wasn’t there to try to out-violence Rome. Jesus didn’t come to make war, but to make peace. Yet he knows they are headed straight for the destruction that would come from Rome stamping out the Jewish rebellion. If only they had understood the things that make for peace.

And if only we could today! I have never wished for a peaceful world more than I do now. This is my first Sunday back in the pulpit since returning from maternity leave and I still feel a little strange. Childbirth is a wild and transformative experience, and I’m still trying to adjust to the identity of mother and figuring out how to be one. The time I spent imagining what motherhood would be like, could not have prepared me for the real experience of it. I have never done anything so simultaneously difficult and beautiful as having a child, and I have never wanted so badly to keep someone happy and safe.

The love I feel for my daughter is deeper than anything I’ve felt before. I can barely take my eyes off her. I hate it when she is sad, and I will do almost anything to make her smile. I love every little thing about her, from the hair her head to her tiny little toes. There are moments where this love feels overwhelming, and I start tearing up just watching her sleep. In those moments I wonder if God feels this way about us. God is both father and mother to us, and if God has this kind of love for all of us, then the love of God is a truly unfathomable thing. If God feels this heart-wrenching parental love for all of humanity, then I have no idea how the heart of God can contain it. Someday, I hope to know fully, but for now I know only in part.

Then again, only that kind of love could explain why Jesus came to Jerusalem. The words, “take and eat, this is my body broken for you,” were ringing in my ears during labor, and while I was nursing, and as I pushed my recovering body to care for her in her first weeks of life. For me, the Last Supper now feels like a deeply maternal moment. This love is making me feel a whole new level of heartbreak and rage for harm done to children. The headlines about schools being bombed, children in cages, and babies starving, make my heart ache to reach out and protect them, and I wonder if God feels that too.

We misunderstand God if we expect to see God on the emperor’s throne. If we expect God to just take control of this world and fix it by force. That isn’t God’s way, that’s straight out of Rome’s playbook. God is no tyrant. God is a mother whose heart breaks for her children, who longs to protect all the ones whom she loves. God does not triumph through violence. God weeps, because we still do not understand, that we are all God’s children, and deeply beloved. God needs no weapons and no armies, because God cannot win while her children are suffering. If putting God’s name on a war is not blasphemy, then I don’t know what is.

Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, to demonstrate the power of unconditional and self-sacrificing love. Emperors scoff at this kind of power. Yet love exposes how hollow and fragile they are. Love is not compatible with the empire. You don’t conquer much with patience and kindness, yet without love, nothing can last. Jesus is not like any King we’ve ever known. He rules not by taking charge of us, but by showing us the way to life so that we might build a world where all God’s children can flourish.

Jesus embodies the kind of love that is in 1 Corinthians 13. Love that does not insist on its own way. Love that keeps no record of wrongs. Love that rejoices in the truth. Love that looks like caring for each other by making easter baskets, buying groceries, and showing up when it matters most. God’s kingdom is a kin-dom. It is being built among us and between us. God doesn’t do that for us, but God will do it with us. God is calling us to dare to love the world the way that God does. For through this love, which Christ embodied, is the power by which we might save each other in community.

[1] Zechariah 9:9