What Kind of King Is This?

Matthew 21:1–11

1 As they approached Jerusalem and came to Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, 2 saying to them, “Go to the village ahead of you, and at once you will find a donkey tied there, with her colt by her. Untie them and bring them to me. 3 If anyone says anything to you, say that the Lord needs them, and he will send them right away.”

4 This took place to fulfill what was spoken through the prophet:

5 “Say to Daughter Zion,

‘See, your king comes to you,

gentle and riding on a donkey,

and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’ ”

6 The disciples went and did as Jesus had instructed them. 7 They brought the donkey and the colt and placed their cloaks on them for Jesus to sit on. 8 A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, while others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. 9 The crowds that went ahead of him and those that followed shouted,

“Hosanna to the Son of David!”

“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”

“Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

10 When Jesus entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred and asked, “Who is this?”

11 The crowds answered, “This is Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth in Galilee.”

What Kind Of King Is This?

It was the most wonderful time of the year. The air was filled with festive hymns. Every street was decorated with boughs and branches. Countless people traveled from great distances to meet with their families and celebrate the most important holiday of all… Passover!

Christmas may not be the closest equivalent to the Passover festival, but there’s certainly some overlap—even if I don’t describe it as vaguely as possible. Passover was a major Jewish holiday, with both religious and cultural significance. Families would travel from all over to gather in Jerusalem and commemorate the day the Lord had liberated all of Israel from slavery in Egypt. On this Sunday, just a few days before the feast, the whole city was already packed with pilgrims.

This year, there was even an impromptu “Passover Parade,” like something you might see downtown around Christmas time—although they had psalms instead of carols, and palms instead of pine trees. And at the centre of the procession, instead of a bearded guy in a red suit, rode a single man atop a young donkey.

The crowds, filling the streets, shouted praises to this regal figure, applying the words of traditional Passover psalms—psalms that spoke of the coming King: “Hosanna to the Son of David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!”[1] Hosanna—literally it means, “please save us!” A fitting petition to bring before the King of creation! Surely, they must realize who this rider, this Jesus, is.

But as fitting as those words were, the true significance was apparently lost on them. When all the city heard the hubbub and asked, “Who is this?”[2], the crowds responded: “This is Jesus, the… prophet. From Nazareth.”

It’s clear from the “red carpet” of cloaks and palm branches that those crowds at least wanted Jesus to be their king—but no one who saw Jesus would think he already was one; he was still “just” a prophet. The king they waited for would bring them liberation, the kind that the Passover festival celebrated: national independence, the downfall of their oppressors, awesome displays of God’s power. That’s the kind of king they wanted, whether Jesus fit that mold or not.

The crowds wrongly expected a king who would come to save them from all their earthly problems. But before we criticize their interpretation, isn’t that what we so often look for, too? A king like that could make life a lot easier, after all. We want a king who conquers, who shows the world who’s boss. We want a king who makes us feel superior, who proves once and for all that we’re right—so that we don’t have to deal with any discomfort or conflict for our beliefs. We want a king who rides in on a warhorse to strike down disease and break down barriers so that we can coast through life. Wouldn’t that be great?

Just like those Palm Sunday worshipers, we can find ourselves singing along with the right words, but missing the point. When the angels sang of “Peace on Earth” on Christmas night, they didn’t mean we could expect our lives to be conflict-free. Jesus is Immanuel, “God with us,” but having God on our side doesn’t mean he’ll go along with whatever we want. When the King says “Comfort, comfort, all my people,” he doesn’t guarantee us cozy winter evenings with family or lives free of pain and toil and disease.

Those thoughts of world peace and easy living might make us feel warm and fuzzy, but they don’t reflect the kind of king Jesus came to be. They reflect the kind of king we think we need—a king who only comes to solve all our earthly problems. And if that’s the king we expect, we may sing all the right words, but our hearts are far from him. In our hearts, we’re rejecting the King Jesus came to be. In our hearts, it’s a rebellion.

It’s the same rebellion that first began in the hearts of Adam and Eve, when they believed their need for knowledge surpassed the authority of God’s command. If we expect Jesus to rule in our lives by fixing whatever we think is most pressing, we’re silently asserting that our priorities should be the guiding principle of his reign—that if his agenda doesn’t match ours, it can wait.

This hidden rebellion might be hard to detect from our perspective—psalms and palm branches hardly seem rebellious. But God knows our hearts, not just our words. When we expect a king other than the one God sends us, it’s not an innocent, neutral act—it’s a rejection of one in favour of another. It may not begin as conscious, open rebellion, but God’s law doesn’t leave room for half-hearted acceptance.

There’s only one logical course of action when a powerful king is faced with rebellion—even a hidden rebellion. We would expect the King to come marching in with his angelic armies to crush our rebellious race. We would expect him to punish us as the law demands, by throwing us into eternal imprisonment for rejecting the King he came to be, for daring to think that we know better than him. That’s what the law demands, after all.

And yet, that’s not the kind of King we see either. Instead, we see the King no one expected.

What kind of king comes from Nazareth, raised by a simple carpenter? What kind of king fills his court with tax collectors and sinners? What kind of king rides straight into enemy territory without an army to back him up? What kind of king wears a crown of thorns?

It’s the kind of King we need. The kind of King who comes to you.

Your King comes to you—carried into Bethlehem by a young girl from David’s royal line. To be born as one of us. To obey where we rebelled.

Your King comes to you—gentle and humble, welcomed into Jerusalem by crowds who would soon reject him. To die a rebel’s death in your place. To remove your guilt forever.

Your King comes to you—undeterred by the restrictions and resistance we put up, determined to endure whatever it took to restore the relationship between you and your God. To put enmity back where it belongs, and crush the serpent’s head once and for all.

That’s the kind of King we have. One who came down not to punish us as we deserved, but to take on our punishment, and to rescue us from our own rebellion. To make us his allies, not his enemies. And to show us what kind of King he came to be.

When Jerusalem asked, “Who is this?”, the crowds were blinded by their wrong expectations—but Scripture gives us the perfect answer. Think of the psalm we sang this morning, Psalm 24: “Who is he, this King of glory? The Lord Almighty—He is the King of glory!”[3]

Those crowds despised the gentleness and humility of Jesus, turning their cheers to jeers as he chose the cross instead of an earthly crown. But through the eyes of faith, we recognize that’s the most glorious thing he could have done—and exactly what we needed. Now that he has redeemed us rebels and brought us into his kingdom, our gentle Saviour King still comes to us. He may still bear a humble appearance—words on the pages of Scripture, a splash of water in baptism, or a bit of bread and wine in communion—but don’t be mistaken; in each of those, he comes to you with glorious power to give you forgiveness and grace, to strengthen you as you serve him in faith.

Because we know who our King is, we look at our lives in a completely different way. As humble servants of the King, we honour and obey him—even when we don’t fully understand his plan. Every one of us could easily come up with a list of problems for Jesus to solve for us, problems way too big for us to handle ourselves. And while Jesus is fully aware and in control of those problems, he doesn’t promise to take them away at the snap of our fingers. That’s not the kind of king he came to be.

But he is the King who promises to sustain us with true and lasting comfort, to guard our hearts with peace that transcends all understanding. Our Second Reading assures us, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”[4] Entrust him with your troubles, serve him without fear, because if your King tells you not to be anxious about anything, you can trust that he will take care of you in everything.

We know who our King is, so we gather to worship him. We don’t need to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem—just a few steps to grab your Bible for a family devotion, or better yet, drive a few kilometers on Sunday mornings to hear his name proclaimed to you here in church, to receive forgiveness in his body and blood with the family of believers. It may be difficult to see evidence of his reign out in the world, but here, in worship, your King continues to come to you, to establish his reign of grace in your heart and realign your expectations according to his perfect will.

And because we know who our King is, we join in proclaiming his name. We sing these familiar festive songs not out of nostalgia, not because we prefer Bing to Bublé, not to spread Christmas cheer, but because we know our gentle and glorious King, who came to us, bringing not a sword but salvation. We proclaim his name, whether in Christmas carols or conversation, so that the King of glory may enter not only our hearts, but each tribe and nation—starting with our neighbours—as he turns enemies into allies and brings rebels into his kingdom by the power of his Word.

We know who our King is, so we know what to expect when he comes again. Not an earthly king who only saves us from earthly problems. Not a vengeful king who comes to punish us. But a gentle King who comes to us as our Saviour. A King who rules in our hearts and brings true comfort and peace and joy. And on the day of his coming, when he appears, not on a donkey, but brilliantly descending from heaven, no one will have to ask, “Who is this?” Instead, we and believers of all nations will welcome him with perfect, blissful understanding: “The Lord Almighty—He is the King of glory!” Amen.

[1] Matthew 21:9

[2] Matthew 21:10

[3] Psalm 24:10

[4] Philippians 4:6

Waiting Is Hard

Luke 12:35-40

35 “Be dressed ready for service and keep your lamps burning, 36 like servants waiting for their master to return from a wedding banquet, so that when he comes and knocks they can immediately open the door for him. 37 It will be good for those servants whose master finds them watching when he comes. Truly I tell you, he will dress himself to serve, will have them recline at the table and will come and wait on them. 38 It will be good for those servants whose master finds them ready, even if he comes in the middle of the night or toward daybreak. 39 But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. 40 You also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.”

Waiting Is Hard

Waiting is hard.

I have this vivid memory from when I was about 6-7 years old. My sister was coming for a visit. When she lived at home, she was just my sister. But she’s 14 years older than I am, so by the time I was 5-6 years old, she was out of the house, which made her a celebrity. She had her own car, her own apartment. She was enrolled in college. She had a boyfriend. She’d stop by on weekends to spend time with family and maybe play with her little brother.

It was one such weekend. I was so excited for her to come, I started playing outside in the front yard hours before she was supposed to arrive. Not because I expected her to come early. I just wanted to be ready and in the right spot for when she did come.

Fast forward an hour (or two) to the time when she was supposed to arrive. I put on my rollerblades, grabbed my hockey stick and pretended to be a sentry at the end of our driveway. She wasn’t going to get past without my permission.

Fast forward another hour. She’s late. It’s getting dark. I was getting tired. So, I kicked off my rollerblades, threw my stick in the garage, and trudged into the house. Of course, lo and behold, no sooner do I close the front door than what do I hear? The sound of her car pulling into the driveway. I had waited for hours. And seconds after I gave up, she showed up.

Waiting is hard. Especially when you’re waiting for something you’re looking forward to. Especially when you have no idea when it’s going to happen. Jesus tells us a mini-parable today about something that checks both those boxes:

“Be dressed ready for service and keep your lamps burning, like servants waiting for their master to return from a wedding banquet, so that when he comes and knocks they can immediately open the door for him.”[1]

Our Master is returning. Jesus is coming back. That’s something worth looking forward to. Because he’s coming from something even better than a wedding banquet. He’s coming from heaven. And he’s coming to do something better than to serve you food. He’s coming to take you home to be with him in heaven. The only problem is we don’t know when.

Christians have been waiting now for 2,000 years. That’s a long time! That first generation of disciples was convinced that they’d see Jesus return in their lifetime, but that was many moons ago. And here we are – the great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandkids of that first generation of disciples, and we’re still waiting.

Vicar preached last week about some of the signs that his return is near – wars and rumours of war, false prophecy and fierce persecution – signs that we see all around us, and, frankly, signs that we’ve seen for a long time. Still no Jesus. On the one hand, it feels like he could come at any moment. On the other, it’s hard to believe that anyone will ever live long enough to see his return.

So, what do we do? “Wait” is the easy answer. It’s also the inevitable answer – something you don’t have a choice but to do, whether you want to or not. Worse, waiting is something that can be an entirely passive and thoughtless endeavour. But that’s hardly what Jesus tells us to do here. He doesn’t say, “Wait.” He says,

“Be dressed ready for service and keep your lamps burning.”

I was dressed. I was wearing rollerblades while I was waiting for my sister. I didn’t tell you this before, but as it got dark, I grabbed a flashlight so that I could see. I was even waiting in the right spot. But as overactive as my imagination was, I was not dressed ready for service. And do you know who reminded me of that as soon as I walked back into the house? My mom.

Can you imagine what she would have rather had me do for the previous 2 or 3 hours while I was waiting for my sister? Clean the house. Set the table. Walk the dog. Make my bed. You name it. There was a list of things for me to do. There was a pile of stuff on the stairs for me to take care of. I may not have been passively waiting in a lawn chair on the front yard – I may have been active – but I certainly wasn’t ready for service.

And that’s the challenge for you and me as we await Jesus’ return, isn’t it? It’s not hard to be active. We can fill our time and our days in an instant. We can complain about how busy we are. But “dressed ready for service” and “lamps burning” is another matter altogether.

What is it that we’re filling our time with? Is it mindless doomscrolling for an embarrassing number of hours every week that leaves you numb to the world and the real life you could live in it? What is it that we’re filling our time with? Is it hyperactivity at school or work that is advancing your career prospects and putting food on the table, but leaving you hungering and thirsting for that one thing that will fill the hole in your heart? Are we so busy spending time with each other – our families, our friends – that we let our relationship with our God wither on the vine?

That’s what Jesus means when he talks about keeping your lamps burning. This isn’t just consciousness. It’s not just wakefulness. It’s vigilance. It’s an alertness and an eager expectation of the return of our Master. That’s where Jesus is telling us to spend our mental energy – thinking about him and preparing for that time when we will see him again.

It has been 2,000 years since Jesus was last seen on earth. It may be another 2,000 years before he comes again. But you won’t have to wait that long to see his face. For each of us, it’s 70 or 80 years, if we have the strength. You may not have to wait until Judgement Day to see your Master; you might go to him before he comes back to earth. But the hard thing about waiting is what makes it worth it – when it’s something you’re looking forward to. And I can’t think of a single thing better than what Jesus promises us here.

Jesus is coming to serve you:

“It will be good for those servants whose master finds them watching when he comes. Truly I tell you, he will dress himself to serve, will have them recline at the table and will come and wait on them.”[2]

This isn’t your typical master/servant relationship – and not because the servants are so good that master and servant are on the same level. It’s because our Master is so good that he condescends to our level – and lower – to serve us in our need. We may not always spend our mental (or physical) energy on the right things – we may not always have a laser focus on our Lord – but, worthy or not, we are the apple of his eye and have always had his undivided attention.

And it showed on the night before he died. Jesus did this very thing for his disciples. In the last, fleeting hours that he would spend with his friends before he was forcibly taken from them – at a time above any other in his earthly life when he deserved to be taken care of – he served them. He dressed himself ready for service. He wrapped a towel around his waist, got down on his hands and knees and washed their feet. The least desirable of all the jobs of a household servant Jesus did unprompted for his disciples to show them the kind of Master he is.

Jesus isn’t on par with us. He is infinitely better, immeasurably more glorious. And yet, he doesn’t lord his mastery over us. He used it to serve us in our greatest need – to come to this world and be forgotten and mistreated and rejected, to be crucified and buried, so that he could give us this promise and this hope for the future – that our God loves us despite our unworthiness of him, that our sins are forgiven through his sacrifice on the cross, that our future is certain because of his impending return to come and take us home to be with him forever in heaven.

We have no idea when that day will come. And that can be hard. But we don’t have to wonder what to do in the meantime. Jesus lays it out for us:

“Be dressed ready for service and keep your lamps burning.”[3]

Keep your lamp burning. Be vigilant. It’s not enough just to be conscious. It’s not enough to coast through life in a daze. Fix your gaze firmly on Jesus. Build meditation on his Word and promises into your daily life and routine, so that you don’t take your faith for granted or forget about it entirely for long stretches at a time. Carve out time to read your Bible, to come to church, to study and pray with your fellow servants, so that when you look out at this world you’re not distracted by all the many things that can so quickly fill up our calendars and agendas, but so that you can always keep your eyes open to the signs of Jesus’ return and have hearts ready and watchful for his coming again.

Be dressed ready for service. It’s not enough just to be active. It’s not enough to be busy. Busy yourself in service – to each other, but ultimately to your Master. Work hard at your school work or office work, not just to put food on the table or advance your career, but to make good use of the gifts God has given you with thankfulness to him in your heart and service to him in your mind. Help each other. Visit the sick in the hospital. Give to the hungry and cold. There are people God has placed in your life right now, who can use your time and attention while you wait for Jesus to come again. What better thing could you do to demonstrate your readiness for his return than to dedicate your life in service to him through your service others?

Waiting is hard. But it’s worth it because your Master and Saviour is coming to take you home, and because he’s given you good work to do in the meantime. Get to it. Amen.

[1] Luke 12:35,36

[2] Luke 12:37

[3] Luke 12:35

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