By Paul Senz | Catholic News Service
It is a common adage by now that the Old Testament is fulfilled in the New Testament, and the New revealed in the Old. The life and ministry of Jesus Christ was the fulfillment of centuries of prophecy, and when the Gospel was spread around the world, this point got great emphasis.
We, as Catholics, see ourselves in continuity with the ancient Jewish people, and as a result we have a special interest in understanding how the prophecies of the Old Testament came to fulfillment in Jesus.
This year on Palm Sunday, we read the account from the Gospel of Matthew of the entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem. Scholars typically recognize Matthew’s as the Gospel with the greatest focus on the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy, and this scene is no exception.
In Matthew’s recounting of the entrance into Jerusalem, Matthew specifically draws attention to a number of Old Testament prophecies being fulfilled in Jesus.
In the first verse of Matthew’s recounting of the entrance into Jerusalem, we hear that Jesus and the disciples were in Bethpage. Bethpage is one of the last villages on the road from Jericho to Jerusalem, and is located on the Mount of Olives.
The village is significant in the context of Old Testament prophecy, as Zechariah prophesied that this would be where God’s kingship over the entire world would ultimately be revealed (Zec 14:4-9). This is especially important to remember in light of the great kingship prophecies that would be fulfilled as Jesus continued into the city of Jerusalem.
There is one brief passage, in particular, that contains some of the most profound symbolism and prophecy fulfillment in the whole of this scene: Jesus riding a colt on which no one has ever sat.
In the Old Testament, it is often specified that an animal meant for a sacred purpose must not have been put to any ordinary use before. This stipulation can be found in Numbers 19:2, Deuteronomy 21:3 and 1 Samuel 6:7.
Pope Benedict XVI, in his marvelous book, “Jesus of Nazareth: Holy Week: From the Entrance into Jerusalem to the Resurrection,” says that this may seem harmless to today’s reader, “but for the Jewish contemporaries of Jesus it is full of mysterious allusions.”
Even the fact that Jesus requested a mode of transport, by sending two disciples to acquire the colt because “the master has need of it,” is Jesus claiming the right of kings. This also brings to mind Genesis 49:10-11, in which Judah is promised the scepter, the ruler’s staff.
In this passage, it is said that Judah binds his donkey to the vine. “The tethered donkey, then,” says Pope Benedict, “indicates the one who is to come, ‘to (whom) shall be the obedience of the peoples.'” Here again, Jesus is claiming for himself the rights proper to kingship, which would not have been missed by his contemporary Jews.
Matthew explicitly quotes Zechariah 9:9: “Exult greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout for joy, O daughter Jerusalem! Behold: Your king is coming to you, a just savior is he, humble, and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey” (see Mt 21:5). Jesus is displaying kingship, but he is the king of peace, of simplicity, of humility.
“Jesus is indeed making a royal claim,” Benedict writes. “He wants his path and his action to be understood in terms of Old Testament promises that are fulfilled in his person. The Old Testament speaks of him — and vice versa: He acts and lives within the word of God, not according to projects and wishes of his own.”
The narrative tells of the crowd covering the ground with their cloaks and palm branches as Jesus passed them by. This gesture is another that is fraught with symbolism and meaning from the Old Testament.
The spreading of cloaks and branches is an image of enthronement in the line of King David, hearkening back to 2 Kings 9:13 and 1 Maccabees 13:51: “The Jews entered the citadel with shouts of praise, the waving of palm branches, the playing of harps and cymbals and lyres, and the singing of hymns and canticles, because a great enemy of Israel had been crushed.”
As Jesus entered Jerusalem, another great enemy of Israel — the greatest enemy — was about to be crushed as well.
The people were overcome, shouting the words of Psalm 118, “which on their lips becomes a messianic proclamation,” Pope Benedict writes. Shouts of “Hosanna!” fill the air.
Over the course of Jewish history, the connotations of “Hosanna” developed from a prayer of supplication to one of praise, “joyful praise of God at the moment of the processional entry, hope that the hour of the Messiah had arrived, and at the same time a prayer that the Davidic kingship and hence God’s kingship over Israel would be re-established.”
Jesus has now entered the holy city of Jerusalem, and made clear the divine claim to kingship. His hour has come, and with it, the hour of our salvation — the salvation which God promised his people of old.
Senz is a freelance writer living in Oregon with his family.
Palm Sunday: Discovering real treasure
By Mike Nelson | Catholic News Service
Palm Sunday produces an unsettling wave of emotions like no other day in the liturgical year — from unbridled joy at the arrival of the Messiah in Jerusalem, to unfathomable sorrow at his crucifixion on a cross.
How do we make sense of it all as we head into Holy Week?
One of my most reliable sources of inspiration — as a husband, father and Catholic — is “People of the Passion,” a unique “meditation drama” written in 1985 by Catholic author/actress Mary Rose Betten.
In her story (suitable for stage performance or Scripture study), Betten explores the thoughts of nine people on the day of Jesus’ crucifixion — a few of them familiar (like Pilate’s wife and the bride at Cana), others created by the author’s fertile Catholic mind but entirely plausible.
The reflections of all nine characters are fascinating. But I have always been especially struck by the musings of a wealthy silversmith, a husband and father more intent on providing for his family materially than spiritually.
One day, encouraged (read: dragged) by his wife, he goes to hear “a Nazarene” with a reputation for healing the blind and lame. To his chagrin, the silversmith is captivated by the Nazarene’s words preached to thousands gathered on a hillside.
Captivation turns to astonishment when this preacher miraculously produces thousands of fish and hundreds of loaves, an action that so overwhelms his mute daughter that she bursts into song. “My daughter is singing!” gushes the happy silversmith.
But his and his wife’s joy are shattered when, upon returning home, they discover their house has been robbed of all the expensive wares that he had created.
“Revenge entered my heart, driving out gratitude and joy,” says the silversmith, “and in its place a wild rage to find the thief. I wanted to kill him; I wanted him to die for making me a poor man, left with nothing.”
The thief is eventually caught and sentenced to die, and on the day of his execution the silversmith, consumed with rage and vengeance, cheers wildly as the thief is carried by the Romans to Calvary. “Crucify him! Let the dog die!”
But in the midst of his rage, the silversmith discovers that to be crucified alongside this thief is “the rabbi who had given my daughter a voice.”
Stunned into silence, the silversmith is further amazed to hear the man who stole his silver ask the rabbi to save him — and to hear the rabbi tell him, “Today you will be with me in paradise.”
“I’m not sure what happened to my revenge,” says the silversmith. “I only know my daughter, my wife and I are disciples now.” The “good thief,” he reflects, “was indeed a good thief to rid my shop of idols.”
I can recall, more than 30 years ago, when I was encouraged by my wife to attend the Los Angeles Religious Education Congress at a time when I was more absorbed with my family’s financial welfare than its spiritual well-being. That event, to my chagrin, was a revelation — a wondrous, joyous experience that eventually brought me into the Catholic Church.
That same Catholic Church, over the years, has caused me moments of pain and sorrow, several of which have adversely impacted our family’s financial status.
And yet, that same church has brought me many more moments of joy, including the discovery of God-given talents that I likely would never have realized if not for the church and its people — led by my wife and son — who have loved and encouraged me at every step, especially in the face of sorrow.
Joy and sorrow. Like Betten’s silversmith, I realize that I cannot hold on to grief and anger, for my sake and the sake of my loved ones. I instead move forward, to find joy in living as Jesus’ disciple — and discover what “treasure” truly means.
Catholic journalist Mike Nelson writes from Southern California.
Hosanna in the highest
By Dan Mulhall | Catholic News Service
The liturgy on Palm Sunday begins differently from most Masses. In most Catholic churches, people gather outside or in the vestibule where they hear a reading from the Gospel according to Matthew (21:1-11) about Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem. Palms are then blessed and the congregation processes into the church together.
While all four of the Gospel accounts tell basically the same story of what happened that day in Jerusalem, only Matthew uses these words: “Hosanna to the Son of David; blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord; hosanna in the highest” (21:9). What exactly does the word “hosanna” mean and why would the crowd shout it about Jesus at this time?
Hosanna is a transliteration of the Hebrew word “hosi-ah-na,” which means to save or rescue, or designates the person who saves or rescues. According to Strong’s Concordance the “-na” suffix is used to express “intense emotion.”
While originally the word was used as prayer of intercession asking for God to intervene and save his people (Psalm 118:25 says, “Lord, grant salvation! Lord, grant good fortune!”) by Jesus’ day the word had become a shout of jubilation, a statement of praise because God had saved his people. At the Jewish feast of Tabernacles and at Passover the word continues to be used in this way.
But there is more to this phrase in Matthew than just the word “hosanna.” In verse 9, Matthew continues with the phrase “blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord,” which comes from Psalm 118:26.
This is significant because, according to the comments in the New American Bible, Psalm 118 is “a thanksgiving liturgy” that was used during a procession of the king and the people into the Temple.
The psalm recalls and celebrates how God faithfully responded to Israel’s pleas for assistance. This psalm was also used as a blessing given to pilgrims when they arrived at the Temple in Jerusalem.
Gradually this phrase saw its meaning develop as well, acquiring what Pope Benedict XVI in his book “Jesus of Nazareth” described as “messianic significance.”
“It had become,” Pope Benedict writes, “praise of Jesus, a greeting to him as the one who comes in the name of the Lord, the one awaited and proclaimed by all the promises.” So, in shouting “Hosanna” as Jesus entered Jerusalem his disciples were acknowledging him as the Messiah, the promised one sent from God to save Israel.
We continue to say a variation of this phrase from Matthew every time we participate in the eucharistic liturgy. We pray, “Hosanna in the highest. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest.”
In so doing we recognize once again (as the crowd did on that day in Jerusalem) that Jesus is Lord, the promised one of God who comes to save us. Our prayers have been answered. Now we celebrate God’s saving power and love for us.
Hosanna in the highest.
Mulhall is a catechist who lives in Louisville, Kentucky.
FOOD FOR THOUGHT
The crowds shout, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” as Jesus entered Jerusalem riding on a donkey, Pope Francis said in a homily March 20, 2016, Palm Sunday.
“The crowd of Jerusalem exclaimed joyfully as they welcomed Jesus,” said the pope, and “we have made that enthusiasm our own: By waving our olive and palm branches, we have expressed our praise and our joy, our desire to receive Jesus who comes to us.”
Christ also desires to come into our cities and into our very lives, explained the pope. He comes to us in humility, “riding on a donkey” and “in the name of the Lord.” Pope Francis continued, “Through the power of his divine love, he forgives our sins and reconciles us to the Father and with ourselves.”
This Palm Sunday, how we are welcoming Jesus into our lives? Do we find in him, as the pope reminds us, “the source of our joy, true joy, which abides and brings peace”?