The City’s Question
As Jesus enters the city, the crowd asks, “Who is this?”
Right before the question is asked, Matthew says something interesting. He says that the entire city was “stirred up.” None of the other Evangelists says this about Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. This language is uniquely Matthean.
The translation “stirred up” is from the ESV, and it’s fine, but the Greek verb Matthew uses is σείω, which usually describes something being physically shaken, like a tree shaken in the wind or the ground shaking from an earthquake. The word can be used figuratively, as it likely is here, but remember, this description of the city is unique to Matthew’s Gospel. And what we find, if we’re paying attention, is that Matthew actually has an earthquake theme running through his passion narrative.
The city’s shaking, then, is no throwaway detail. Matthew uses the same Greek root for the earth shaking when Jesus dies (27:51) and again for the earthquake that accompanies Jesus’s resurrection (28:2).
The city trembles at Jesus’ arrival and asks, “Who is this?” The earth shakes and answers that question at Golgotha and again at the empty tomb.
But the earth is not the only one to answer.
An immediate answer comes from the crowd: “This is the prophet Jesus, from Nazareth of Galilee” (Matt 21:11). The answer is true but insufficient. Matthew records it and moves on, but the question hangs over the rest of his Gospel. The earth gives its answer not with words but with seismic power. A verbal answer comes not from the crowds or even from Jesus’ disciples, but from the Roman soldier who stands at the foot of the cross, sees the earthquake, and says, “Truly this was the Son of God” (Matt 27:54).
Palm Sunday opens the question. Good Friday answers it. Easter vindicates it.
This arc gives shape to Holy Week. The question the city asks today is meant to follow us through every service of this week, every reading, every prayer, until Good Friday gives us an answer we could not have predicted and would not have chosen.
The Word Matthew Kept
There’s another uniquely Matthean feature of this text that I want us to look at. Matthew is the only evangelist to quote the Zechariah prophecy directly. He writes:
“Say to the daughter of Zion, ‘Behold, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden’” (Matt 21:5).
The source is Zechariah 9:9, but Matthew has edited it. The Hebrew text describes the coming king with four words: righteous, having salvation, humble, riding on a donkey. Matthew keeps two words, but he drops “righteous” and “having salvation” entirely. What remains is the description of the king as “humble” and “riding on a donkey.”
The word for humble is πραΰς, which is often translated as “meek.” Readers of Matthew’s Gospel have met this word before.
“Blessed are the meek (πραεῖς), for they shall inherit the earth” (Matt 5:5).
“I am gentle (πραΰς) and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls” (Matt 11:29).
Matthew has been building a portrait of this king since the Sermon on the Mount. When the moment of arrival finally comes, he makes an editorial decision. He strips the prophecy to its single most essential word. Not righteous. Not victorious. Not even “bringing salvation.” Meek.
But there is more to Zechariah 9:9 than just a messianic prediction. The verses immediately preceding it (Zech 9:1–8) describe a military campaign that moves south through Syria, Phoenicia, and the Philistine coast toward Jerusalem. This movement precisely matches Alexander the Great’s campaign in 332 BC through the same area.
Many scholars think Zechariah 9 was written with Alexander in mind. He was the most well-known conqueror of the ancient world, and he famously rode into conquered cities on a war horse. Surprisingly, in his conquest of the area, Alexander bypassed Jerusalem entirely. Scholars think it had no strategic value to him, although Josephus has a wonderful tale to explain why the city was spared (Ant. 11.317–39).
Against that backdrop, the humble king of Zech 9:9 is not just a prediction. He is a contrast. Jerusalem’s true king arrives differently. Not on a war horse. Not with an army. Not through conquest. He comes to the city, not past it, and he comes low and riding on a donkey.
Matthew quotes this passage and reduces its description of the coming king to one word — meek — because that’s the whole point. The king arriving in Jerusalem today is everything Alexander was not. He is the true savior and king of the world, and yet, before the week ends, that king will be crucified by his own people.
What the Crowd Gets Wrong
The crowd gets many things right as Jesus enters Jerusalem. They shout:
“Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” (21:9).
Every phrase is drawn from Scripture. Every title belongs to Jesus. These are not the wrong words.
And yet they are not enough.
The word “Hosanna” is itself a prayer — the Hebrew hoshiana, meaning “Save us now.” The instinct is correct. The people need saving. But they have already decided what salvation should look like, and their vision has no place for a Roman cross.
They wanted Alexander. They wanted another Maccabee. They wanted a conquering king on his mighty war horse. Jesus came to the city meekly, riding a donkey.
A Jesus that you have fully defined and fully understand before Good Friday is a Jesus that you have invented and made safe. The meek king riding in on a donkey does not match the king this crowd is welcoming. They want someone who will solve their problems by force. They want someone who will ride into the conflict between Israel and Rome and bring it to a decisive end in their favor. They want a savior who will bring salvation to them by shedding someone else’s blood. Jesus comes to shed his own.
We are not so different today. We still want a Messiah who will destroy our enemies, vindicate our tribe, and secure our future on our terms. We still prefer the warhorse to the donkey, John Wayne to Jesus. But the Son of David comes to us in meekness, and he saves the world not by dropping bombs on his enemies but by being killed by them.
The Answer
The crowd says, “This is the prophet Jesus, from Nazareth of Galilee.” Their answer is not false. It’s just incomplete.
Matthew does not answer on Palm Sunday. He walks Jesus through the temple courts, through the controversies of Holy Week, through the upper room, through Gethsemane, and through the trials. Then, on a Friday afternoon outside the city walls, the earth shakes, and a Roman soldier — not a disciple, not a Pharisee, not a descendant of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, not even one of the crowd from today — looks at the man on the cross and says, “Truly this was the Son of God” (27:54).
That is Matthew’s answer to the city’s question. The Son of God is the one on the cross. In Matthew’s Passion narrative, the identity of Jesus and the self-revelation of God come into clearest focus at Calvary. Matthew answers the city’s question with terrible and glorious clarity on the cross of Jesus Christ. The God we worship is the God who died there that blessed and horrid day. The life we believe God raised from the dead is the life of the meek king who rode into Jerusalem on a donkey. Palm Sunday and Good Friday are not two unrelated events in Matthew’s Gospel. They are a question and an answer. They are one revelation of who God really and truly is unfolding across a single week.
Walking Through the Week
The crowd that shouts hosannas is the crowd that shouts, “Crucify him!” Matthew makes no effort to distinguish them, no matter how much some might wish otherwise. They are not two different groups of people. And the disciples fare no better. They flee in Gethsemane, and Peter denies him before the night is out. At the foot of the cross, it is not a disciple who answers the city’s question rightly. It is a Roman soldier who sees what the celebrating crowd and Jesus’ own disciples could not.
Holy Week is not merely a commemoration of distant events. It's not like we're celebrating the anniversary of some great event. This is the week in which God shows us who he is. If you want to do theology, if you want to think rightly about who God is, that task starts here. The task of understanding who God truly is for us starts with a Jewish man being murdered by the empire at the behest of religious leaders and works forward and backward from there.
What this week shows us is not a salvation that we would have designed. A king who is meek. A Lord who serves. A God who dies. The crowd on Palm Sunday thought they had an answer, but it was inadequate.
If you’ve ever looked at Jesus and asked yourself, “Who is this?”, Matthew will show you. It will take many days. It will be painful. It will involve repentance, sorrow, and even shame. But there is glory waiting at the end. To know who Jesus truly is, to know who God truly is, you must walk with him through this whole week to see him as he has revealed himself in the cross of Jesus Christ. Amen.
Amen.
Life Group Discussion Guide
Intro Prayer
Lord Jesus, as we gather to discuss your Word, quiet our assumptions about who you are and what you came to do. Give us eyes to see you as you have revealed yourself, not as we would have preferred you to be, but as you truly are. Open our hearts to receive what this week has to show us. Amen.
Ice Breaker
If you could choose any mode of transportation to make a grand entrance somewhere, what would it be and why?
Questions
Matthew 21:10 says the whole city was “stirred up” when Jesus entered Jerusalem. The Greek verb σείω usually describes something being physically shaken. Why does Matthew include this detail when none of the other evangelists do?
Fr. Michael pointed out that Matthew uses the same Greek root for the earth shaking at the crucifixion (27:51) and again at the resurrection (28:2). What does it mean that the earth answers the city’s question when the crowd cannot?
The crowd identifies Jesus as “the prophet from Nazareth of Galilee.” Why is that answer true but insufficient?
Matthew quotes Zechariah 9:9 but edits it, dropping “righteous” and “having salvation” and keeping only “humble” — πραΰς, meek. Why does Matthew strip the prophecy down to that one word?
Fr. Michael noted that the verses before Zechariah 9:9 likely describe Alexander the Great’s military campaign through the same region. Against that backdrop, what does it mean that Jerusalem’s true king comes to the city rather than past it, and comes on a donkey rather than a war horse?
The crowd’s “Hosanna” is actually a prayer — in Hebrew it means “Save us now.” Their instinct is right, but their vision of salvation has no place for a crucified Messiah. Where do we do the same thing today?
“A Jesus that you have fully defined and fully understand before Good Friday is a Jesus that you have invented and made safe.” What does that mean to you?
The crowd that shouts “Hosanna!” is the same crowd that shouts “Crucify him.” Matthew makes no effort to distinguish them. What does that tell us about the welcome Jesus received?
It is a Roman soldier — not a disciple, not a religious leader, not a child of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob — who answers the city’s question rightly at the foot of the cross. Why is that significant?
Life Application
This week, identify one area of your life where you have been expecting Jesus to act like a conquering king, solving your problems by force or on your timeline. Bring that expectation to God in prayer and ask him to show you, through the events of Holy Week, what salvation actually looks like.
Key Takeaways
The question “Who is this?” is opened on Palm Sunday and answered on Good Friday.
Matthew strips Zechariah’s prophecy to one word — meek — because that word defines everything Jesus is in contrast to who people want him to be.
The crowd’s hosannas and the crowd’s “crucify him” come from the same people. Their welcome was real but insufficient.
The fullest self-revelation of God is not the Incarnation or the miracles. It is the cross.
To know who Jesus truly is, you have to walk with him through the whole week.
Ending Prayer
Lord Jesus, you came to us in meekness when we wanted a conqueror. You came on a donkey when we wanted a war horse. You shed your own blood when we wanted you to shed someone else’s. Forgive us for making you in our image. This week, as we walk with you toward the cross, open our eyes to see you as you truly are: the meek king, the suffering servant, the Son of God. Amen.