The Parade That Ends in Silence

Luke 19:28-40

When I was a kid, Aunt Lisa would take us to all the parades, which meant a lot of penny candy. They meant noise, music, and the red fez club Shriners on tiny go-carts doing donuts in the street. Later, parades started to mean something more: high school homecomings, Fourth of July Lumbee Homecoming, and the Macy’s balloon of Snoopy floating through Manhattan.

But as we grow older, we also realize that some parades have a quieter, heavier weight. Military processions. Marches for justice. The kind of parades where the music is solemn, a flag is folded, or silence says more than words ever could.

Today, on Palm Sunday, we remember another kind of parade—one that started with shouts of joy but ended in silence.

Jesus Plans His Own Parade

Let’s go to Luke 19. Jesus does something totally out of character. Up until this moment, He’s been intentionally under the radar. “Don’t tell anyone what I did,” He would say after healing someone. He slipped away from crowds, avoided titles, and kept His identity hidden.

But now—He stages a public demonstration. Jesus plans His own parade.

Parades serves an important function. They are the prelude to being discarded. Jesus was soon to be discarded.

Judas was already in the process of selling Him off for 30 pieces of silver.

Peter was about to discard Him in a brief conversation with a servant girl.

Even those beloved brothers, James and John, thought about discarding him.

The crowd, now cheering “Hosannah, Hosannah,” would soon be yelling, “Barabbas, Barabbas,” in Pilate’s court.

The parade has a way of letting you down. Often we are being eased out at the very same time that we are being honored. At retirement, a gold watch and a banquet prepare you for being discarded. Even the celebration of a golden wedding anniversary or an eightieth birthday has its somber side. Your family and friends realize you are about to move on, and the party is part of a group farewell.

In that original crowd was Bartimaeus, who was once blind and now could see. There was Lazarus, once dead and now alive. The parade began in his home town of Bethany. Nicodemus was in the crowd, a secret disciple who ultimately stood up to be counted. We are all those people and many more. The parade, then and now, gives us one more chance to respond to the King.

King Jesus has come. Palm Sunday makes the first explicit connection to Jesus’s kingship in the Gospel of Luke, but it’s a truth that’s been woven into the very fabric of his existence. From the prophets of old to the heavenly hosts at his birth, through the details of his entry into Jerusalem, Jesus is a king.

The Donkey and the Irony

Everything about this parade is full of symbols. He chooses a donkey, not a war horse. That’s not just humility—that’s a declaration of peace. In the ancient world, a king on a donkey meant, “I come in peace.” A king on a horse? That meant war.

So, Jesus is saying something. Loudly. Without saying a word. And Luke, unlike the other Gospel writers, doesn’t even mention palm branches. He focuses on cloaksbeing laid on the road, something done for military victors or royal dignitaries.

“Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!” they shout. They are quoting Psalm 118, the pilgrim’s psalm, the psalm of triumph. But they don’t understand what they’re really saying.

This is the irony at the heart of Palm Sunday. The crowd shouts the right words... but for the wrong reasons. They are hoping for a king who will conquer Rome, who will make Israel great again. A king who will overthrow the Empire, restore their national pride, and maybe hand out some blessings along the way.

But Jesus comes not to overthrow Rome, but to overthrow sin and death. Not to claim a throne, but to carry a cross. They want a military parade. Jesus gives them a funeral procession. And the crowd doesn’t realize it. They are cheering the King they want—not the King He truly is.

From Praise to Silence

Here’s what we know: This same crowd—within days—will stop shouting praise. They’ll go from “Hosanna!” to “Crucify Him!” Judas will discard Jesus for silver. Peter will deny Him for safety. James and John, once asking to sit beside His throne, will flee into the shadows. And Jesus will stand alone.

The cheers fade. The cloaks are forgotten. The road leads not to a palace but to a cross.

The Pharisees were right to be worried. This wasn’t just a parade. This was a protest. A disruption of Rome’s power and the religious establishment's compromise with it.

Jesus was entering the city as King—and not just spiritually. Luke emphasizes this in a way Matthew and Mark do not: “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord.” Luke wants us to hear the danger. This is treason. Blasphemy. A threat to both temple and empire.

The Pharisees tell Jesus to quiet the crowd. But Jesus says, “If they remain silent, the stones will cry out.” Because even if humans miss the sign, creation gets it. The road knows who’s walking it. The stones beneath His feet carry more truth than the cheers above His head.

The East Gate & Eternal Purpose

And where does Jesus enter? The East Gate. The one sealed by Suleiman the Magnificent 1,500 years later because of a prophecy in Ezekiel 44: “This gate is to remain shut because the Lord, the God of Israel, has entered through it.”

Even the city’s architecture is a sign. Even the walls are witnesses. Even the gate remembers the King who came and will come again.

When the Cheers Fade

When the cheers fade and the branches dry, when the cloaks lie forgotten in the dust, when the streets empty and the sound of praise grows quiet—the way of Jesus continues. It does not depend on the crowd, the celebration, or the spectacle. It moves forward—toward a cross, not a crown. Toward surrender, not status. Toward silence, not applause.

The beauty of Palm Sunday is not in how loud we praise, but in whether our lives echo that praise when the noise dies down. The parade was never meant to end in power. It was always leading toward peace. It was always a path to the cross. And it is still being walked by those who choose to follow—not just in public, but in the hidden places of obedience.

Let this moment be more than a memory of palms. Let it be the beginning of a deeper walk—a walk into holy silence—a walk that leads to life.

Maybe we’ve misunderstood the parade too. Maybe we’ve mistaken peace for passivity. Maybe we’ve mistaken worship for performance.

Maybe we’ve mistaken Jesus for someone He never claimed to be. But here’s the good news: the stones still cry out. Creation still testifies. And grace still invites us to see the King rightly.

Today is your chance to see clearly. To shout not out of emotion—but out of revelation. To not just wave your cloak—but to lay down your life. Because the parade isn’t over. It continues every time Jesus rides into a heart, a church, a city. And yes—it still ends in silence. But on the other side of that silence… is resurrection.

Final Prayer: “Lord Jesus, King of Peace, we have often cheered You with confused hearts. We have joined the parade without understanding the purpose. Today, let us not only wave our praise—let us walk the path You walked. Let us follow You beyond the parade… beyond the cheers… into the silence of surrender. And may we, like the stones, never stop crying out Your truth. Amen.”