Luke 9:51–10:24 Rejection to Reclamation: Cruciform Discipleship

Luke 9:51–10:24 is not a loose collection of stories—it is a turning point where everything sharpens. Here, Jesus sets His face toward Jerusalem, and with that single movement the entire Gospel takes on a new gravity. What follows is not merely travel, but a journey into rejection, into the redefinition of discipleship, and into the launching of a mission that reaches the nations. The Samaritan refusal, the unsettling demands placed upon would-be followers, and the sending of the seventy-two all belong to one unfolding vision: the kingdom of God advancing through a people shaped not by power, but by the cruciform path of their Messiah. Luke is not simply telling us where Jesus goes. He is showing us what it means to follow Him there.

Luke 9:51 marks one of the great turning points in the Gospel:

“When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem.”

The Greek phrase στήρισεν τὸ πρόσωπον (“set his face”) carries prophetic intensity and almost certainly echoes Isaiah 50:7, where the suffering servant declares, “I have set my face like flint.” Joel Green notes that Luke intentionally presents Jesus here as entering the decisive phase of His mission, moving with resolute obedience toward the cross.^1 Darrell Bock likewise argues that the phrase communicates not merely determination but “eschatological purpose.”^2

The Hebraic idiom of “setting one’s face” evokes covenantal resolve. In the Hebrew Scriptures, to “set the face” toward something often indicated judicial or prophetic intentionality (cf. Ezek. 6:2; 21:2). Jesus is not drifting toward Jerusalem. He is embracing His vocation as the suffering yet victorious Son. Importantly, Luke uses the term analēmpsis (“taken up”), which points not merely to crucifixion but to the entire arc of death, resurrection, exaltation, and ascension.^3 From the outset, Luke frames the journey through the lens of glorification.

Luke immediately records the rejection of Jesus by a Samaritan village because “his face was set toward Jerusalem” (Luke 9:53). This detail is enormously significant. The hostility is not random ethnic prejudice but rooted in ancient disputes over sacred geography and covenant legitimacy. Samaritans traced their worship traditions to Mount Gerizim rather than Jerusalem. Joseph Fitzmyer notes that the divide between Jews and Samaritans centered particularly upon competing temple claims and questions of covenant fidelity.^4 The issue was fundamentally theological: Where had God truly chosen to place His name?

Yet Luke’s irony is profound. Jesus is rejected by Samaritans because He journeys toward Jerusalem, but Jerusalem itself will also reject Him. N. T. Wright observes that Luke portrays Jesus as simultaneously rejected by outsiders and misunderstood by insiders, thereby exposing the failure of all existing religious systems to fully comprehend the kingdom of God.^5

This rejection becomes the catalyst for revealing the disciples’ distorted understanding of divine power.

James and John respond: “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?”

The allusion to Elijah in 2 Kings 1 is unmistakable. The disciples see themselves acting in continuity with prophetic precedent. François Bovon argues that they likely believed they were defending divine holiness against covenantal rejection.^6

Yet Jesus rebukes them sharply.

This moment reveals one of Luke’s central theological concerns: Scripture can be quoted correctly while still being embodied wrongly. The disciples understand the story of Elijah but misunderstand the spirit of Jesus.

The contrast is crucial. Elijah called down fire. Jesus absorbs rejection and continues toward the cross. James and John desire judgment upon Samaria; in Acts 8 Samaria will become one of the first great regions to receive the gospel. Luke Timothy Johnson notes that Luke intentionally develops Samaria as a theological bridge demonstrating the expansive mercy of God beyond sectarian boundaries.^7

What the disciples wish to destroy becomes part of the coming harvest.

This also anticipates Pentecost. The kingdom will not advance through destruction of enemies but through the outpouring of the Spirit upon former outsiders.

Immediately after the Samaritan episode, Luke records three encounters concerning discipleship (9:57–62). These are not disconnected sayings but interpretive commentary on the previous scene. Jesus is defining the kind of people capable of carrying the kingdom into hostile spaces. Tim Keller insightfully summarizes the passage as involving “a new priority, a new identity, and a new mercy.”^8 These themes are deeply woven into Luke’s narrative structure.

The first would-be disciple enthusiastically declares: “I will follow you wherever you go.”

Jesus responds: “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”

This saying follows directly after Samaritan rejection and denied hospitality. In the ancient Mediterranean world, identity and security were rooted in land, kinship, household structures, and patronage networks. Jesus announces a kingdom detached from ordinary systems of social stability. Kenneth Bailey notes that Jesus here dismantles assumptions about messianic triumphalism.^9 The Messiah does not move through the world with imperial comfort but with prophetic vulnerability. This becomes especially significant against the backdrop of Roman imperial ideology. Rome established peace through military presence, political dominance, and hierarchical order. Jesus moves toward Jerusalem homeless, rejected, and dependent upon hospitality.

The second encounter intensifies the call: “Leave the dead to bury their own dead.”

Burial obligations represented one of the highest familial duties in Jewish culture. Jesus’ statement is intentionally shocking. Bailey argues that this prophetic hyperbole communicates the supreme urgency of kingdom vocation.^10 The issue is not contempt for family but reordered allegiance.

The third disciple asks permission to say farewell to his household. Jesus replies: “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” This almost certainly echoes Elijah’s calling of Elisha in 1 Kings 19. Yet Jesus intensifies the demand. Elisha was permitted to return home briefly; Jesus emphasizes decisive forward orientation. Darrell Bock observes that Luke intentionally presents Jesus as both prophetically continuous with Elijah and surpassing him.^11 This creates remarkable literary symmetry with Luke 9:51. Jesus “sets His face” toward Jerusalem, and disciples are warned not to look backward. The disciple’s posture mirrors the Messiah’s own resolute movement toward the cross.

Luke 10 opens: “After this the Lord appointed seventy-two others and sent them on ahead of him.”

The phrase “after this” is narratively critical. The mission comes only after violent zeal has been rebuked and discipleship clarified. The kingdom cannot be entrusted to those still imagining power through the categories of empire, retaliation, or coercion.

The number seventy-two carries enormous theological significance.

In Genesis 10, the “Table of Nations” lists the nations of the earth following Babel. In the Masoretic Text, the number totals seventy; in the Septuagint (LXX), the number is seventy-two.^12 Since Luke frequently reflects Septuagintal traditions, many scholars conclude that his use of seventy-two intentionally evokes the nations of the world.^13

This becomes even more important when connected to Deuteronomy 32:8–9, particularly in its Dead Sea Scrolls and Septuagint readings: “He fixed the borders of the peoples according to the number of the sons of God.” Rather than “sons of Israel,” the earlier textual tradition suggests that the nations were distributed among heavenly powers while Israel remained Yahweh’s own inheritance.^14 Within Second Temple Jewish thought, this developed into a broader divine council worldview in which the nations existed under rebellious spiritual authorities following Babel. Michael Heiser argues that Deuteronomy 32 reflects a cosmic fragmentation of humanity among lesser powers.^15

The number 70 in the Hebrew Bible carries deep symbolic weight. It consistently represents completeness, totality, or fullness within covenantal structure:

  • 70 nations (Gen 10 MT) → totality of humanity
  • 70 elders of Israel (Exod 24:1; Num 11:16) → representative leadership
  • 70 members of Jacob’s household going into Egypt (Gen 46:27) → the fullness of Israel

In this framework, 70 becomes a symbolic number for “the whole”, especially in relation to ordered structure under God.

So in the MT tradition, the Table of Nations is not just counting people groups. It is presenting a complete map of humanity under divine ordering. Now connect that back:

  • 70 / 72 nations = totality of humanity
  • Heavenly correspondences = cosmic ordering

So the number is not just ethnographic. It is cosmological.

Luke is signaling:

  • The mission is not just to Israel (12), but to all nations (72)
  • What was divided at Babel is now being reclaimed in Christ
  • The disciples are symbolically sent into every portion of humanity’s map

Against this background, the sending of the seventy-two becomes astonishing. Jesus is symbolically initiating the reclaiming of the nations.

The twelve in Luke 9 correspond to Israel. The seventy-two in Luke 10 correspond to the nations beyond Israel. Craig Keener notes that the number likely symbolizes “the universal scope of the mission.”^16

Luke is therefore presenting the mission as a reversal of Babel. N. T. Wright describes Pentecost as the moment when “the scattered family of Abraham begins to be reconstituted around Jesus.”^17 Luke 10 functions as a prophetic anticipation of that restoration.

At Babel, humanity was scattered through divided languages. At Pentecost, languages are miraculously united through the Spirit. At Babel, the nations fragmented under competing powers. In Luke-Acts, the nations begin to be regathered under the reign of the Messiah.

-Will Ryan

The instructions Jesus gives the seventy-two are radically anti-imperial: “I am sending you out as lambs in the midst of wolves.”

Rome expanded through military force, economic extraction, and political domination. Jesus sends vulnerable envoys dependent upon hospitality.

David Bosch argues that early Christian mission subverted imperial logic not by mirroring violence but by embodying an alternative social reality centered upon peace, reconciliation, and sacrificial witness.^18 The disciples carry no purse, no knapsack, and no sandals. They enter homes pronouncing peace. They heal the sick and proclaim the nearness of the kingdom. The mission of Jesus therefore advances not through coercion but through cruciform presence. This explains why Jesus rebuked James and John earlier. The nations are not reclaimed through fire from heaven but through Spirit-formed disciples shaped by mercy.

The cosmic dimension reaches its climax when the seventy-two return: “Lord, even the demons are subject to us in your name!”

Jesus replies: “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven.”

This statement is often interpreted only cosmologically, but within Luke’s narrative it also functions missiologically. As the kingdom advances into territories symbolically associated with the nations, the powers governing those realms begin to collapse.

Richard Hays notes that Luke repeatedly portrays Jesus’ ministry as the defeat of hostile cosmic authority structures through acts of healing, exorcism, mercy, and proclamation.^19 If the nations were dispersed under rebellious powers after Babel, then the mission of the seventy-two signals the beginning of their liberation.

This also explains the serpent imagery in Luke 10:19: “I have given you authority to tread on serpents and scorpions.”

The language echoes Genesis 3, Psalm 91, and broader ANE chaos imagery associated with serpentine evil. Jesus presents the mission as participation in God’s victory over the powers of disorder and death.

Luke’s literary structure is therefore extraordinarily coherent:

  • Jesus is rejected by Samaritans
  • The disciples desire judgment
  • Jesus rebukes retaliatory zeal
  • Discipleship is clarified as costly allegiance
  • The seventy-two are sent to the nations
  • The powers begin to fall
  • Pentecost later completes the reversal of Babel

The movement from Luke 9 into Luke 10 reveals that kingdom mission cannot be carried by people still governed by the imagination of empire.

The disciple must become like the Messiah:

  • resolute yet merciful
  • rejected yet peace-bearing
  • vulnerable yet authoritative
  • homeless yet carrying the presence of God

Thomas Tarrants rightly observes that discipleship involves “living a new mercy.”^20 This is precisely what James and John lacked initially and what Jesus now forms within His followers.

Luke 9:51–10:24 is not merely a story about what Jesus did; it is an unveiling of how God restores what has been fractured and how He invites His people to participate in that restoration. What began at Babel as division, scattering, and distance now begins to be drawn back together in the mission of Jesus. The sending of the seventy-two signals that the heart of God has always been for the nations, for every scattered place and person, and that this restoration is now unfolding through the Messiah.

Yet Luke is careful to show us where this mission begins. It does not begin with success, influence, or momentum. It begins with rejection. Jesus sets His face toward Jerusalem knowing what awaits Him, and almost immediately He is turned away by the Samaritans. Soon enough, Jerusalem itself will do the same. This is not incidental; it is formative. Before the disciples are ever sent out, they must learn what kind of kingdom they belong to. Their instinct is familiar. They want to call down fire, to defend God, to respond to rejection with power. But Jesus rebukes them, not simply to correct their behavior but to reshape their imagination. The kingdom does not move forward through retaliation or coercion. It does not advance by force or by winning. It moves through mercy, patience, and a deep trust in the purposes of God.

This is where the passage presses into our own lives. We often feel the pull to respond in kind when we are dismissed, misunderstood, or opposed. We want clarity, control, and sometimes vindication. Yet Jesus forms a different kind of disciple, one who can carry truth without losing tenderness and who can endure rejection without becoming hardened. The call to follow Him is not just about belief; it is about becoming the kind of person who reflects His way in the world. That is why the teachings on discipleship immediately follow. Jesus speaks of leaving security, reordering priorities, and refusing to look back. These are not abstract ideals but necessary conditions for mission. A divided heart cannot carry the kingdom. A backward gaze will always hinder forward movement. The same resolve that leads Jesus to Jerusalem must take root in those who follow Him.

Only then does He send the seventy-two. And even here, the nature of the mission is striking. They are sent not with strength but with dependence, not with authority as the world understands it but with peace. They go into homes, into villages, into uncertain spaces, carrying nothing that would give them control over outcomes. What they carry instead is the presence of the kingdom itself. This is the quiet but powerful contrast Luke is drawing. The kingdoms of this world establish themselves through power, structure, and force. Jesus sends His followers in weakness, trusting that God works precisely through what appears insufficient. The authority they exercise is real, even cosmic, as seen in the defeat of demonic powers, but it is exercised through obedience and faithfulness rather than domination.

For us, this reframes everything. We are not called to manage results or secure outcomes, but to walk faithfully in the way of Jesus. We are invited to bring peace into the places we enter, to trust God with what is received and what is rejected, and to continue forward without carrying bitterness or fear. The mission does not depend on our ability to succeed in worldly terms, but on our willingness to remain aligned with the heart of Christ.

This is hope.

Hope for families following Jesus in a broken world. Hope for marriages grounded in faithfulness, not control. Hope for communities shaped by peace, not pressure.

The way of Jesus still works. His path of mercy over retaliation, presence over power, and faithfulness over force is not weakness—it is how God restores what is broken.

And that means we are not left striving or grasping. We are sent. Carrying His peace. Living His way. Trusting that even now, in ordinary places, restoration is already unfolding.

And there is deep encouragement here. The same regions that reject today may receive tomorrow. Samaria, once closed to Jesus, becomes open in Acts. What feels like resistance now may be preparation for something greater later. God is always working beyond what we can see, and nothing offered in faithfulness is wasted. So the call at the end of this passage is both simple and profound.

Set your face as Jesus did. Do not be shaped by rejection or driven by the need to prove yourself. Carry peace into every space you enter. Trust that God is at work in ways you cannot fully measure. The restoration of the nations, the healing of what has been broken, continues through ordinary lives surrendered to an extraordinary King.

Notes

  1. Joel B. Green, The Gospel of Luke, NICNT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 397–399.
  2. Darrell L. Bock, Luke 9:51–24:53, BECNT (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 1996), 950–952.
  3. Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke X–XXIV, AB 28A (New York: Doubleday, 1985), 824–825.
  4. Fitzmyer, Luke X–XXIV, 826–827.
  5. N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996), 244–248.
  6. François Bovon, Luke 2, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2013), 61–63.
  7. Luke Timothy Johnson, The Gospel of Luke, Sacra Pagina (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1991), 160–162.
  8. Tim Keller, “The Call to Discipleship,”
  9. Kenneth E. Bailey, Jesus Through Middle Eastern Eyes (Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2008), 193–196.
  10. Bailey, Jesus Through Middle Eastern Eyes, 196–198.
  11. Bock, Luke 9:51–24:53, 977–980.
  12. Richard Bauckham, Bible and Mission (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2003), 47–49.
  13. Craig A. Evans, Luke, NIBC (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1990), 165–166.
  14. Patrick D. Miller, Deuteronomy (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1990), 229–231.
  15. Michael S. Heiser, The Unseen Realm (Bellingham: Lexham, 2015), 113–125.
  16. Craig S. Keener, IVP Bible Background Commentary: New Testament (Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2014), 233–234.
  17. N. T. Wright, Acts for Everyone (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2008), 23–25.
  18. David Bosch, Transforming Mission (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1991), 39–42.
  19. Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Gospels (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2016), 214–220.
  20. Thomas Tarrants, “The Call to Discipleship,”
  21. Charles Jordan, “The Gospel of Luke – Luke 9:51–10:24 – The Seventy,”
  22. Warren Carter, The Roman Empire and the New Testament (Nashville: Abingdon, 2006), 111–117.
  23. Jerome H. Neyrey, The Social World of Luke-Acts (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1991), 88–93.
  24. Michael J. Gorman, Cruciformity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 254–268.
  25. Richard Bauckham, The Bible and Mission (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2003), 50–55.
  26. Joel B. Green, The Theology of the Gospel of Luke (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 102–109.
  27. John Howard Yoder, The Politics of Jesus (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 39–45.
  28. Christopher J. H. Wright, The Mission of God (Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2006), 262–270.
  29. Darrell L. Bock, A Theology of Luke and Acts (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2012), 141–149.
  30. Michael Wolter, The Gospel According to Luke, Vol. 2 (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2017), 23–31.

Palm Sunday and the Subversive Kingship of Jesus:Prophetic Fulfillment, Royal Sign-Act, and the Reconstitution of Power


This study offers a socio-rhetorical and intertextual reading of the so-called Triumphal Entry narratives (Matt 21:1–11; Mark 11:1–11; Luke 19:28–44; John 12:12–19), arguing that Palm Sunday is best understood not as a spontaneous celebration but as a carefully staged prophetic sign-act. Drawing upon Second Temple interpretive practices, Ancient Near Eastern royal symbolism, and recent scholarship on anti-imperial readings of the Gospels, this article contends that Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem functions as a deliberate redefinition of kingship. The event fulfills Scripture not merely predictively but typologically and narratively, culminating in a paradoxical vision of victory that coheres with a Christus Victor framework. The pastoral implication is clear: the kingdom Jesus inaugurates subverts conventional expectations of power, calling the Church to embody a cruciform understanding of authority and mission.


Palm Sunday has often been domesticated within Christian liturgical practice, framed as a moment of celebratory anticipation preceding the solemnity of the Passion. Yet such readings risk obscuring the narrative’s theological density and socio-political force. The Gospel writers do not present this event as incidental but as programmatic, situating it within the charged atmosphere of Passover—a festival already laden with liberationist memory and eschatological expectation.¹

Within this context, Jesus’ approach to Jerusalem is neither accidental nor merely devotional; it is a calculated enactment of kingship. As such, the Triumphal Entry must be read as a prophetic sign-act, akin to those performed by Israel’s prophets, wherein symbolic actions communicate divine intention.² The question, therefore, is not simply whether Jesus fulfills Scripture, but how that fulfillment reconfigures prevailing conceptions of messiahship, kingship, and power.


All four Gospels frame the entry in relation to Zechariah 9:9, though Matthew alone explicitly cites the text.³ The prophetic oracle announces a king who is “righteous and having salvation, humble and mounted on a donkey.”⁴ This imagery stands in stark contrast to Ancient Near Eastern and Greco-Roman royal iconography, where kingship is typically associated with chariots, horses, and military triumph.⁵

Scholarly debate has often centered on Matthew’s apparent reference to two animals (Matt 21:2–7). While some have attributed this to a misunderstanding of Hebrew parallelism,⁶ a more nuanced reading recognizes Matthew’s engagement in Second Temple interpretive expansion, wherein multiple scriptural traditions are woven together to amplify messianic identity.⁷ The pairing of donkey and colt may evoke Genesis 49:10–11, linking Jesus to the royal line of Judah and reinforcing his Davidic credentials.⁸

Such hermeneutical practices are not aberrations but reflect a broader Jewish exegetical culture in which texts are read dialogically, allowing earlier Scriptures to reverberate within new narrative contexts.⁹ Fulfillment, therefore, is not merely predictive but participatory, as Jesus embodies Israel’s story in climactic form.¹⁰


The choice of a donkey is central to the narrative’s theological force. In the Ancient Near East, while donkeys could be associated with peaceful rule in certain Israelite traditions,¹¹ the dominant imperial imagery of the first century privileged the war horse as a symbol of conquest and domination.¹² Zechariah itself underscores this contrast, declaring that the coming king will “cut off the chariot… and the war horse… and shall command peace to the nations.”¹³

Jesus’ deliberate enactment of this imagery constitutes a rejection of militarized kingship. As Wright observes, the entry into Jerusalem is not a parody but a prophetic critique of power structures that define authority in terms of violence and coercion.¹⁴ Similarly, Horsley situates the event within a broader pattern of anti-imperial resistance, wherein Jesus symbolically confronts Roman claims to sovereignty.¹⁵

Even scholars operating within more critical frameworks acknowledge the symbolic significance of the donkey as indicative of peaceful kingship.¹⁶ The convergence of these perspectives suggests that the Triumphal Entry is best understood as a counter-imperial performance, one that exposes the inadequacy of prevailing political paradigms.


The geographical and temporal setting of the entry further amplifies its meaning. Jesus approaches Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives, a location associated with eschatological expectation in Jewish tradition.¹⁷ At the same time, Roman authorities would have been particularly vigilant during Passover, a festival commemorating liberation from imperial oppression.¹⁸

Some scholars have proposed that Jesus’ entry functioned as a counter-procession to Roman displays of power, wherein governors such as Pontius Pilate would enter the city with military escort to assert imperial control.¹⁹ While direct historical evidence for simultaneous processions remains debated, the symbolic juxtaposition is theologically compelling: two kingdoms, two visions of power, two claims to authority.

The crowd’s acclamation, drawn from Psalm 118, reinforces this tension.²⁰ The cry of “Hosanna” (“save now”) carries both liturgical and political connotations, invoking divine intervention and royal deliverance.²¹ Yet the narrative quickly reveals the ambiguity of these expectations, as the same populace that welcomes Jesus will soon reject him.


The Triumphal Entry is marked by profound irony. The crowd correctly identifies Jesus as the one who comes “in the name of the Lord,” yet their understanding of his mission remains incomplete.²² Second Temple Jewish hopes for a Davidic messiah often included expectations of political restoration and national sovereignty.²³ Jesus’ actions both affirm and subvert these hopes.

This tension is particularly evident in Luke’s account, where Jesus weeps over Jerusalem, lamenting its failure to recognize “the things that make for peace.”²⁴ The irony is not merely narrative but theological: the city longs for liberation while rejecting the very form it takes.

From a Christus Victor perspective, this moment anticipates the paradox of the cross. Victory will not be achieved through the defeat of Rome by force, but through the defeat of sin, death, and the powers by self-giving love.²⁵ As Gorman argues, the cruciform pattern of Jesus’ life and death reveals a redefinition of power that stands in stark contrast to imperial paradigms.²⁶


John’s explicit mention of palm branches introduces additional layers of meaning.²⁷ In Jewish tradition, palms were associated with victory, festal celebration, and national identity.²⁸ The act of laying cloaks on the road evokes royal enthronement scenes, such as that of Jehu in 2 Kings 9:13.²⁹

These symbolic actions suggest that the crowd is participating in a form of improvised coronation. Yet the narrative subverts this coronation by redirecting its trajectory toward the cross. The enthronement of Jesus does not culminate in political ascendancy but in crucifixion, where the inscription “King of the Jews” becomes both mockery and proclamation.³⁰


Palm Sunday thus functions as a hermeneutical key for understanding the nature of Jesus’ kingship. The convergence of prophetic fulfillment, symbolic action, and narrative irony reveals a kingdom characterized by:

  • Peace rather than violence
  • Humility rather than domination
  • Sacrifice rather than coercion

This reconfiguration aligns with broader New Testament themes, wherein the exaltation of Christ is inseparable from his suffering.³¹ The kingdom he inaugurates is not merely future but present, calling forth a community that embodies its values.


The enduring significance of Palm Sunday lies in its capacity to confront contemporary assumptions about power and discipleship. The question it poses is not only historical but existential: Do we receive Jesus as the king he reveals himself to be, or as the king we prefer?

The temptation to align the kingdom of God with systems of control, influence, or cultural dominance remains ever-present. Yet the Triumphal Entry calls the Church back to a cruciform vision of authority, one that mirrors the self-giving love of its King.

In this sense, Palm Sunday is not merely a prelude to Good Friday; it is an invitation to participate in the very pattern of Jesus’ life—a pattern in which true victory is found not in grasping power, but in relinquishing it for the sake of others.


  1. E. P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief (London: SCM, 1992), 125–30.
  2. John H. Walton, Ancient Near Eastern Thought and the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2006), 305–10.
  3. Matt 21:4–5.
  4. Zech 9:9 (ESV).
  5. K. Lawson Younger Jr., Ancient Near Eastern Conquest Accounts (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 180–85.
  6. Bart D. Ehrman, Jesus: Apocalyptic Prophet of the New Millennium (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 215.
  7. Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Gospels (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2016), 112–18.
  8. Gen 49:10–11.
  9. Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), 350–60.
  10. N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), 490–95.
  11. K. A. Kitchen, On the Reliability of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 340.
  12. Younger, Conquest Accounts, 182.
  13. Zech 9:10.
  14. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, 492.
  15. Richard A. Horsley, Jesus and Empire (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 85–90.
  16. Ehrman, Jesus, 216.
  17. Zech 14:4.
  18. Sanders, Judaism, 128.
  19. Marcus J. Borg and John Dominic Crossan, The Last Week (San Francisco: HarperOne, 2006), 2–5.
  20. Ps 118:25–26.
  21. Craig A. Evans, Mark 8:27–16:20 (WBC; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2001), 149.
  22. John 12:13.
  23. John J. Collins, The Scepter and the Star (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 102–10.
  24. Luke 19:42.
  25. Gustaf Aulén, Christus Victor (London: SPCK, 1931), 20–25.
  26. Michael J. Gorman, Cruciformity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 45–50.
  27. John 12:13.
  28. 1 Macc 13:51.
  29. 2 Kgs 9:13.
  30. John 19:19.
  31. Phil 2:5–11.

Selected Bibliography

Aulén, Gustaf. Christus Victor. London: SPCK, 1931.

Borg, Marcus J., and John Dominic Crossan. The Last Week. San Francisco: HarperOne, 2006.

Brueggemann, Walter. The Prophetic Imagination. 2nd ed. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001.

Collins, John J. The Scepter and the Star. 2nd ed. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010.

Evans, Craig A. Mark 8:27–16:20. WBC. Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2001.

Fishbane, Michael. Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel. Oxford: Clarendon, 1985.

France, R. T. The Gospel of Matthew. NICNT. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007.

Gorman, Michael J. Cruciformity. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001.

Gorman, Michael J. Reading Revelation Responsibly. Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2011.

Hays, Richard B. Echoes of Scripture in the Gospels. Waco: Baylor University Press, 2016.

Heiser, Michael S. The Unseen Realm. Bellingham, WA: Lexham, 2015.

Horsley, Richard A. Jesus and Empire. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003.

Keener, Craig S. The Gospel of John. 2 vols. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2003.

McKnight, Scot. The King Jesus Gospel. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2011.

Sanders, E. P. Judaism: Practice and Belief. London: SCM, 1992.

Walton, John H. Ancient Near Eastern Thought and the Old Testament. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2006.

Walton, John H., and Tremper Longman III. The Lost World of the Prophets. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2018.

Wright, N. T. Jesus and the Victory of God. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996.

Wright, N. T. How God Became King. New York: HarperOne, 2012.

Zahnd, Brian. The Wood Between the Worlds. Downers Grove, IL: IVP, 2022.