Jerusalem On Edge As Jesus Arrives | March 29, 2026

Jerusalem is packed for Passover, and it feels like the whole city is holding its breath. In this episode, we step into that tension on Palm Sunday, when Roman occupation, local religious leadership, and street-level resentment all collide with one name on everyone’s tongue: Jesus. From the first minutes, we follow the rising pressure of a place where whispers can become a revolt, and where every public gesture gets read as a political signal. 

We talk through why Jesus draws crowds so quickly: the blunt urgency of his preaching, the nearness of the kingdom of God, and the undeniable weight of his ministry in healings, deliverance, and wonder. 

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Father Don Wolf is a priest of the Archdiocese of Oklahoma City. Living Catholic also broadcasts on Oklahoma Catholic Radio several times per week, with new episodes airing every Sunday.

Transcript

Welcome To Living Catholic

SPEAKER_01 0:04

This is living Catholic with Father Dumble. Deals with Living Catholic faith in the colour. This is finding the cousins in my mind and finally hope in his mind.

Jerusalem Braces For Upheaval

Why Jesus Captures The Crowd

Rome And Local Leaders Fear Disorder

Palms, Shouts, And A Strange Ride

When Hope Turns Bitter

Faith In Verse Poem On Funerals

Parish Notes And Where To Learn More

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Welcome, Oklahoma, to Living Catholic. I'm Monsignor Don Wolf, pastor of Sacred Heart Parish and rector of the shrine of Blessed Stanley Rother. We are entering Palm Sunday. And as we read this, the description of Palm Sunday, we know Jerusalem was bracing for rebellion. The temperature of the streets was rising as the tensions increased. Everyone could feel it. There is nothing particularly new about the politics of the place. Hotheads have been calling for change for a hundred years, and religious visionaries had predicted God's intervention in the knotted world of kings, prophets, and people for generations. Roman rule was about as placid and easy as Soviet rule exercised on the unmarked land of Central Europe in the millennia to come, and the people who enjoyed that rule were often rubbed raw by it. But on the streets, the people were murmuring, and there's nothing more dangerous to established power than the whispers and sorcerations that echo on the sidewalks and among the marketplaces as they were doing in Jerusalem. It was a tense time. This was made all the more so by the arrival of the famous rabbi from Galilee. It had been rumored he would make an appearance at the Passover, ending his time of absence from the Holy City. He had not vacated their streets and their synagogues, far from it. In previous years he was a regular visitor and a notable presence, both among the multitudes in the street as well as among those in the houses and courtyards of the wealthy. But he had withdrawn for a time among the whirlpool of gossip and rumor that attended him and his preaching. But the swirling conversations in the preceding weeks had named him as someone to be attentive to. And so his absence was as notable and maybe even more powerful than his presence. And besides, the great Passover was coming. Certainly he would be present in Jerusalem again as was as it was his custom to be. So whether by intent or accident, absence only made the street corner exchanges more pointed and the expectations more extreme. Everyone was waiting to see what this man would do. Many had even presumed he was guarding the time, staging his arrival so that it would be his hour, his moment to galvanize and turn the eyes of everyone to him and to his message. The name Jesus was on everyone's tongue. From the day Jesus came out of the desert, he had been preaching a message of the moment. He kept calling for everyone to wake up from their slumber and indifference and pay attention to the work of God being shown forth in the world at that moment. Nothing would remain the same as God's initiative. It was time everyone to open their eyes, to see the world in a new way. It was the unique time, the moment when the fulfillment of God's promises was approaching. Most of all, Jesus was freely inviting everyone to understand the fulfillment was to reside in him. He was the one who would embody the message of God for this moment. His life was the window through which everyone could have access to the new world dawning among them. It was no wonder the whole world of Judea was buzzing about him and his message. More than anything, it was irresistible. And this was prompted in no small part by the amazing effects of his ministry. He wasn't simply a popular rabbi moving crowds in the synagogues and the gatherings of the people throughout the territory of Judea. He was the man who could heal by a simple touch and restore the hope of those exiled in their sinfulness. He had multiplied loaves and fishes and provided food for thousands, a miracle even more concrete than the paralyzed walking and the blind seeing, since it was measured by the basketful and wasn't simply in the dark hidness of sickness and crippled disability. And according to his disciples, he had walked across the water to them in the depth of night, assuring them of his presence and his care as certainly and as with little effort as if he had been strolling across the parking lot in front of the mall, not to mention his additional power to command the demons to leave those whom they tormented. Jesus had power over the afflictions of sickness and debility. He could name and control the powers of the demonic, and he commanded the winds, the waves, and the normal limits of the grasp of nature. There was no one like him. Plus, to the sweet expectations of the ears of those groaning under the burden of Roman rule, Jesus talked of a kingdom of God coming into being. It was being inaugurated by his preaching, and it was to be a part of the life and expectations of everyone who would snap out of the despair of their ordinary lives so as to pay attention to what was happening among them. It was not to be vaporous or insubstantial, neither was it to be made merely of promises and future. The kingdom of God was already present, already at work among those who had most longed for it. Jesus assured everyone of its proximity and its certainty, and all this in no uncertain terms. The message of Jesus from the first day of his preaching was the kingdom of God. Jesus had also gathered around him his apostles. They were supplemented by a large crowd of followers who, like any group, waxed and waned, depending upon the debits and credits of the impact of Jesus' preaching. He moved people. Some were so taken with his words and his calling, they abandoned everything to follow him. In fact, they had pledged their loyalty to him and their fealty to his message, no matter what it might cost them. Jesus' preaching wasn't private, his teaching was not secret, and his invitation was not exclusive. Openly he challenged everyone to get beyond their limits and embraced the work of God among them. If there was any element of his proclamation that set him apart most distinctly, it was the immediacy of his message. Along with the thousands he healed and the throngs he assured, there were all those who hung on every word and gravitated to his presence. Some of these included some notable people of Jerusalem and some of the power structure of Palestine. Jesus wasn't just a rabble rouser. He was a teacher of distinction, a rabbi with students on fire with the message of God. A notable feature of his teaching that no doubt endeared him to an important segment of his listeners was his criticism of the other teachers of the day. No matter how widely the features of piety and religious practices are understood and affirmed, those who impose them are almost always resented, or at least regarded with some good measure of criticism. The Pharisees and Sadducees and scribes and chief priests and elders, they were all gatekeepers, the ones who measured and parsed out the attention and the response of the people whose culture oriented them to the work of God among them. As those who set the rules and made the decisions, their work locked them into the roles that set them apart from those who were different than them. This, of course, put them in a position to be examined and mocked and corrected, all of which Jesus did in spades. And apparently he did so to the delight of a good number of those who heard him. His criticism contributed to his popularity. There's nothing more satisfying than hearing those who lord it over you having themselves corrected and righted. It must have been delicious to hear, sounding in the people's ears, the woes encumbering the Pharisees that come from Jesus' own mouth. But all this created a gigantic problem. It was a problem felt on every level of society and by everyone involved in governance and administration. Judea was a troublesome province in the Roman Empire, filled with fractious and uncooperative people who wanted their lives unaffected by the dominating and destroying culture of Rome. Keeping the people quiescent and peaceful while enjoying the benefits of the security and wealth of the empire was the job of the administration, and it wasn't easy. There was a ruling family kept in power by the Romans. This family was unloved in their corruption and spinelessness in the face of the empire. But it was Judean and of the people. Among the ruling class were also the factotums and implementers of the empire's policies and procedures. They were also disliked, although they were usually local people who had cast their lot with those in charge, as there always are in these arrangements. And below them were those who simply gave up and went along with the currents of the time, unwilling and unable to challenge anything athwart the regular procedures of business as usual. All of this summed into an entire level of festering resentment at the powers that be. Simply looking at the machinery of occupation and governance was enough to set the teeth of the average person on edge. This was not a happy time in the history of Judea. Those who lived in the villas and among the pillared forecourts of great buildings in Jerusalem were also anxious. The Romans were as concerned by the gossip in the streets as much as any Judean. Kept on edge by the testy nature of the people they governed, they were sensitive to any cracks or wrinkles in the power structure on which they sat uppermost. While they depended on the local authorities to keep things in line and to keep the people contented, they also remained Roman and in charge. From the governor on down, there was not a great concern about the beliefs and expectations of the people. They only wanted the people to behave, pay their taxes, and get along with the governing priorities of Caesar. To this end, the Roman administration was willing to live inside the tensions of the people. As long as it did not break down into fighting, either against the Romans or with one another, or it did not spark into actual rebellion against the governing power. Keeping it all together and running, that was the official position of the Romans, and they wanted a world that worked for them. When it stopped working, or if it somehow turned against them, then they would spring into action to right what had slipped or tipped over. To be clear, the Romans kept a tight lid on everything. They did this with the overwhelming military power they were able to summon to keep order. While it was not a huge number of soldiers for the size of a city like Jerusalem or a district like Judea, there was always the efficient dispatch of further soldiers and military power, only a letter's message away to Rome that could come when summoned. As in most places in the ancient world, the exercise of power in this fashion was brutal and immediate. Seldom did the generals hold back, and never did they first worry about the impact of their spears and swords settling a question of authority or behavior. It was done by force and pain, both exercised virtually without restraint. The governor had these soldiers at his disposal, and he could use them to get what he wanted. But he wanted his administration to go well, to function smoothly and efficiently. It was in his interest to keep the soldiers in garrison and their swords sheathed. The Jewish authorities were very well aware also of the delicacy of the situation. They'd been able to wring from the government their rights to worship and teach as they wanted. They were also cooperative in keeping the tensions at low ebb, even though it was an integral part of their teaching that God had entrusted the divine prerogative to the Jews, and that many of those same Jews felt entitled to expect God would act to displace the Romans in favor of the chosen people. The Jewish leaders knew it was a serious dance they were a part of. The Romans wanted enough order to do business. The Jewish administration wanted enough cooperation that they could support the people. Both sides were entangled with the other and were therefore tied to the other in keeping order and making things work. Neither side wanted much change, since any measure of upset or alteration would almost certainly result in a loss for both sides. And Jesus upset all these equations. Calling the people's attention to the coming of the kingdom had lit a fire among those who expected change. Animating the force of those expectations, Jesus' reputation preceded him everywhere. With all that was being said about him, as Jesus approached Jerusalem, there was a cresting high point of hope that something would happen, that there would be a new moment in which all would reach a summit of resolution. No doubt there were those who wanted the inauguration of the great moment in which God would finally rectify the embarrassment, the embarrassment of God's own promised land being ruled by the largest pagan power in the world. As this particular Passover approached and the Jewish world streamed into Jerusalem for the great celebration, all eyes were on Jesus. These included the eyes of the Roman administrators, the glances of the Jewish leaders, the hopes of the revolutionaries in the streets, and the longing souls of the praying faithful who longed to know God more closely. The tension of the time was building. This was when Jesus entered Jerusalem for the Passover. Every eye was turned toward him. Every ear was tuned to what he would say, and every heart was waiting to see what would happen. And this wasn't just the mob in the street either. The Pharisees and the elders were also keeping track. The governor and his court were also wondering how the valence would change when the most famous man of the moment came into Jerusalem. It was almost intolerable waiting to see what would happen. After all, great moments are made by great men. No matter your philosophy of history or your notion of fame, men make the moments we remember. History is not hydraulics, in which one input influences and moves in one output. Because what a man does booms and then re-echoes throughout all of the years of history and in a thousand directions. But it all begins with the act of one man. Those who waited for change were waiting to hear his voice. Those who were terrified of change were dreading his presence. And all those who were keeping track of the unfolding history, they were waiting to see if this moment might be the moment. All of those on the streets were aware of the echoes of the scriptures and the prophetic promises made to the people. Any of the signs that God was acting to fulfill the images and actions foretold would be seen and reacted to immediately. It would be something like having an Iranian reporter commenting on the current wave of attacks, describing what he saw as the rockets red glare and the bombs bursting in air. We would all hear the echo of images and feelings and challenge in his voice were he to say a sentence like that, even though it's merely a description of what's actually happening. It was the same at that time in Jerusalem. Perhaps this would be the moment when Jesus declared himself. Perhaps then would be the time in which something new would begin, when the power of Rome could be challenged and the promised land would be returned to the promised people. Anticipation was in the air, hoping perhaps Jesus the rabbi would be transformed into Jesus the revolutionary, or Jesus the general. When the news spread that he was on his way into town, moving to the center of town to the temple, it was as if an electric current had been switched on. People began to line the streets, and like any secret hope and every longed-for wish, it spread one to the other like an infection. Before long, the people stopped and turned to see this man about whom everyone had been speaking for years, hoping to see and to be a part of the moment. To be there was to be charged by the energy coursing through the street and among the crowd. The Pharisees and the Romans together were tense. People were waving palms as if they were swords, and they were shouting at Jesus as if he were a conquering leader back from a rousing battle. Jesus had begun his preaching by announcing the good news of battle already won. Now he was being treated in the streets after all these three years as if he were the one who had won it. Every eye was turned toward him. Every person there held his breath. Every heart skipped a beat as he drew closer on the long way up the hill to the Temple Mount. Shouting builds on itself. Energy energizes the release of more energy, and words condense into convictions and actions in a millisecond. Men were unshipping their tunics and throwing them on the street as Jesus passed. It was a moment among moments, something not to be forgotten. Everything any revolutionary commander could have wanted. The anticipation was animated by the shouts. All Jesus had to do was to climb the steps and announce that the day of days was upon them and all would be different from that moment on. Everything was as electrified as anyone could expect, except for what Jesus did. With all eyes on him, with every heart expecting him to ride in on the back of a cavalry charger bigger than life and as grand as a Caesar, he entered town on the back of a burrow that was still unbroken, which meant he went careening from one side of the street to the other, barely able to stay mounted. And being as burrows are, there were times when the beast simply stopped and would not move, in full bulk in response to the shouts and waving palms and all the other flutter that he could not understand or incorporate. Jesus didn't even look like a country boy out of place in the big city. He looked like a fool who had gotten bad advice and worse counsel. And according to what is written, he knew it. When his friends cautioned him to quiet the crowds, he responded that the very stones would cry out at his arrival. Of course, it wouldn't take long before the crowds would quiet themselves as his arrival shunted from one street to the other, from one side to the other. Everyone knew what an unbroken animal was like. Those animals were part of the scenery of the day, and everyone could make excuses for why the rabbi looked so odd. But nothing quiets the day like disappointment, and nothing makes for bitterness more than to be part of the crowd made to look foolish in its excitement. And topping it all off, as he went to the temple steps, dismounted his donkey, strode through the grate, through the gate, and then went off again, anticipation, preparation, procession, agitation, arrival, and then there was nothing. There was from him only silence. The palms waved by the crowd were in anticipation of swords brandished in victory. Tunics on the street were in place of garlands thrown at the feet of triumph, and the fool showed it full throated shouts from the solar plexus were in anticipation of song and fanfare from what would be soldiers in bloody battle conquest. But there was nothing from him. Jesus had his moment, the moment passed, and he chose not to rally the crowd, not to challenge the Romans, not to call out the king's court or even offer a prayer. He just left. There's nothing more dangerous than a riled-up crowd disappointed. Whether Jesus was aware of the power of such a gathering, only God knows. But what is the case is that the valence changed on that day. As the shouts rang out and the hopes soared, the conviction was born in the breasts of many that the time of God's intervention was upon them, brought to them by Jesus' own words. And yet, as the minute hand on the clock ticked toward the ultimate moment and it passed, with no great thunderclap of revelation, the hopes and expectations of the crowd turned sour. It's not hard to imagine the grumbling response and the bitter doldrums striking the hearts of those most enraged and the most expectant. The ultimate measure would be the striking sound of the men who cried, crucify him, just a few days later, as Jesus was led out in front of the crowd at Pilate's court. Disappointment quickly turns to bitterness, and that's followed by violence. It's an equation as old as humanity. In fact, according to the insights of Renee Girard, it is the story that makes humanity. Disappointment becomes deadly as the disappointment becomes empowered to act out their frustration. So it seems to be the case with Jesus of Nazareth. Certainly this equation was written into the algorithm playing through the calculations of the Roman and the Jewish leaders. Having the people roused to fury but turned toward another would be their fondest hope. They could maintain their arrangements and buttress their position by allowing the power of anger to surge through the streets to find its deadly end in Jesus. As in so many stories we know so well, the price of notoriety is steep, especially when its cause is sure hope and gracious blessing. Jesus paid it in full. It is fitting that the story of humanity is acted out in full on Palm Sunday. The careful arrangements benefiting the hierarchies of Rome and Jerusalem were fine tuned to keep all of the participants in power and meshing easily with one another. All of the dynamism of the World at work balanced to produce the tense peace in the palace in the palaces and on the streets there. The leaders were leaders because they knew how to play the game and make all the adjustments necessary to make it all happen. As the sun set and the threat had passed, when Jesus left the temple area, they all breathed a sigh of relief. Not long after, Judas would come to them with his offerings to feed the machine they were a part of, betrayal and fear being integral to its operation. All was right as that week began. Jesus was taken care of for the moment. It would be later, in the dark of the morning of the first day of the week, that the world and all they knew of it would change. And when that changed, the world hasn't been the same since. Back in just a moment. Welcome back to our final segment, Faith in Verse. We have a poem today called Upon the Funerals of Those We Do Not Know. I am asked, no, tasked to preach the funerals of those I do not know. Of course I exceed, proceed to assure the Lord's gifts readily flow. To all who are taken, awaken to the world to be seen as they close their eyes here, and open them there, where the fullness of God's love embraces beyond all fear. I can't wax readily, not steadily, about the deceased's virtues or their lack, so often expected, reflected in the re preaching at funerals where lives are unpacked. But even those well known own a life unavailable to me in my limited span, thus I'm bereft, I'm left to gather my memories incompletely, just the best I can. Nothing more to do, in lieu of any other option, I preach God's eternal care amid the darkness, the starkness of our lives, no matter how or where. And so our funeral tears, our fears, are wiped away in the divine assurance. Thus we can all hear, draw near, to the gifts for us of God's eternal endurance. That's upon the funerals of those we do not know. Be sure and check your schedule for the services at your parish. In the weeks to come, I hope you can join us for what it means to be Living Catholic.

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Living Catholic is a production of the Archdiocese of Oklahoma City from Oklahoma Catholic Radio. To learn more, visit okcr.org.