Why did Jesus ride into Jerusalem on a donkey?
On the day we call Palm Sunday, a week before Easter, all four Gospels have the story of Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey. From our perspective, that might seem a very strange thing to do. Mark and Luke offer no explicit reason for it, but Matthew and John frame it as fulfilling Zechariah 9:9: “Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey …”
I used to be (quietly) a little doubtful about this as a ‘fulfilment’ of an Old Testament prophecy; borrowing a donkey on which to ride into Jerusalem didn’t feel like the most stunning proof of messianic credentials! Whether that’s cynical or just asking a reasonable question about the text, I don’t really know. But once I understood it better, the whole event looked rather different.
My prior assumption—and perhaps yours, too—was that the significance of the donkey was simply to symbolise Jesus’ self-effacing humility, on the grounds that riding a donkey is rather embarrassing from a modern perspective (with nothing else to go on, save for our assumptions). It doesn’t seem terribly ‘triumphant and victorious’ as Zechariah calls it (the donkey imagery doesn’t seem to lend itself to that conclusion). Surely we would have expected a war horse. The counter to that would be that Jesus was ‘not that sort of conqueror’. Fair enough, but that’s still all guesswork.
The first clue that there’s more to it comes from something in the passage that we might otherwise miss as unconnected. The crowds cry out, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” (Matthew 21:9), “Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David!” (Mark 11:10), “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!” (Luke 19:38), and “Blessed is the king of Israel!” Note here the references to Jesus as both ‘king’ and ‘son of David’ (which all those present would have recognised as a clear messianic reference). What does all this have to do with a donkey? Stay with me.
1 Kings 1 has the story of King David’s son, Solomon, being crowned king of Israel as his successor. David says,
“Take Solomon and my officials down to Gihon Spring. Solomon is to ride on my own mule. There Zadok the priest and Nathan the prophet are to anoint him king over Israel. … Then escort him back here [to Jerusalem], and he will sit on my throne. He will succeed me as king, for I have appointed him to be ruler over Israel and Judah.”
In case we miss it in the detail, the passage twice repeats the reference to Solomon riding on David’s mule. And lest we think that this is a one-off instance, elsewhere in the Old Testament we also see royalty riding on their own personal donkeys in the Davidic period (2 Samuel 13:29; 18:9) and so too, the rich, and powerful leaders (Judges 5:10; 10:4; 12:14).
Rather than being humiliating, as we might otherwise see it, riding a donkey was a regal action—on this occasion, not least in identifying Jesus with the messianic Son of David in the minds of the crowd. Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey identifies him as both Son of David (Matthew and Mark) and King of Israel (Luke and John). What we are witnessing is a royal coronation ceremony paralleling that of Solomon, son of David.
Some commentators note that, in Scripture, donkeys are associated with peaceful pursuits and aims, in contrast to horses, which are associated with warfare and violence. This would fit with Jesus’ non-violent revolution—a victory won by the ‘Prince of Peace’ of Isaiah 9:6.
But there’s a further twist here (or perhaps we should say, a further layer of meaning).
The books of Maccabees (1–4 Maccabees) are not in the Hebrew Bible, but 1–2 Maccabees are recognised in Catholic and Orthodox traditions, and other Christian traditions recognise Maccabees as part of the Apocrypha. (It’s available in the NRSV.) Dating from the 2nd century BCE, the stories would have been familiar to Jewish people in Jesus’ day, not least the heroic Maccabean martyrs in 2 Maccabees, who offered encouragement that they, too, would be liberated from Roman occupation and rule one day (perhaps through similar heroic martyrdom setting the captives free).
Especially relevant are the ‘hosannahs’ of the crowd welcoming Jesus and waving palm branches. It calls to mind the triumphant entry of the Maccabees into Jerusalem in 1 Maccabees 13, accompanied “with praise and palm branches, and with harps and cymbals and stringed instruments, and with hymns and songs, because a great enemy had been crushed and removed from Israel.” The Palm Sunday event is heavy with messianic symbolism and themes of God’s liberation through the Jewish messiah. In addition, the passage says how Simon, the leader, “cleansed the citadel from its pollutions” (just as Jesus would symbolically cleanse the temple—see Matthew 21:12–13).
In a sense, that’s enough on donkeys. But there is perhaps an interesting juxtaposition if we compare and contrast the Palm Sunday entrance into Jerusalem with what the NASB sub-titles ‘The Coming of Christ’ in Revelation 19:11–16 (the NIV more cautiously identifies it as ‘The Heavenly Warrior Defeats the Beast’; and even more so, the ESV subtitles it simply as ‘The Rider on the White Horse). Keep in mind that there are no subtitles in the biblical text. They are added by publishers to ‘help’ the reader (for better or worse). In any event, there are no donkeys to be found here.
Then I saw heaven opened, and there was a white horse! Its rider is called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he judges and makes war. His eyes are like a flame of fire, and on his head are many diadems; and he has a name inscribed that no one knows but himself. He is clothed in a robe dipped in blood, and his name is called The Word of God. And the armies of heaven, wearing fine linen, white and pure, were following him on white horses. From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron; he will tread the wine press of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has a name inscribed, ‘King of kings and Lord of lords’.
The genre of most of Revelation is what’s called ‘apocalyptic’ literature, which is full of fantastical symbolism and is stylistically cryptic. As poetic picture language, it disavows literal reading, or over-focus on the detail, so we must strongly resist that temptation (even with language that we might think we are familiar with, such as ‘the wrath of God’). What we can cautiously say is that this passage paints a picture (in ‘big picture’ terms) of Jesus’ return to fully and finally implement the victory won through his life, death, and resurrection. In contrast to his first coming, it pictures punitive violence, but this is not punitive violence against people; rather, God’s judicial righteousness is unleashed against the forces of evil, sin, and death to remove them from this world and usher in a new age, the ‘new heavens and earth’ portrayed (once again in picture language) in Revelation 21.