Message: The One Who Shakes the City / Mt 21:1-12

About 2000 years ago, Jerusalem was full of people. At Passover, pilgrims had come from many places. The streets were crowded, and the sound of voices filled the air. The whole city felt restless.

Passover was the feast that remembered how God had brought Israel out of slavery in Egypt. It was a story of freedom. Yet as the people kept this feast, they were still living under Roman rule. They remembered God’s saving work in the past, yet many continued to carry the weight of oppression and a deep sense of helplessness.

Jerusalem was full of religious energy, movement, and activity, but it was not truly open to new hope. The same habits remained. The same patterns continued. The same powers held their place. The temple was no longer “a house of prayer,” but had become “a den of robbers” (Mt. 21:13). The fig tree bore no fruit (Mt. 21:19). Religious leaders cared more about honour and status than about God’s way (Mt. 23:6-7). And Jesus said over the city, “See, your house is left to you, desolate” (Mt. 23:38).

Then Jesus entered that city. His ministry had begun in Galilee, far from the centre. Several years had passed. Along the way, he had healed the sick, strengthened the weak, welcomed those who were left out, brought hope to those in despair, and shown a new way of life.

Jesus came with those who had followed him. They had seen what he had done. They saw him as the One God had promised. They spread their cloaks and branches on the road. They shouted, “Hosanna to the Son of David.” “Hosanna” meant, “Save us.” It was both praise and a cry for help.

Matthew says that when Jesus entered Jerusalem, “the whole city was in turmoil.” The phrase “was in turmoil” comes from the Greek verb seio, which means “to shake.” In the Bible, its noun form is often translated as “earthquake” or “windstorm.” The city was shaken at his coming.

This was not the only time Matthew used this word. The sea was shaken while Jesus slept in the boat (Mt. 8:24). The earth shook at his death (Mt. 27:51). A great earthquake happened at his resurrection (Mt. 28:2).

Through this word, Matthew helps us see something important. Jesus does not come and leave things as they are. His presence shakes what looks fixed, what feels safe, and what seems unchangeable. Nothing stays the same when he arrives.

Just as the city trembled long ago, today Jesus enters into our lives. He shakes what is stuck, what is fearful, and what is empty. So, what exactly is shaking at this moment? One of Canada’s important theologians, Douglas John Hall (1928–2025), helps us see our own reality more clearly. In his book The Canada Crisis, Hall writes about three Christian virtues and their opposites. The opposite of faith is distrust. The opposite of love is alienation. The opposite of hope is despair.

Among these three, Hall says that despair is the deepest sin in Canada. Why? Because despair does not always look dramatic. It can hide behind calmness, politeness, and routine. It shows up when people stop expecting real change. It lingers when people settle into what is familiar, even when it is no longer good for everyone.

Hall connects this despair to a kind of communal narcissism. When people refuse to move toward hope, they cling to memories of the “good old days” as a shield. Instead of trying to grow or improve, they try to feel better than others. For example, when we hear about suffering and disorder in other parts of the world, a quiet voice in us may say, “Thank God we are in Canada.” Sometimes that is simply gratitude. But sometimes it becomes a way of reassuring ourselves that we are fine, so we do not have to face what is broken within us. We hold on to the story that we are polite, stable, and decent. In doing so, we may avoid the harder truths about our life together. Where truth is avoided, hope has no place to enter.

In this regard, Hall emphasizes, “Against the condition of despair, we set the biblical concept of hope. Hope is sharply distinguished from certitude. It does not imply that the redeemed state is already realized, but suggests an openness to change. This distinction is important as we reflect on the Canadian situation.”

Despair and narcissism can quietly take root within us. We may protect our image instead of facing the truth before God. We may stay busy so we do not have to ask what really matters. We may fill our days with routine and still feel empty underneath. We may not say it aloud, but we begin to live as though nothing truly new can happen. That is how despair works. It does not always shout.

On this Palm Sunday, it is not only the palm branches that are shaking. It is the day the city trembles. It is the day hope arrives, not as a gentle feeling, but as a living presence that refuses to leave the world unchanged.

Like spring sunlight loosening the frozen ground, Christ stirs what seems hard and lifeless. Like the cry of geese returning in great flocks, waking the river, the field, and the sky, Christ calls to what has been cold and silent. His shaking is not for ruin. It is for renewal. It is not for despair, but for promise. It is not for death, but for life.

Jesus comes to shake us. He comes to shake despair, pride, fear, and false peace. He comes to shake what is empty so that life can return. He shakes what has been hidden, so that faith, love, and hope can rise again. Jesus shakes us so that a better life, a better family, a better church, a better nation, and a better world can begin.

So let us welcome the One who shakes our lives. Let us follow the One who frees us from what holds us back. Let us praise the One who opens us to the new life. Let us make room for the One who leads us toward life, toward truth, and toward real hope.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

Rev. Min Hwang