In fulfillment of the prophecy spoken by Zechariah (9:9), Jesus rides into Jerusalem on the colt of a donkey on Palm Sunday. Jubilant crowds wave palm branches and throw down their cloaks before him, shouting, “Hosanna!”
Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
Last Sunday’s sermon at my local church highlighted the mixed nature of the crowd that day.
No doubt, many of the people Jesus has taught and healed are present, gratefully singing his praises.
But so are jealous religious leaders, grinding their teeth and seeking an opportunity to get rid of Jesus.
Meanwhile, Roman soldiers stand ready to quell any attempt at an uprising.
Jesus looks over this crowd, loving every single person.
This despite the fact that not one of them—not his fans, not his disciples, and certainly not those who hate him—understands the meaning of his triumphal entry.
Jesus comes to bring peace. The people assume he’ll accomplish this by ending Roman oppression.
Jesus comes to conquer sin and death. The people have no idea he’ll win this victory by submitting to the most brutal, humiliating death possible.
Despite their misunderstanding, Jesus graciously receives the praises of the crowd and invites his disciples to participate in something far beyond their grasp.
Later, though, his smile dissolves into gut-wrenching agony as he wails,
“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing. Look, your house is left to you desolate. For I tell you, you will not see me again until you say, ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord (Matt. 23:37-39).’”
Jesus sees the day, forty years in the future, when Jerusalem falls. He perceives the hardship the Jewish people will face because they failed to recognize the time of their visitation.
The emotional contrast between the excited crowd and a broken-hearted Jesus could not be starker.
The people see things from an earthly point of view. Their imaginations can’t stretch far enough to comprehend Jesus’ vastly different kingdom.
Who wants to hear about suffering when so much has already been endured? Who wants the road to glory to look like a lowly path of humiliation and sacrifice?
No, the people want a victorious king, a mighty, sword-wielding, tough military leader to crush the opposition and return their nation’s former pride and glory.
They want Jesus to make Israel great again.
Lest we judge the ancient crowd too harshly, consider how we can make the same kind of mistake today.
Many Christians relish the idea of political power, protected status, and personal prestige.
We’re afraid of those we see as enemies. We fear losing our rights. We’re nervous about our comforts disappearing.
We’re impatient to see things go our way in this life, not later—and we want a hero who will make that happen.
But this puts us in the same misguided position as the Palm Sunday crowd.
Our shouts of praise ring hollow. Our faith rests on the false hope that we’ll experience deliverance OUR way.
We don’t want to wait for rewards or suffer hardship or live a life of sacrificial service.
We want a Savior willing to uphold our agenda—one who lets us skip the pain and jump straight to victory and glory.
Among the cheering crowds welcoming Jesus that historic day, picture the face of the one disciple who is the most excited of all about Jesus’ triumphal entry.
Judas.
The one most gleeful about Jesus taking power—or so he thinks—is the very one who, days later, betrays him.
Lord Jesus, cleanse us of false hopes, selfish agendas, and the idolatry which causes us to betray You.
This Holy Week, may we bow our hearts to You alone.
