Palm Sunday

 

“Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their garments on it, and He sat on it. And many spread their garments on the road, and others cut down leafy branches from the trees and spread them on the road. Then those who went before and those who followed cried out, saying: ‘Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!’” (Mark 11: 7-9).

What If We’d Been There?

“What is all the commotion about?”

My friend Judith and I had planned a day at the market in Jerusalem. We were used to people coming and going from the gate, but today a very large crowd seemed to move as one at the pace of a tortoise.

“I haven’t heard of anything. Passover is still a week away. I can’t imagine why all these people are here,” I replied, watchful. One never knew. “Maybe we should come back tomorrow.”

“Oh, no,” Judith insisted, ever adventurous. “Let’s go see. Look, palm branches are waving. What can that mean?”

We closed the distance, Judith in a hurry and me hanging back. One could never be too careful. Especially with men hanging on crosses along the highways. What had they all done to end up there?

Judith tugged my sleeve as she shifted her basket. “Come ON. They’ll be in the gate before we get there.”

No, they wouldn’t. This crowd was slow.

“Hosanna!” We heard. “Hosanna to the King!”

What is this?

Now we were alongside several pushing, shouting and yes—singing—people. Many had palms they waved.

“What King?” I asked.

“There,” Judith pressed next to me in the crowd and pointed. “It’s HIM!”

“Him? Who Him?”

“HIM!” She breathed. She had been in another crowd a week ago or so when an extraordinary event had happened in Bethany, just down the road. Judith told me that Jesus, the Nazarene, had raised Lazarus from the dead.

I could hardly believe her. No one came back from the dead. I scoffed at her. That is—until I saw Lazarus in the village—doing business in the gates with the other men.

As usual.

Except that it wasn’t usual.

After Judith told me Jesus had raised Lazarus, I began to pay attention to the gossip. But, still, how could I find out what is real?

Lazarus lived again.

“You mean that’s HIM on the donkey colt?” I cried. Only yells could be heard now that we were in the middle of the group.

“Hosanna to the King!” Someone hollered in my ear. I slapped a hand over it. Palms now waved before my face.

Judith gripped my arm. We were likely to be separated and I grasped her, too.

The donkey colt plodded in front of us. Cloaks were spread out before the beast and it stepped all over them. Had people gone mad?

Judith pushed harder ahead and dragged me with her. Then with both glance up at the Man riding the colt.

All the attention and adulation of the throng was toward Him. Worship. That’s what it was. I couldn’t look away from Him.

His gaze seared into my soul. All I had heard flashed through my mind. His words—like no other words. His deeds. He healed people and I had seen Lazarus with my own eyes. All of that would be enough to lock my attention on Him.

But the look of love and invitation in His eyes for me—I knew it was for me—sealed me as His forever. How eyes could talk. He knew me deep down. I don’t understand how, I just know it was real.

Messiah. Yes, I had heard the rumors. And discounted them. Those rumors had been ongoing for many decades and had settled on this Man from Nazareth. The Temple leaders hated Him. I had not cared one way or the other.

Until now.

“Hosanna to the King!” I shouted.