Triumphal Entry – Sunday, April 03, 1983
Jerusalem stirred with passion that Sunday before the Passover. Travelers had clustered there bringing sacrificial lambs. Coins clattered in coffers where pigeons were sold and in the temple yard, merchants were busy earning silver off the celebration. But above the hubbub hung a question, “Would the prophet from Galilee come?” “What think ye, that he will not come to the feast?”1 they asked one another.
Even as they wondered, Jesus Christ’s apostles had fetched Him a young donkey for His entry into the city. It was to be His last, and so He paused for a moment at the Mount of Olives, looking across at the golden city, and He wept—not for Himself, though He knew His death was imminent, but for Jerusalem, a city whose walls and children would be ground into the earth. Then He proceeded.
Word spread ahead that He was coming and as He did, the babble of voices united into an uproar of adulation. “Hosanna, to the Son of David,” they cried. “Blessed is He that cometh in the name of the Lord.”2 Even before He made it to the gates of the city, crowds were thronging the way, waving palm fronds and myrtle, spreading their garments in His path.
They were giving Him a Messianic welcome. For this moment, at least, they were His people, and He was their king. He came not with armies, but riding a gentle animal, and they believed they adored Him.
Where was this crowd just five days later when Jesus hobbled to Golgotha, bent under a cross? History does not tell us. Their shouts had been carried away on the wind, their palm fronds withered, and so Christ went alone to be crucified.
As we contemplate a lonely Savior on a hillside cross, we may feel critical of this crowd whose love was so brief, but it should teach us something deeper. It is the human tendency for even the most righteous enthusiasm to wane. We are inspired, see with clarity and then the fog rushes in. We seek to proclaim our love of the Lord and then circumstances teach us forgetfulness. We mean to amend our character, and then the urgency leaves. We shout for the Lord one day and turn our backs the next. When we hope that we would have been one to rush out and carry His cross, we need to examine whether even now our shouts swell and ebb on a fickle wind.
1 New Testament, John 11:56.
2 New Testament, Matthew 21:9
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April 03, 1983
Broadcast Number 2,798