Today is Palm Sunday. Always this time of year draws me back to those days in that enchanted, mysterious, captivating country of Israel.
2000 years ago, the Gospels tell us, as they walked dusty roads towards Jerusalem, Jesus sent a couple of his disciples ahead of Him to borrow a donkey. Some scholars believe the donkey to be a beast of peace, as opposed to my beloved horses, often depicted as animals of war.
In the book of Revelation, Christ is shown sitting on a white horse, as He is called Faithful and True, leading the armies of Heaven, also riding white horses. On that prancing horse, “His eyes are a flame of fire,” He wears a robe dipped in blood, and His name is “The Word of God!” Christ leads that army in the final battle, victorious, ending with the name KING OF KINGS, AND LORD OF LORDS written on his thigh.
But in the gospels, here, outside Jerusalem, before that victory was even penned in prophesy by the Apostle John, the humble donkey carried the Lamb to the city where His sacrifice would happen, a scene seemingly opposite of the victory still to come. And Jesus, knowing He could call angels to Him now and slay all those who would soon mock him, those who even now plotted against Him, resolutely set His face towards Jerusalem and Calvary, readying Himself for sacrifice, on this, the Sunday before the Friday we call “Good.”
The disciples said to the donkey's owner, who, of course, had questions about people just taking their donkey away, "The Lord needs it." Apparently, that's all it took.
Jesus rode to the city down the Mount of Olives, and the people there placed palm fronds in front of him, calling out praises to him: “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!”
As He rode down that hill on the humble donkey closing in on the Holy city of Jerusalem, He cried over Jerusalem, heartbroken for the fate He knew to come, distraught at their lack of belief He saw, even as cries of “Blessed” followed Him.
This is the holiest week in Christendom. No doubt, pilgrims walk those cobbled streets this week in Jerusalem reliving those last earthly days of Christ, hearing men (and some women) with descriptive gifts far better than mine bringing to life the places and the time from 2000 years ago, crossing the years, making history present, as that ancient land so easily does.
After His triumphal entry into Jerusalem, the religious leaders of His day wanted to kill Jesus even more than before, envy and ignorance overcoming faith and love....and not long afterwards, one of his closest friends betrayed Him over disappointment of expectations and the lure of silver, and those resentful, ungodly religious leaders got their wish. I wish I was there in that land that draws me back....but, even now, I close my eyes and see the desert, feel the heat, dry, dusty, ageless, reach my hands to caress the rough, ancient stones, walk the narrow streets--the very streets Jesus walked. I quietly sit.....shut out the world.....close my eyes.....remember......and I see the cobbles, the uneven steps and winding roads. As precious as that land rests in my heart, I know that Jesus lives in the heart of believers the world over. The week that fulfilled the plan that brought all of us to Him started on the back of a humble donkey walking surefooted down the Hill of Olives into the City of Jerusalem, that ancient City of David. Holy Week begins today, and in all the world, Christians celebrate the week and the Savior that ever changed the world.
