A few days ago, we commemorated  Palm Sunday.

Join me as we join the rest of Jerusalem witness that day NOW.

All four Gospels mention this event, which, at first glance, seems to me the one departure from Jesus' aversion to acclaim.

Crowds spread out their clothes and tree branches, palm fronds, across the road to show their adoration: "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!" they exclaim at the top of their voices. Imagine this event in one of the main avenues where you live, with the mob crying out this way.

Although Jesus usually recoiled from such a display of fanaticism, this time He let them yell.  To the indignant Pharisees, He explained: "I tell you, if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out."

Was the Man from Galilee now being vindicated in Jerusalem?  "Look how the whole world has gone after him!" exclaimed the Pharisees in alarm. At that moment, with several hundred thousand pilgrims assembled in Jerusalem, it looked for the entire world as if the King had arrived in force to claim his rightful throne.

Let us examine that crowd:

There was a large delegation from Bethany that surround Him…they were still exultant over the miracle of Lazarus (remember, Jesus' friend whom he rose, alive, from being three days dead). Pilgrims from Galilee who knew Him well comprise another large portion of the crowd.  Matthew points out that further support came from the blind, the lame, and the children.  Beyond that constituency, however, lurked danger.  Religious authorities resented Jesus, and the Roman legions brought in to control the festival crowds would heed the Sanhedrin's assessment of who might present a threat to order.

Imagine a rebel leader entering the city and being welcomed by a huge mob.

This is so like the demonstrations we see on TV.  One in Thailand happening recently where the mob was forcing the prime minister to resign…Or the one that's happening in Paris where thousands in the streets are gathered against the new labor laws for trainees and students.

Jesus Himself had mixed feelings during the clamorous parade. Luke reports that as Jesus approached the city, He began to weep.  He knew how easily a mob could turn one way or the other.  Voices who shout, "HOSANNA" one week, can shriek, "CRUCIFY HIM" the next.

As what eventually happened.

The triumphal entry has about it an aura of ambivalence, and as I read all the accounts together, what stands out to me now is the slapstick nature of the affair.

There's a Roman officer on his horse, galloping up to check on the disturbance. He has attended other processions in Rome, where he was in charge of crowd control.  Usually, the conqueror, or king, sits on a= chariot of gold, with stallions straining at the reins and wheel spikes flashing in the sunlight. Behind this king, officers in polished armor display the banners captured from vanquished armies.  At the rear comes a ragtag procession of slaves and prisoners in chains, living proof of what happens to those who defy Rome.

You've seen this scene in the movies, and that's how it ought to be when a king or conqueror enters the city victorious.

In Jesus' triumphal entry to Jerusalem, the adoring crowd was the lame, the blind, the children, the peasants from Galilee and Bethany.  When the Roman officer looks for the object of their attention, he sees a forlorn figure, WEEPING, riding no stallion or golden chariot, but on the back of a baby donkey, a borrowed coat draped across its backbone serving as a saddle.

Something is wrong with this picture, here, the Roman officer must have thought.  And we, the television crew…what are we to say in our broadcast about this event?

Yes, there was a whiff of triumph on Palm Sunday, but not the kind of triumph that might impress Rome and not the kind that impressed crowds in Jerusalem for long either.  Would it have impressed you?

What manner of "King" was this?

When you go to Church on Sunday, think about this.  You would be doing the ritual of waving your palm branches during the processional.  Are you one of the lame, the blind, the child, and the pleasantry from the provinces?  Are you the city-slick, professional, uppity class dilettante, doing this rite because you have to, by habit and circumstance, perhaps?  Do you know why you are waving a palm branch, or why carry a palm branch at all in the first place?

A man on a donkey, that is who you are acclaiming as your king?  Do you honor Him as a King?  Would you kneel before Him, kiss the ground He walked on, even as he wore ordinary clothes and rode a donkey?  Not a limousine or a bulletproof Benz, mind you? Not even a retinue of security officers to prove that he is a very important person?

What is your concept of the Son of God on Palm Sunday? He was definitely not dressed in what a God would look like by our worldly standards, would you think?

And I, I have no words to describe that event except to talk about the dust, the smelly sweat of that crowd that pressed along that road waving at this Galilean.  They all cried, "Hosanna"…would I exclaim in like manner, too? And that man on the donkey…what words would describe him any further than the simple, graphic image of "a man on a donkey" period?

But I am supposed to be a broadcaster, detached from the emotions of the event, and should make reportage with as little bias or prejudice as possible.  And what about my own feelings?  Would I be so moved as to say that, indeed, the man on the donkey is the son of God who has come to redeem the world, forgive our sins, heal the sickness of our bodies and souls…that this is the Man who created the heavens and the earth and continues to do so as I speak?

Help me annotate this event.  Help me put into words exactly how we are to describe Palm Sunday…as we stand there with our television crew, watching that crowd cry to that man, "Hosanna".  Help me, within your hearts and minds and souls, help me describe that day….describe it to you.

And meditate on your own words as you internalize the event.

Love to you all, and be with me for the continuing prayers for those who need them most, and until my next mail, an embrace from my heart…