Sitting on the steps, I wait for my sister to finish her errands. I hear whispers among the crowd…someone is coming.
“Who?”
“Is it him? Really?”
“I’ve heard of the works of his hand.”
I stand, coming out from the shade of the buildings. Excitement fills the air.
Children gesturing friends to “Come, come quick!” Women carrying baskets ladened for the Passover meal huddle together with fingers pointing toward the road. Men stop their work. Soldiers begin to notice the crowd’s excitement as their heads turn side to side trying to figure out what’s going on.
“There he is!” I hear someone shout. A boy, maybe. The people have grown thick and I can’t quite see the voice in the crowd. I look up, but see nothing.
“Who is this that is coming?” I ask a young boy as he runs down the stairs. “Jesus! It’s Jesus of Nazareth!”
“Nazareth?” I mumble to myself, “What good could come out of Nazareth?”
And then I remember the stories. Stories of lepers being cleansed, boys being set free from demons, even the man called Lazarus raised from the dead all by the hand of Jesus.
Could this be him?
Pushing my way down the steps into the crowd, people are beginning to throw their cloaks on the ground, some even lay palm branches. Who carries cut leaves with them? They knew he was coming? What does this mean?
I hear the sound of hooves beating along the path and there he is riding a donkey of all things. A man who heals and raises the dead on an ass. Men run into the streets quickly laying their branches on the ground, their exaltation loud, their joy high,
“Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David! Hosanna in the highest!”
Throughout the crowd I hear the ringing of his praises,
“Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!”
A woman places her hand on my shoulder to balance and says, “Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!”
He’s coming closer. He looks like any ordinary man…their is nothing remarkable in his appearance. I see a pharisee step out from the crowd, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples,” he demands.
In a joyous, most confident voice the man on the donkey speaks, “I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.”
Stones crying out?
I can already hear the shouts of the crowd following him,
“Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, even the King of Israel!”
Is this man a prophet of Elohim? His followers call him son of David, is he the Messiah? Is he the one to sit on the throne of David forever? Could this man–only a man–be our deliverance? Him?
I watch, carefully, as he passes. Looking into his face, I am met with the eyes of the One who sees me.
Out of the depths of my perplexed soul, the words roll off my tongue, barely a whisper, “Who is this?”
Next to me I hear the contented sigh of a disciple, “This is the prophet Jesus, from Nazareth of Galilee.”
(The Triumphal Entry: Mt. 21:1-11; Mk. 11:1-11 ; Lk. 19:28-40; Jn. 12:12-19 )
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