Yesterday Jesus arrived in Jerusalem and was welcomed as a King. He rode a donkey as kings in the Orient do when they bring peace rather than war. This had been foretold hundreds of years before - as had been this most intense week in history, which has now begun.
The crowds sang: “Blessed are you who enter in God's name”— a line from the Psalm that starts: Tell the world, Israel, His love never quits!
Jesus had descended into the city from the Mount of Olives, the same one that he’ll climb with his disciples before he’s arrested by the Romans, delivered to the High Priest and then sentenced to death – at the insistence of the Sanhedrin and a fooled crowd - by Pilate.
The many Jews who swarmed the streets yesterday, who spread their clothes and put plants in front of him, knew that someone special had come, but they had no idea how special. Nor did they have any clue what first cruel and then amazing things are just about to play out.
I did.
And I was 15 minutes late to greet him and too stingy to get even the smallest and cheapest of the local substitutes of a palm branch.
Onward, Christian soldier!
