Palm Sunday

Flesh presses against flesh. The breath of my neighbour warms my cheek. The weight of my children leaning against my thighs reassure me that they are beside me and so safe even in this crowd.

I stand tall, snug and confident in my brand new cloak. I wove the fabric myself, after spinning the wool from cousin Jake’s sheep. I have never had a cloak like this before and likely never will again.

Here he comes. The Messiah – the one promised by our prophets – is about to make his grand entrance into Jerusalem. No more oppression. Or so we thought. Freedom. A new era. 

Hosanna!

Men jostle one another in their eagerness to line with palm branches the path along which a mother donkey carries our coming king, her foal by her side. We can see his head now as they come around the bend.

“Hosanna,” I yell. “Hosanna to the Son of David!”  The children join me, their voices clear and high. “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” 

The figure draws close. People throw their cloaks down on the pathway, a poor man’s version of a royal carpet. Without another thought, I yank my brand new cloak off my shoulders and hurl it on top of the palm leaves. “Hosanna in the highest heaven,” I scream as the Promised One passes us. 

My children and I are making history. Surely this is the moment that the Psalmist was referring to when, inspired by the spirit of the Creator himself, he wrote, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the LORD…. With boughs in hand, join in the festal procession up to the horns of the altar” (Psalm 118:26-27).

The kids and I join the throng that is following Jesus as he makes his way up to the temple. I look down and spot my lovely new cloak, now covered with dirty footprints of animals and people. I dare not stoop to pick it up … you could get crushed in a crowd like this.

The Temple

Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth in Galilee, arrives at the gates of the sparkling gold temple. The children continue to yell and scream in excitement, “Hosanna to the Son of David!”

Carers dragging blind people push by me, desperate to get their loved ones to Jesus. A man with a wooden stick almost knocks me over as he unsteadily lurches through the crowd. A neighbour’s kid squirms past us and my two follow.

From inside the temple gates, I hear a sudden crash. Screams. Another crash. A flock of doves flutter over our heads. A few people force their way out of the gate, one almost knocking me over in his haste.

I stand on tip toes and strain to see through the gateway. All I can see are more heads. The report ripples through the crowd – Jesus had flipped over the tables of all the business people there. Some change foreign money to Jewish coins and others sell doves for sacrifices. 

“My house will be called a house of prayer,” he apparently said. “But you are making it a den of robbers.”  What? ‘My house’ … but this is God’s house, surely.  ‘A den of robbers…?!’ The religious leaders are not going to like this. Not one little bit.

Trouble

I look around for my children. There may well be trouble, and I need to keep them safe. Where are those two? I wiggle my way through the crowd, urgently scanning left and right. I squeeze though the gate. There they are … near the front of the crowd … oblivious to the impending storm. They are still yelling over and over, “Hosanna to the Son of David.” 

I’m close enough now to hear the formally dressed religious leaders ask Jesus, “Do you hear what these children are saying?” 

“Yes,” replies Jesus. “Have you never read, “From the lips of children and infants you, Lord, have called forth your praise?” (Matthew 21:16 and Psalm 8:2).

If looks could kill…….. Actually, ‘killing’ may not just be a figure of speech. Jesus spins around and strides out of the temple complex. I push between people, grab my two by the hands and drag them away.

An ice cold dread squeezes my heart. I literally shiver. If only I had my cloak. But retrieving it will have to wait for another time. Right now, I just want to get home. I need my children to be inside with me, my husband home too, and the door firmly locked.

Holy Week Announced

Things didn’t work out as I had anticipated that day. And yet, though I didn’t know it then, these events heralded the start of a week that would quite literally change the course of history.

And my two precious children had announced it. Well … they and some of the other kids in Jerusalem at the time, anyhow. From the lips of children … my children … God had ‘called forth praise’. Standing in the temple court, surrounded by chaos and distress, yet full of hope and confidence, they had yelled, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” 

Despite scrubbing it with soapy water until my fingers were red and sore, my new cloak was never the same again. But who cares? That day, the Messiah, the promised Saviour, had entered Jerusalem as a victorious king. God himself was at work to restore his creation to himself. 

I pull my worn-out old cloak around my shoulders and hurry to join my Christian friends. Life is hard. But our hope is sure.