Passover season two thousand years ago was the delight of the Jews and the despair of the Romans. Thousands of devout Jews had arrived in the Holy City from all over the world. The population of Jerusalem more than tripled during the feast, making it necessary for the Roman military units to be on special alert. They lived with the possibility that some enthusiastic Jewish zealot might try to kill a Roman official and incite a riot.
Into this dramatic situation Jesus came riding on a donkey. Less than a week remained before He would be crucified outside the city walls. On what was to become history’s first Palm Sunday the friends of Jesus scattered branches before Him which they had torn from trees along the way. They also took off their outer garments and cast them in the street as a symbol of their allegiance and devotion. They wanted the Messiah to know how loyal they were to Him personally, and how excited they were about the coming kingdom He would establish.
Had you been riding on the donkey that day you probably would have been flattered by the acclaim. You might have smiled and waved to those who were along the side of the street. But someone in the crowd would doubtless have said about you what an aged African American woman said about President Franklin Roosevelt when he visited Ashville, North Carolina more than seventy years ago. She had stood for hours to see for the first time in her life the President of the United States, and when she saw him, she shook her head and said, “Pshaw, he is only a man.”
He who rode the donkey on that day was much more than a man. He had given up His place in heaven to enter the arena where you and I live in order to save mankind. He was born in Bethlehem, grew up in Nazareth, and from day one was destined to be present at this particular Passover feast. Friday’s cross was already casting its shadow across His path as He rode into Jerusalem. He was riding to His death. In return for His sacrifice and loyalty to those who were with Him that day He got branches torn from someone else’s trees, and garments cast in the dust of the street. He was giving everything He had; they were giving much less.
I do not know the thoughts of the Son of God as He rode into the Holy City, but He did not turn back. What astounds me is that He saw their shallowness, their superficiality, their cheap show of loyalty, and still He rode on to die for them. He knew that the loyalty of those who cried, “Hosanna!” on Sunday would not last for even one week. How easy it is to pledge our loyalty to Christ and later let it drop by the wayside.
Christians refer to the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem as the “Triumphal Entry,” but no Roman would have used that term. An official “Roman Triumph” was something to behold! When a Roman general came back to Rome after a complete conquest of an enemy, he was welcomed with an elaborate official parade. In the parade he would exhibit his trophies of war and the prisoners he had captured. The victorious general rode in a golden chariot, priests burned incense in his honor, and the people shouted his name and praised him. The procession always ended at the arena where the people were entertained by watching the captives fight with the wild beasts. That was a “Roman Triumph.”
The triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem was nothing like that, but it was a triumph just the same. He was God’s anointed King and Savior, but His conquest would be spiritual and not military. The important question for each person who reads these words is this: “Has Jesus Christ made a triumphal entry into my heart?” If not, if you will shut out the other noises that seek to gain your attention, you will be able to hear Him knocking at the door of your heart. He will not force Himself in. You must choose to open the door!