Triumph with Contrast - Palm Sunday

 

 


Palm Sunday is a day of tension and contrast. We call it the Triumphal Entry, and for good reason. Crowds cheer, palm branches wave, and people cry out, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!” It’s a moment filled with joy, with movement, with the energy of expectation. But if you look closely at Jesus—really look—you won’t find celebration in His eyes. You’ll see sorrow. You’ll see tears. Because while the crowd celebrates, Jesus sees what they don’t. Today it’s “Hosanna,” but soon—shockingly soon—it will be “Crucify Him.”

This is the mystery of Palm Sunday: joy and heartbreak woven together. At the heart of it stands a King who chooses to suffer. Not because He has to. Not because He’s lost control. But because love compels Him. The disciples, walking with Him, must have felt the thrill of the moment. Jesus sends two of them ahead to fetch a colt—a young donkey no one has ever ridden. It’s a small, almost mundane instruction, but to them it must have felt electric. “Is this it?” they must have thought. “Is this the moment He finally reveals His power? The moment He takes the throne?”

After all, they had followed Him for three years. They had seen Him do the impossible. Heal the sick. Feed thousands. Raise the dead. Surely now, the world would see what they had seen. The crowds would rise up, the Roman oppressors would fall, and the kingdom of God would be established—right here, right now. But Jesus wasn’t heading for a throne. He was heading for a cross.

He rides the donkey steadily toward the city. The people cheer, but His heart is heavy. As He approaches Jerusalem, He weeps. Not for Himself, but for the city. For the people. For their blindness. For the peace they could have known, but missed. For the love they will reject. “If only you had recognized the time of God’s coming to you,” He says through His tears.

The donkey He rides is no accident. In the ancient world, a king who came to make war rode a horse. A king who came in peace rode a donkey. By choosing this humble animal, Jesus was fulfilling the words of the prophet Zechariah: “Behold, your king comes to you; righteous and having salvation is He, humble and riding on a donkey.” This was no weakness. This was a different kind of strength. Jesus was making a bold statement: “I do not come to dominate—I come to deliver. I am not the king you expect—I am the King you need.”

And yet, how quickly the tide turns. The same people who shout “Hosanna!” on Sunday will scream “Crucify Him!” on Friday. One moment, Jesus is welcomed like royalty. A few days later, He’s abandoned like a criminal. How quickly hearts change. And if we’re honest, we see ourselves in that crowd. We welcome Jesus when He meets our expectations. But when He challenges us, when He doesn’t deliver the outcome we had in mind, when He calls us down a harder path—how quickly we pull back.

Palm Sunday is a reminder of the fickleness of the human heart. But even when our hearts change, Jesus does not. He rides on. He knows what awaits Him—betrayal, rejection, pain, death—but He rides on. Not as a victim, but as a volunteer. The suffering ahead is not a surprise. It’s a choice. The people wanted a conquering king. Jesus gave them a suffering Savior. No golden crown—just thorns. No throne of power—just a wooden cross. And it was through that suffering that salvation would come.

The disciples, so full of hope on Sunday, would soon find themselves confused and afraid. “Why is He talking about dying?” “Why didn’t He seize power when the crowd was with Him?” “Why is our King letting this happen?” But even in their fear, even in their failure, Jesus didn’t give up on them. And He doesn’t give up on us. When we don’t understand, when we stumble, when we run away—He is faithful still.

What kind of king is this? A king who stoops to wash feet. Who weeps for the broken. Who carries a cross. He doesn’t rule with an iron fist but leads with grace. He doesn’t force loyalty but invites love. He is the Suffering King. And He is still riding on.

So today, as we wave our palms, we hold both joy and sorrow in our hearts. We sing “Hosanna” knowing what lies ahead. And we follow—not just to the gates of the city, but all the way to the cross. Because Palm Sunday isn’t just a parade. It’s a call. A challenge. A question. Will we follow this King—not only in celebration, but in suffering? Not just when He’s praised, but when He’s pierced?

The crowd changed. The disciples stumbled. But Jesus never turned back. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever. Still the King. Still riding forward. For you. For me. For the world.

Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.

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