“Say to Daughter Zion,
‘See, your king comes to you,
gentle and riding on a donkey,
and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’”
We're a fickle bunch, aren't we?
Always changing our minds, our feelings, our style.
Our hair color.
Okay, maybe that's just me.
But the point is, we change our minds. A lot.
The couch we couldn't live without five years ago? Now it looks dated. And a little ratty. And we have been trolling Pottery Barn and are convinced it's time for an update.
That blouse, the one that was a little pricey but was so chic, so cute, so 'me'? Now, um, meh. Off to Goodwill it goes.
That friend that was the very best pal, buddy, shopping sister? You know, people drift. Apart.
As we celebrated Palm Sunday today, the commemoration of Jesus entering Jerusalem in what would be His final week, it's so striking that He arrives to shouts of praise and adoration and majesty, people laying palms and cloaks in the path of the donkey that is carrying Him. They love Him. They welcome Him to the city, shouting 'Hosanna' as He comes through the gates.
And just a few days later, they'll be shouting 'Crucify'.
That's a big jump.
That's how we are.
We come to Christ passionate, thankful, grateful, awed. We worship, we pray, we seek the Scriptures.
We expect that will never change.
But as in any relationship, we can begin to see that Great Romance of our Savior as common, hum-drum, expected. The church we loved to attend seems predictable. The prayers we utter become rote.
Perhaps this is why I love Palm Sunday. It's the reminder of it. The re-igniting of the wonder of His sacrifice. The reminder of His willingness to not only die for me, but to arrive at the city gates and deliver Himself to the very people who would do it. And no matter the wishy-washiness of my attention and heart, the Scripture recording the event of Jesus's entry compel me, compel me to more closely consider again this Son of God.
And these same Scriptures serve as warning. Warning that circumstances and crowd opinion and political times and trends can change on a dime.
But my Savior does not.
And neither should my wonder of Him.