Ye shall not see me, until the time come when ye shall say, Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord. (Luke 13:35)
A happy day. A red-letter day! The procession of the palms. Is this the one we have waited for? Is it time, now, to rejoice at last? This is the return of the king, is it not? The one who will save us?
It all looks pretty good and in this moment it is. The people lay cloaks and branches along the ground as the itinerant preacher from small-town Galilee bestrides a donkey’s colt and rides along, slowly, smiling no doubt, on his way to the center, the heart, of the city.
It looks like a prophecy, a promise fulfilled alright. This is - for all its humility - the parade we want to have. From the other direction, from Roman power centers, another group approaches. They are all soldiers, or soldier-like: the minions of Caesar, and his loyal subjects.
The welcome for them is muted. They will come regardless of reception. Though they would prefer no disruption, no need to get their swords wet or their togas dirty.
So back to our side of town. The preacher approaches, enters the precincts of the Temple, has a look all around. Then as evening approaches he goes to his billet outside the walls.
He has been here before. Every year, if Luke tells aright, at this time of year, the festival, the great festival, of the deliverance of people from bondage and into the arms of God. It is Passover.
How will this year be different from any other year?
Wait and see.
Palm Sunday 2022. JRL+
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