This week's Theme: Exceedingly Abundantly
Day 1: Your King Comes To You
We were so excited when Bonnie came to visit for the weekend. Tucked away in our rural village hidey-hole we were always thrilled to have visitors, and Bonnie was not just any ordinary visitor—she was an exuberant, fun-loving cousin. She lived in another village, also tucked away—deep in the interior of the island, and in those days of difficult travel, it seemed much farther than it really was.
It was seldom that our mother let us go to the Big River, but that Sunday, in honor of Bonnie’s visit, we were allowed to go under the strict supervision of our aunt. We trekked the long distance to the “Top Road”, climbed down the embankment to the “Bottom Road”, then scrambled down the steep dirt mound to the path that would take us to the river.
Chattering away happily, we led our cousin along the long path past the smaller streams with the big river stones where we sometimes accompanied our aunt on wash day, and where we were usually restricted to “swim” on the rare Sundays we went to the Big River. But today, we pushed on farther, towards the “deep hole.”
As we rounded the last bend before the deep hole, Bonnie suddenly dashed forward with an exuberant cry, “Coconut!” Before anyone could stop her, she grasped the limbs of the palm with both hands, thrusting her body against the trunk. Only, this was no coconut. This was a cousin, in the palm family—the Grugru palm (Acrocomia aculeata), characterized by numerous slender, black, viciously sharp 10 cm long spines jutting out from the trunk Acrocomia aculeata - Wikipedia. Poor Bonnie!
I know another story of palms and thorns. Only this one was not about an unfortunate incident—but rather part of a remarkably-designed, deliberate, unfolding plan. Every element was meticulously mapped to the very last detail—the plan, the promise, the reminders, the announcements, the arrangements. And among all the unmistakable details given beforehand, a particular one five hundred years in advance:
Rejoice greatly, Daughter Zion! Shout, Daughter Jerusalem! See, your King comes to you, righteous and victorious, lowly and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey (Zechariah 9:9).
And ultimately, inevitably, the scene unfolds with Jesus of Nazareth, who alone fulfilled hundreds of prophecies about the birth, life, death, resurrection, and reign of God’s promised Messiah:
As they approached Jerusalem and came to Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go to the village ahead of you, and at once you will find a donkey tied there, with her colt by her. Untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, say that the Lord needs them, and he will send them right away.” This took place to fulfill what was spoken through the prophet:
“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.’” The disciples went and did as Jesus had instructed them. They brought the donkey and the colt and placed their cloaks on them for Jesus to sit on. (Matthew 21:1-7).
With sound knowledge of their history, the Scriptures, and the prophecy, the crowd was enthralled. They knew a Messiah would come—from the kingly line of David. For years, they had been waiting for freedom from foreign rule—from subjection to successive oppressors—Rome being the latest. The thought of imminent deliverance was exciting and electrifying. The crowd was galvanized:
They took palm branches and went out to meet Him, shouting, Hosanna!” “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!” “Blessed is the King of Israel!” (John 12:13). The gospel writer Matthew gives the additional detail that they spread their cloaks on the road, and he underscores the specific Messianic reference in their chant: “Hosanna to the Son of David!” (Matthew 21:8-9).
It always amazes me that only a few days after this triumphal entry into Jerusalem, the mood had completely shifted. Anticipation gave way to disenchantment, the adoring crowd to an angry mob (Matthew 27:20-25). Deference to majesty was replaced by scorn and contempt—fists and flagellation instead of palms and praises, a purple robe of cruel mockery in place of a “red carpet” of cloaks, a crown of thorns instead of a hero’s halo (Matthew 26:67, Mark 14:65, John 19:1-6).
The adulation had been short-lived. In the twisted absurdity of human logic, Jesus had come up short. He was not the Messiah they envisioned—the conquering liberator who would denounce and upend the rule of Rome and any other power forever—and restore the kingdom to the might of David’s rule.
Not that Jesus hadn’t tried to show them the truth of God’s plan—a plan entrusted to them as custodians—yet designed for all people. But the deep roots of preconception and expectation could see only earth even as the Savior of the world described another kingdom breathtaking in its immensity, eternity, infinity:
And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to Myself.” He said this to show the kind of death He was going to die. The crowd spoke up, “We have heard from the Law that the Messiah will remain forever, so how can you say, ‘The Son of Man must be lifted up’? Who is this ‘Son of Man’?” (John 12:32-34).
The question lingers— “Who is this ‘Son of Man’?” And the answer remains the same “I AM WHO I AM” (Exodus 3:14). Not what we expect Him to be. Or want Him to be. Because in our shortsightedness we confuse earth’s dazzle with heavenly glory. Like Grugru palms with coconuts.
