We call it Palm Sunday. Most,back then, probably saw the day as a parade to celebrate this miracle worker out of Nazareth. Word traveled that Jesus, the Celebrity, was heading their way. Believers and non, curious and critical followed behind or raced ahead, waving palm branches. Something was in the air. The crowd inhaled hope and exhaled despair, daring to believe that life just might change for the better.
The excitement made me glad that I brought my boys. Not everyday you get to see a future King. Some snickered that he rode a donkey. My kind of man. No pretense. We scooped up fallen palm fronds and waved and yelled, “Hosanna” with the crowd. All we could see were the backs of folks in front of us. We screamed, “Bless the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” ’til we grew hoarse. Never felt anything quite like this. I heard folks saying, “This’ll be something to tell our kids and grandkids.” Some, like me, hoisted a kid on our shoulders to give them a better look. My youngest yelled, “Dad, It’s Jesus! The One who took the lunch Mama made for me and fed thousands with just my bread and fish. It was awesome!”
“Wish I’d been there, son. Wonder what Jesus will do when he’s king?”
My young son leaned down from my shoulder and squealed,”Can you imagine his crown?”
I yelled up to him,”You can be sure it won’t be like any other king’s!”
and it wasn’t.
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