By Blogger Daryl Geffken
As I figure it, Palm Sunday was the greatest day Jesus’ disciples experienced.
This day laid claim of their expectations that they were following the sudden king of Jerusalem, Judah, Israel, and the heavens and the earth. Finally, no more wondering what he meant when he was teaching those parables, no more wondering when the day of his kingdom would be announced, no more walking around the whole of the country.
This was a time for sitting on either side of the enthroned King. This was a time for celebration. Even the people were fully on board. No small cutsie parade of kids walking vaguely down the aisle of a sanctuary, this was a full-blown, 1945 end-of-world-war-two-ticker-tape festivity, with people laying down their clothing and huge palm leaves so that the son of God wouldn’t have to humble himself by touching the dirt with his feet (I’m curious: what if instead of the parade of palms we so typically enjoy was replaced with all us adults throwing our jackets and such on the ground and having it trampled by a donkey? Or shouting “hail to the king” so loudly it broke city ordinance and officials had to come break up the party?).
For the people, their liberator had arrived: for today and forever. And Jesus agreed. This was a day that made it all worth it. In my history, there is nothing that compares to what this day meant to its participants. It’s better than a national championship, any form of graduation, the wrap party after the final show, and even my wedding reception. I would have loved to join this celebration. I wish I could have been there.