Walking through the last week of Lent, we celebrate Palm Sunday and journey through Holy Week. Six weeks have passed and the final stretch is before us. Whether you have been participating through fasting, special devotion, readings or prayers, most people focus in on the coming of Easter, once Palm Sunday arrives. Last week, I realized we were approaching Palm Sunday and something caught me up in thinking about it. I have been pondering for days now. I should preface this writing with—I have no answers, just wonderings.
In the Bible story, often titled with the caption, The Triumphal Entry, we read about Jesus entering Jerusalem towards the end of His earthly ministry. As He approaches the city, He sends two of His disciples to fetch a colt or young donkey for Him to ride upon during His entry. The disciples are not aware, but His request fulfills a prophecy written long ago. The crowd following Him and the crowd gathering for the coming Feast converge, creating a mass of people. They start declaring “Hosanna” meaning salvation or please save. The scripture describes a scene where many wave palm branches and large numbers spread their cloaks on the road. The gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke all mention cloaks being used to cover the road for Jesus to pass over, as He makes His way into Jerusalem. That mention—the cloaks—has caused pause in me, with lots of thinking.
I find this little side-note fascinating. These people, who very well may only own a solitary cloak, chose to spread theirs out along the road before Jesus. Why? What prompted them to do such a thing? Were their hearts propelled to respond to what they were seeing? Or did they just follow the lead of the man next to them? Can you picture the copious number of people shouting and surrendering their cloak in participation, as a wave of urgency sweeps through the crowd? We may never know why, but then there is another question.
What did they do afterwards, retrieve their cloak or leave it behind? Each person made a choice, conscience or not, to walk away without their one and only cloak or to retrieve the tattered remnant of cloth. I also wonder what they felt as they pondered their actions. If they left their cloak behind, did they miss it? Did they regret it? Did they wonder if it was still there? Did they explore their own why for surrendering and leaving it behind? If picked up, what did they do? It would need washed of the dirt and debris covering it. Did they mend the marks and tears left by the hooves? As they repaired the cloth, were they drawn back to that moment, as full of emotion and excitement as they had been, standing before Jesus? Did they, too, wonder why they participated the way they did?
All I can do is ask questions to which I will never know the answers. What I do know, upon reflecting about the actions and possible responses of these people, is this: Sometimes our encounters with Jesus don’t fully impact us until after the fact. We need to take time to question who we are, what we did and how we feel about the encounter. Without reflecting, we could have an encounter and leave unchanged. These people gave up something during their encounter, whether it was retrieved or left behind doesn’t matter. For them, it was impossible not to stop and reflect on what had happened. In the days between laying their cloaks down and the crucifixion, they had to decide who Jesus was to them—not just in the moment with the crowd, but in private as they considered their cloak.
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