Jesus Entry Into Jerusalem
oil on canvas, 1947
Danila Vasilieff, Russia, then Australia
L’Art Religieux Australien
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Jesus Entry Into Jerusalem |
When they had come near Jerusalem
and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives,
Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them,
“Go into the village ahead of you,
and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her;
untie them and bring them to me.
If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’
And he will send them immediately.”
This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying,
“Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you,
humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”
The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them;
they brought the donkey and the colt,
and put their cloaks on them,
and he sat of them.
A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road,
and others cut braches from the trees and spread them on the road.
The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting,
“Hosanna to the Son of David!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
When he entered Jerusalem,
the whole city was in turmoil, asking,
“Who is this?”
The crowds were saying,
“This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”
We happened to be there that day on that street, the three of us, my husband, Amos, and I, and, of course, our little daughter Miriam. I don’t know how much you know about Jerusalem but the old city has not changed much. Today, the streets are still very narrow and often crowded. You might be able to squeeze four or five people across. There are sights and sounds and smells that are unique to Jerusalem: the sight of the great gates you must walk through to enter the city, the sound of thousands of bare feet and sandals shuffling across dusty streets, the smell of certain spiced foods cooking. The very air holds a spiritual quality. There is a holiness about it.
The streets were especially busy that day. Indeed, all of Jerusalem was teeming with pilgrims because it was Passover. Every Jew who lived within twenty miles was required to come to Jerusalem, but Jews from all over what you call the Middle East came to celebrate the holy days. When Matthew wrote that the city of in turmoil, he was putting it mildly. The place was wild with excitement and anticipation.
Some people only dream of visiting Jerusalem. I was fortunate, indeed, to have visited Jerusalem many times. Our home was in Ramat Rahel, a little village right between Bethlehem and Jerusalem and only a good walk through the valley to the holy city. Nevertheless, every visit was a thrilling and this one was special not only because it was Miriam’s first pilgrimage to the Jerusalem, but because it turned out to be so amazing. We were in the right place at the right time. Has that ever happened to you? With no planning whatsoever on your part, you ended up exactly where you were meant to be? Or you met the right person in the very moment you most needed to meet that person? That is what happened to us on our visit to Jerusalem that year, that Passover.
When we got to the city, we were all hungry, especially Amos and Miriam, and you know how cranky a hungry toddler can be. Miriam was just three that year – did I mention that? Three-year-olds can be very persistent when it comes to food. I had packed fresh unleavened bread and some lovely dried fish and olives, but Amos said he wanted to splurge and get shish-kebob from one of the street vendors. I objected, gently, because this was such an expense but Amos insisted and I will admit that the pungent smell of lamb roasting on open grills was very tempting. Amos said, “It’s not every day we come to Jerusalem, dear.” “And is it not time,” he added, “that our little girl be given a taste of Jerusalem shish-kebob?” We were so filled with joy. It was a golden day, a day when almost anything seems possible. I told Amos it was a day for tasting the fullness of life. He said, “It is a day for tasting shish-kebob!”
Amos sought a few recommendations from men in the crowd who looked, from the size of their bellies, like they would know a good kebob when they tasted one, and they gave us directions that put us onto this one street near the edge of the old city. We could tell something was happening, something big, because there was an awful lot of carrying on. The crowd was making a path right down the middle of the street. People threw cloaks and branches as if to make a royal path for whoever was coming. It was a little crazy like a big street party and I wasn’t sure I really wanted us to be in this wild crowd.
I whispered to Amos, “The way these fools are behaving, you would think the Messiah had arrived!” Amos frowned at my faithless attitude. He said we should set the shish-kebob search aside for a few minutes and see what all the fuss was about. I resigned myself to the madness of the moment, unwrapped a flat loaf of bread, and gave a large hunk of it to my hungry Miriam who, by the way, thought the whole scene was great fun. She didn’t mind the crowd at all. Some kind soul handed her a branch of palm that she waved about happily as she sat up on her father’s strong shoulders.
Jerusalem, you may know, is the color of stone but on that day and on that street, the city seemed to bloom – with color, with gladness, with enthusiasm. Miriam dove right into the spirit of the celebration, shouting, “Hosanna!” along with everyone else. Me? I'm more of a skeptic. I've seen messiahs come and I've seen them go. There were probably several self-proclaimed messiahs in Jerusalem that year. I've seen people get all excited about some prophet one day only to spit them out like a rotten fig the next. Amos asked me, “Aren’t you even a little bit curious, dear?” I said, “I suppose I so.” But while Amos and Miriam joined in all the hoopla, I stood back and watched. I guess I’m naturally more of a watcher than a joiner, more of a doubter than a follower.
A woman standing next to me, however, who was nearly breathing down my neck, was absolutely convinced by this one. She said he was the genuine article, that she had seen him heal a man who was sick for years and furthermore, she said, he had a wisdom about him that was more than simply human. She said he had to be from God. I am embarrassed to tell you now that, at the time, I felt like telling her to stop thinking like a sheep! But I really did not wish to enter into an in-depth conversation with her about the matter, so I held my tongue and, as politely as possible, I said, "Is that so?"
Then Amos nudged me with his elbow, as Amos is apt to do from time to time.
He announced, quite solemnly, "There he is!" Others were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!” We could see a man riding on a donkey. Unlike other would-be messiahs I've seen, he was not screaming "Death to the Romans!" or demanding attention or offering any of the usual would-be Messiah drivel. He simply rode down that narrow street on that make-shift royal carpet like someone who was absolutely determined, but not in an angry way. He was quite calm actually, as if he really believed all those words in the Psalms about trusting God. He was not what you'd expect in a Messiah at all.
The crowd was very emotional yet he remained composed. In fact, he seemed to look directly at each one of us and he smiled at little Miriam as if he saw some treasure in that child that no one else could see. As for Amos, well, Amos was quite taken with him. In fact, Amos followed him around for days, which turned out to be very difficult and extraordinary days. Then those days turned into years. And eventually even I, with all my skepticism, started shouting “hosanna!” with my life. But that is another story for another time. I want to tell you about that day when he came riding into Jerusalem, a day when everyone, including me, was asking, "Who is this?,” a day when most of us were not sure who he was, whether a prophet or a madman or even the Messiah.
This day was the beginning of the end for him and, as I look back, that makes his steadiness all the more remarkable. You see, Jesus knew. He knew that the very people who were offering him wild adoration would turn on him. He sensed betrayal in the dusty breeze. He knew how mixed up we human beings can be. He knew the parade would not last long. And yet, he offered us a blessing that day. He traveled through the crowd, seated on that donkey with great dignity and compassion and he blessed us.
What was clear to me that day and has become clearer to me since is that God truly works in mysterious ways. Only God can turn a shish-kebob hunt into a new life, a renewed faith in God, a fresh understanding of salvation. Only God can take a fickle-hearted crowd like the one in Jerusalem, a crowd that was shouting "Hosanna" one day and a few short days later was screaming "Crucify him!" and offer redemption to the whole mess. Only God would present so much grace to people who cause so much grief. Only God can take a skeptic, a cynical observer such as myself, and fill her with so much love, so much joy, so many hosannas.
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You are welcome to use these narratives for worship or study but please give the author, Sarah M. Foulger, credit for the writing - and consider making a contribution to Seasons of Change, a non-profit mental health agency in Edgecomb, Maine. Send contributions of any amount to Seasons of Change/ P.O. Box 277/Edgecomb, Maine 04556.
Sarah M. Foulger may be contacted at: sarahfoulger@gmail.com