A Personal Look at Palm Sunday

What the eyes of faith reveal

The crowds lined the cobblestone streets that day
as a solitary figure emerged on a beast of burden.
There were exuberant cheers!

Smiling spectators waved palm branches in his direction
and shouted “Hosanna!”

Children sang a simple synagogue song.
Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!”

In front of where they stood
parents paved the path with their colorful outer garments
A growing red carpet could be seen 
as the grand parade marshal approached.
What a day it must have been!

Within my mind’s eye
I see the guest of honor seated on his burro.
He is smiling.
I catch his glance.
He looks my way and his loving eyes speak.

“You matter to me!
That’s why I am here.
This parade appears to be for me,
but it actually is for you.
Although you’d never guess by what is taking place now,
this procession punctuated by praise
will culminate in a post-parade party at which time
my critics will call for my death.
However, the painful conclusion to this joyful scene
will make possible the meaningful life I pictured for you
even before you were born.
I am dying to show you how much I care.”

His eloquent eyes speak volumes.
But if that were not enough,
I see his muscular arm
reach through a sea of faces in my direction.
His calloused hand betrays his years as a carpenter.
He opens his palm and gently touches my suntanned cheek.
It is at once warm and cool.
I am overcome with an inexplicable feeling of acceptance.
A tear falls from my eye and trickles to his hand.
His hand remains unmoved.
He smiles.
I smile back bashfully, gratefully.

My trembling hand reaches up to cup his hand
cradled against my face.
My palm against his palm.
I feel my heartbeat pulsating in my hand.
It is a holy moment.

Two hands touching.
A sacred bond of sorts.
No words are shared.
There is no need.
I know beyond any doubt
that I am loved by Jesus. 

“Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!”
“Hosanna, indeed!”