I invite you to see yourself walking in a caravan from Mesopotamia, traveling to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover.  You are hot and tired, your clothes covered in dust.  Your group stops because the road ahead is covered with cloaks and lined with pilgrims waving palm branches and shouting, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord.” You wonder if this is the prophet from Galilee and if you will have an opportunity to hear him speak.

As the road clears, the caravan enters the city in time to watch another procession for Herod Antipas, the Roman Tetrarch of Galilee, and Perea.  A garrison of soldiers accompanies him, a tangible reminder anyone disrupting the peace will be subject to the strictest of punishments.  Compared to the festive, upbeat mood of those greeting the king riding a colt, this crowd turns their back to Herod in silent protest against Roman rule.     

You pause, considering the differences between these processions.  The first group seemed joyful, offering their cloaks to honor the Prophet, dressed in ordinary clothing, and riding a colt.  Herod, dressed in silks and gold jewelry, riding a war horse, is met with quiet disdain.  You wonder, “How much suffering and loss occurred so Herod could wear such finery?”

Thoughts about the prophet disappear as you join family to celebrate the Passover.  Following the meal, the conversation turns to the man from Nazareth.  You hear about the healings, his teachings, and a special sermon that turns the Law upside down.  Falling asleep, you vow, “Tomorrow, I will find him.  I must know if he is the One.”

In the morning, you step into a deserted street.  A blind beggar tells you everyone is gathering at Pontius Pilate’s gates.  Jesus is under arrest, with the Pharisees asking for his death.  “NO,” escapes your lips as you turn and run toward the noise, “Away with this man!  Release Barabbas to us.” Your day moves from bad to worse.  You cannot get through the crowds; no one seems to know what is happening to Jesus, and then an afternoon earthquake terrifies everyone in the city.  You end the day frustrated and worried about the teacher you long to meet.  Tomorrow is the Sabbath, so finding him must wait one more day.   

Following the Sabbath, you walk the streets listening to conflicting stories about Jesus.  Some say he was flogged and released, and others say he died on the cross with his mother, other women, and a disciple watching.  As the sun sets, you find yourself sitting on the temple steps.  Roman soldiers are everywhere, along with small groups, primarily women seated around the steps weeping.  You notice a man and a woman quietly moving from group to group, offering food and water and words of comfort.  Eventually, the pair come to sit with you.  Looking at the man, “Let me make sure I’ve got this right.   A Prophet sent by God had to die because;

He healed a cripple on the Sabbath.
The blind regained their sight, the mute could speak, and the deaf could hear after encountering him. 
He ate sinners and tax collectors, telling them of God’s mercy. 
He held up a Samaritan as an example of how to be a good neighbor.
Just before he died, he asked God to forgive those who hung him on the cross. 

So, for these and other acts of compassion and love, he had to die because he did not conform to the accepted image of the Messiah.  I do not understand.  I thought I had found who I was looking for.  I do not know what to do.”

The man smiles at you, “We ate the Passover meal with him.  Jesus told us he had to die, but he would never really leave us.  Come, join us, share our meal, and we will tell you everything he taught us.” 

Invitation:  Spend time this Palm Sunday reflecting on what it might be like if you could join the disciples as they tell their stories and come to terms with the loss of Jesus.