Day Five – The True Arrival
New Testament: Luke 19:28–44
Old Testament: Zechariah 9:11–17
The road twists upward from Jericho to Jerusalem—a climb of nearly twenty miles.
With every step, prophecy breathes: “Behold, your King comes to you, righteous and humble, riding on a donkey.” Sound familiar? Think Palm Sunday!
The parable is over; the performance begins. Jesus sends two disciples ahead—“Find a colt. If anyone asks, say: ‘The Lord has need of it.’”
No chariots, no banners, no trumpets. Just borrowed transportation and the borrowed praise of those who finally see a different kind of royalty cresting the hill.
As cloaks spread across the path and voices rise, the crowd thinks they are watching triumph. Each cry of “Blessed is the King!” carries a double edge.
He is the King—but not the kind of king they think.
He refuses the sword and receives the cross.
His coronation will take place on a hill of skulls, His throne a beam of wood.
And then—midway down the Mount of Olives—He stops.
(This part always gets me – and why I included these extra four verses.)
He sees the city that should have sung Him home and begins to weep.
“If you had only known, even today, the things that make for peace—
but now they are hidden from your eyes…”
It’s the sorrow of omniscient love. Jerusalem, built for worship and justice, has learned the grammar of empire too well.
Historical Context
When Jesus looked over Jerusalem and wept, He was seeing what history would confirm.
Four decades later, in AD 70, Rome besieged the city under the command of Titus, son of Emperor Vespasian. What began as a rebellion against Roman rule ended in starvation, civil collapse, and fire.
Jewish factions inside the walls fought one another as Rome tightened its ring of siege works. Thousands died before a single Roman sword reached the gates.
When the legions finally entered, they tore through the upper city and the temple mount. Josephus records that the temple burned for days—the gold of its ornamentation melted between the foundation stones.
The sanctuary that had symbolized God’s presence since Solomon was leveled until, in his words, “nothing was left to make those who came there believe it had ever been inhabited.”
Rome carried off the temple vessels and paraded them through the streets of the capital. A new arch still stands in the Roman Forum bearing the carved image of that moment—the menorah carried on a soldier’s shoulder.
Jesus’ words in Luke 19:43‑44 read as lived history: enemies building embankments, surrounding the city, dashing stones and generations alike.
He wasn’t threatening; He was mourning.
The destruction of AD 70 was the visible consequence of the world’s refusal to learn the things that make for peace.
Modern Context
We still live among parades.
Some march for power, others for anger.
We raise symbols, shout names, build images of control.
And through it all, Jesus still moves quietly, grieving what could have been.
He still asks the same question: Do you know what makes for peace?
It’s not winning, proving, or preserving power.
It’s mercy breaking the cycle, forgiveness halting retaliation, humility displacing pride.
Every song of Hosanna must end in compassion, or we will keep repeating the same mistake— praising Him with voices and betraying Him with habits.
Ouch - right? But, I have to preach it Sunday! Aren't you glad you know the most of the story!
Reflection
Prayer
Savior‑King,
You wept where others cheered.
Teach me to love what You love and grieve what You grieve.
Let humility steady my steps in triumph,
and compassion rule my responses in conflict.
May Your peace ride through the ruins I’ve made,
turning every tear into the seed of resurrection.
Amen.
New Testament: Luke 19:28–44
Old Testament: Zechariah 9:11–17
The road twists upward from Jericho to Jerusalem—a climb of nearly twenty miles.
With every step, prophecy breathes: “Behold, your King comes to you, righteous and humble, riding on a donkey.” Sound familiar? Think Palm Sunday!
The parable is over; the performance begins. Jesus sends two disciples ahead—“Find a colt. If anyone asks, say: ‘The Lord has need of it.’”
No chariots, no banners, no trumpets. Just borrowed transportation and the borrowed praise of those who finally see a different kind of royalty cresting the hill.
As cloaks spread across the path and voices rise, the crowd thinks they are watching triumph. Each cry of “Blessed is the King!” carries a double edge.
He is the King—but not the kind of king they think.
He refuses the sword and receives the cross.
His coronation will take place on a hill of skulls, His throne a beam of wood.
And then—midway down the Mount of Olives—He stops.
(This part always gets me – and why I included these extra four verses.)
He sees the city that should have sung Him home and begins to weep.
“If you had only known, even today, the things that make for peace—
but now they are hidden from your eyes…”
It’s the sorrow of omniscient love. Jerusalem, built for worship and justice, has learned the grammar of empire too well.
Historical Context
When Jesus looked over Jerusalem and wept, He was seeing what history would confirm.
Four decades later, in AD 70, Rome besieged the city under the command of Titus, son of Emperor Vespasian. What began as a rebellion against Roman rule ended in starvation, civil collapse, and fire.
Jewish factions inside the walls fought one another as Rome tightened its ring of siege works. Thousands died before a single Roman sword reached the gates.
When the legions finally entered, they tore through the upper city and the temple mount. Josephus records that the temple burned for days—the gold of its ornamentation melted between the foundation stones.
The sanctuary that had symbolized God’s presence since Solomon was leveled until, in his words, “nothing was left to make those who came there believe it had ever been inhabited.”
Rome carried off the temple vessels and paraded them through the streets of the capital. A new arch still stands in the Roman Forum bearing the carved image of that moment—the menorah carried on a soldier’s shoulder.
Jesus’ words in Luke 19:43‑44 read as lived history: enemies building embankments, surrounding the city, dashing stones and generations alike.
He wasn’t threatening; He was mourning.
The destruction of AD 70 was the visible consequence of the world’s refusal to learn the things that make for peace.
Modern Context
We still live among parades.
Some march for power, others for anger.
We raise symbols, shout names, build images of control.
And through it all, Jesus still moves quietly, grieving what could have been.
He still asks the same question: Do you know what makes for peace?
It’s not winning, proving, or preserving power.
It’s mercy breaking the cycle, forgiveness halting retaliation, humility displacing pride.
Every song of Hosanna must end in compassion, or we will keep repeating the same mistake— praising Him with voices and betraying Him with habits.
Ouch - right? But, I have to preach it Sunday! Aren't you glad you know the most of the story!
Reflection
- Which procession am I walking in—noise or humility?
- Have I ever mistaken emotional victory for spiritual peace?
- What might it mean for me to let Christ’s tears teach me empathy today?
Prayer
Savior‑King,
You wept where others cheered.
Teach me to love what You love and grieve what You grieve.
Let humility steady my steps in triumph,
and compassion rule my responses in conflict.
May Your peace ride through the ruins I’ve made,
turning every tear into the seed of resurrection.
Amen.
Click on the image below to watch a video I wanted to play before the sermon - but decided against it. It's a song about what the world really looks like - if we have eyes to see and ears to hear.
"I pray not that you take them out of the world, but that you keep them from the evil one. They do not belong to the world, any more than I do". From John 17:16 - As Jesus sweats blood in the garden and pleads for our protection!
"I pray not that you take them out of the world, but that you keep them from the evil one. They do not belong to the world, any more than I do". From John 17:16 - As Jesus sweats blood in the garden and pleads for our protection!
Posted in Pentecost 2025
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