Palm Sunday. The Triumphal Entry. Palm branch waving, I cry from my heart Hosanna! Lord, Save Me!
I am desperate for a Savior. I am desperate to be freed from my oppressor. I am ready to be lifted from the miry clay and to have my feet set upon that solid Rock. No more slipping, sliding, stumbling. Just firm and steady ground beneath my feet.
Hosanna! I cry. But it is not easy, this process.
He is welcome in my heart; I want Him to come and make all things new. But…not too new. Not too radical. Not that, Lord! Don’t touch that. I’m rather fond of that. Ohhh…and not that either, if you don’t mind.
But it’s too late. He has heard my cry, He knows better than I what I need. On the heels of the triumphal entry comes the cleansing of this temple. His strong arm is ready to take me places that I didn’t think I could go.
Tables are overturned. Chaos reigns in His wake. I shut my eyes and cower in the face of His wrath over the den of theives that has taken up residence here. He is not pleased by my commerce with the world, the priceless exchanged for the worthless in casual trade.
A house of prayer, He thunders. My temple shall be a house of prayer.
The tumult fades. I dare to lift my head. He is standing before me, hand outstretched. I take it and am lifted to my feet once again. The moneychangers have fled. It is quiet, and still. I had forgotten how beautiful it could be here, without the clamor.
Hosanna, I whisper now, afraid and yet more desperate than ever to have more of Him.
Always. He answers with a smile. Always, My beloved.
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