I am unsettled.

It is the day after Palm Sunday, and while it seems that the rest of the world celebrated Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, waving palms and singing songs of rejoicing, I am unsettled.

Would I have been one of the crowd celebrating Jesus coming into the city?

Would I have even known he was there, riding on a little donkey?

Maybe I would have been at the other end of town, watching the Romans parade in with all of their might and pomp and glitter and swords, and war horses.

Would it have mattered?

Had I been ignorant, not even aware of this Jesus, would I have been any less guilty of his arrest, persecution, and death?  For the ones who greeted him into the city with palms and rejoicing were the same ones who yelled “Crucify Him” just days later.  Would I be any less guilty of denying him like them, or like Peter?

Today I wonder the same.

Today, I try to know Jesus more each day.  I wake in the morning with the greatest intentions to praise and listen and follow Jesus. But at the end of the day, I have certainly denied him three times or more.  I have not loved my neighbor as much as I could have.  I have likely been sarcastic, unkind, and unloving… all before lunch time.

Now,  I move towards the end of the week,  knowing I am fully capable of shaking my fist at God and turning my back on what I should do to glorify God and instead waste my time on meaningless things.  All I want to do this week is to be crumpled at the foot of the cross with a broken heart.

Broken for the grief Jesus felt those last few days.

Broken for those who don’t know God.

Broken for those who have  intentionally turned their backs.

Broken for each of us as we wake each morning with a renewed sense of hope, yet fail miserably.

As hearts break, so are they healed.  My great Healer came to the earth fully God and fully human.  His feet got dirty, he ate, he burped.  He loved, he wept, he laughed.  He fully experienced each hurt and pain and joy that we would.  He was perfect, living in this imperfect world, and he died a painful and humiliating death for me.  For us all.

Crumpled at the foot of the cross, broken hearted, I have hope.  The tomb is empty, but the journey from the triumphal entry into Jerusalem to the resurrection is one that is unsettling each year.  I am thankful that I have the space to experience it for the sacred time that it is.  To God be all the Glory.

I originally wrote this April 2014.  Rereading it this year, I needed the reminder…

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