April 14, 2003
Yesterday was about Palm Sunday, Jesus’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem. The poem seems to focus on the donkey who bore Him. To the donkey, maybe the raucous crowds and celebrations were for it. All its life this donkey has lived a life of toil, and for this one moment, the people are cheering it. The crowds were as misled as the donkey, as they celebrated what they thought would be a military or political victory of some sort, when the victory that awaited Jesus was the sting of death. In the end, our misunderstandings about Him make us the donkey.