Welcomed with Palms, Left with Silence

The Beginning of the End—and the Weight of Knowing

The City Cheers

I’m trying to imagine Jerusalem some 2000 years ago, bursting at the seams.

It was Passover, and this meant that the city was filled with pilgrims, but also there would be tension thick in the air.

Sometimes I forget when I read the bible, that this was taking place under Roman rule, which was not a benevolent democracy.

And the Jews, coming to their capital city would be reminded that they reside under a foreign regime that didn’t respect God.

And they wanted their independence back. They wanted a Savior.

And this is the backdrop for Jesus’ return into Jerusalem.

Jesus had been to Jerusalem many times before, for Passover. But this time would be different.

I’ve always pictured the Triumphal Entry like a scene from a children’s Bible—crowds waving palm branches, shouting 'Hosanna!'

But something about it always sort of puzzled or unsettled me.

Why did it feel like He was welcomed with joy… but left with silence?

Where did all that energy go?

How do you go from “Hosanna!” to “Crucify Him!” in just a few days?

This year, I decided not to gloss over it.

I wanted to walk into the moment—not as a distant observer, but as someone trying to understand how it all unfolded.

---

This is Article 1 in a 7-part series on the last week of Jesus’ life. If you missed the lead-in article that is the background to this reflection, you can read it here:

The Unbearable Weight of Perfection: Wrestling with Jesus' Humanity

Here are the articles:

2 - Righteous Fire in a Holy Place
3 - The Table, The Garden and The Kiss
4 - Condemned By Cowards
5 - The Sky Went Dark When He Bowed His Head
6 - The Veil Was Torn, The Earth Trembled, and the Grave Was Silent
7 - Before the Stone Was Rolled Away

---

The Miracle That Got the City Buzzing

Just days before this, in the small village of Bethany, only a few miles from Jerusalem, Jesus had raised Lazarus from the dead.

Four days in the tomb. No hope left.
And then: “Lazarus, come forth.” (John 11:43)

That miracle didn’t just bring Lazarus out of the grave.
It shook the city.

“The crowd that had been with Him when He called Lazarus out of the tomb… continued to bear witness.”
—John 12:17 (RSV)

People were still buzzing—with wonder, fear, and expectation.
This man had power. A different kind of power.
Not sorcery. Not spectacle. But miracles flowing from something undeniably divine.

Power that clearly came from God His Father.

This was something no one else had ever done.

And imagine—no cell phones. No electricity. Just word of mouth carried on foot.
A story like this would spread like wildfire because it was humanly impossible.

And the religious leaders? They were terrified.
They couldn’t control Him.

And so:

“So from that day on they planned together to kill Him.”
—John 11:53 (NASB95)

And into that growing storm—that mix of hope and hostility—Jesus began His final approach to Jerusalem.

One more Passover.

But this time, He wasn’t just attending.
He was becoming the Lamb.

---

The Donkey and the Declaration

Starting out from Bethany, Jesus sent two disciples ahead with a very specific command:

“Go into the village in front of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her… Untie them and bring them to Me.”
—Matthew 21:2 (NASB95)

This wasn’t just about transportation.

Jesus had walked countless miles before.

This was a statement.

By choosing to ride a donkey—He was declaring who He was.

He was fulfilling a prophecy written over 500 years earlier:

“Behold, your king is coming to you… humble and mounted on a donkey.”
—Zechariah 9:9 (NASB95)

I’ve been trying to imagine what the disciples were thinking as they helped Him onto that colt.

Were they excited?
Confused?
Hopeful?

They had celebrated Passover with Him before, but this time… this time had a different weight to it.

I wonder if they could feel it in His tone.
In His countenance.
In His face.

Scripture tells us plainly:

“These things His disciples did not understand at the first; but when Jesus was glorified, then they remembered…”
—John 12:16 (NASB95)

They were caught in the moment,
but not yet aware of the meaning.

And I have to remind myself—I get to read this story with the benefit of hindsight.
I have the Gospels.
I know what’s coming.

But they didn’t.

And yet—word spread.

Whether by curiosity, by awe, or perhaps by the quiet movement of the Spirit of God, people would be coming out in droves.

They would be waving branches.
They would lay down cloaks.
And they would shout praises.

And yet, in the midst of all that movement—
Jesus wouldn’t be swept up in it.

Most men—perhaps knowing they would be greeted as a King with swelling praise and worship—would be excited.

But Jesus knew.
He knew what lay ahead of Him beyond this moment.
He knew the shouts would turn to silence.
He knew the cross stood just beyond the crowd.

But they would be praising a version of Him that didn’t exist.

They wanted a liberator.
They didn’t expect a Lamb.

And within days… that praise would turn to rage.

---

The Crowd That Couldn’t Be Quiet

As Jesus descended the Mount of Olives, with the Temple glinting in the distance, the road filled up.

Some spread cloaks on the ground.
Others cut down palm branches, a national symbol of deliverance for the Jews.
(During the Maccabean Revolt—about 200 years earlier—palm branches became symbols of national victory and Jewish liberation. So by the time Jesus rode in, waving them wasn’t just celebration. It was a political signal. A cry for freedom. A longing for revolt.)

I picture them rushing—excited and hopeful—cutting branches, finding their children, hurrying to get a glimpse of Him, to be part of this moment.

They somehow knew they were sharing in a historic moment.

Their voices rose together in praise:

“Hosanna!
Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!
Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David!”
—Mark 11:9–10 (RSV)

“Hosanna” means “Save us now.”

I wonder what it felt like for Jesus to hear the roar of the crowd.
He knew what they wanted.
And He knew He wouldn’t—and couldn’t—give it to them.

They believed He was the King who would free them from Roman rule.
They were missing that He was coming to free them from something far deeper.

I imagine Peter walking beside Him, perhaps pride swelling in his chest, not realizing how much of this moment he misunderstood.

---

When the Pharisees told Jesus to quiet the crowd, I tried to sit with the magnitude of His answer:

“I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would cry out.”
—Luke 19:40 (NASB95)

It wasn’t hype.
It wasn’t crowd manipulation.
It was heaven recognizing its King.

And it mattered that He was on a donkey, NOT a war horse.

This was the humble King.

One day, the One who would be crowned King of all Heaven and Earth.
The One whom Satan had once tempted with “all the kingdoms of the world.”

I don’t think I can fully grasp the level of humility He carried in that moment…
Because I’ve never seen the throne He left behind.
I’ve never sat beside Him in Heaven.

Most men would have reached for the crown.
Most would have fed off the cheers.
But not Jesus.

Had He come on a war horse—draped in robes, flanked by swords—the crowd would have cheered what they saw: symbols of earthly power.

Instead, He came on a borrowed donkey,
With worn coats for a saddle,
Wearing ordinary clothes.

They didn’t cheer Him for His appearance.
They cheered Him for the power of His Spirit—even if they didn’t fully understand it.

And I wonder if, in some way, they sensed they were sharing in a historic moment.

There’s something in us—still today—that wants to be part of history, even if we don’t fully understand it while it’s happening.

It’s why people flock to parades, chase motorcades, crowd toward the famous.
We want to be close to glory, even if we can't name it.

The Romans would’ve dismissed Him.
He didn’t fit their profile of a rebel.
His disciples weren’t a militia.
And the cheering crowds weren’t the powerful.

They were the poor, the hungry, the forgotten.

But as I reread the passage, something pierced me:

“When He approached Jerusalem, He saw the city and wept over it…”
—Luke 19:41 (NASB95)

In the middle of the celebration—Jesus wept.

---

The King Who Weeps

He wasn’t crying for Himself.
He was crying for them.

He wept because of the depth of His love.
He so deeply wanted to save them—but He knew not all would respond.

“If you had known on this day, even you, the conditions for peace!
But now they have been hidden from your eyes.”
—Luke 19:42 (NASB95)

I thought about the other time we read of Him weeping for this city:

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem… how often I wanted to gather your children together,
as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were unwilling.”
—Matthew 23:37 (NASB95)

He longed for them.
And they would still reject Him.

That hit me hard.😢

Again, here I am, trying to sit with the depth of His love and emotion—
Imagining Him, making the final preparations to offer His life,
feeling something like:

“I am prepared to give My very life,
and go to the depths of hell so that you won’t have to.
If only you could see beyond this earthly realm.”

But then… who am I to pretend I would’ve seen it differently?
I mean, I hope I would have.

But I can’t forget—I have the full story. I have the Scriptures.

And yet…

How many times have I missed Him?
Not because I didn’t believe…
But because I wanted Him to be something else.

How many times have I longed for a Savior
who would deliver me from pain but not from pride?

A King who gave answers…
but didn’t ask for surrender?

And so, here we are.

The King of Glory, riding in on a donkey…

Not to take the throne, but to offer Himself.
Not to overthrow Rome, but to overturn sin.
Not to demand allegiance, but to surrender His life.

---

And Then… It Just Fades

Here’s the part that always haunted me.

After all that noise…
After the praise and palm branches…
After the people calling Him King…

“Jesus entered Jerusalem and went into the temple. And after looking around at everything, He left for Bethany with the twelve, since it was already late.”
—Mark 11:11 (NASB95)

That’s it.

The crowd disappears.
No uprising.
No coronation.
Just silence.

He walks into the temple, looks around…
And leaves.

I can’t stop asking:

Where did they go?
Where were the voices that had shouted?
The hands that had waved branches?
The hearts that had praised??

---

When Praise Isn’t Rooted in Surrender

They wanted a Messiah of miracles.
They got a Lamb on a donkey.

Their praise was real—but it was shallow.
It celebrated a version of Jesus they hoped for,

Not the One they truly needed.

And the moment He didn’t meet their expectations,

They faded.

“He did not entrust Himself to them, because He knew all people.”
—John 2:24 (RSV)

And yet…
He still rode in.

He rode in knowing.
Knowing that the same city that shouted ‘Hosanna’ would soon echo with ‘Crucify Him.’

---

My Closing Thought

He rode into the city that would kill Him—
Not because they understood Him,
But because they needed Him.
And He loved them too much to stay away.

---

Coming Next

In the next article, I want to walk with Him into the temple.

But this time…
He doesn’t just look around.
He acts with authority.
He disrupts.
He turns over everything the people had made sacred.

From the Lamb praised as King,
to the King who challenges the very heart of the system—
He begins to overturn the symbols of power in His own nation.

What will the people say now?