It was only yesterday, they told me and I squeezed into the crowd to see Jesus of Nazareth ride into Jerusalem. We yelled our hearts out. It was the day we will always remember—or so we thought. But here it is Monday. The palm branches we waved were tossed aside and some are beginning to wither. We found the garments we had thrown at his feet, bundled them up ragged as they were and headed for home.
The warm, wonderful sounds of the alleluias are still with us. But word came that he went into the Temple and turned the tables over and scattered the animals and the merchants. We also heard our leaders, Scribes and Pharisees—learned men—mumbled and whispered dirty things about him. Little did we know that these doings—his and theirs—were only a prelude.
If Jesus is the king we sought then where is the power and strength every king has? And why did he say so little about our Jewish leaders? He didn’t defend himself. In fairness maybe that will come. So even on Monday we began slowly to doubt. We even heard that some of his disciples like the Pharisees murmured and wondered.
Holy Monday. How fickle yesterday’s crowds were. Maybe us too, just a little. If King Jesus is who we hear he is—where is the thunder and the clouds? Where is the sunshine? Why do I not feel as hopeful as I did yesterday.
God knows we need someone to change all this blood and gore and Rome, cursed Rome who really have chains around us all. We live in fear always. Surely he will change all of this.
It’s Monday and somehow it just isn’t as clear as it was yesterday.
--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com
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