Triumph

Today in western Christian tradition, we commemorate one of the most significant journeys ever recorded. With gratitude and hope in our hearts, we remember Christ’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem, heralded by devoted followers and shouts of hosanna. These humble worshippers rejoiced in their Lord. He had come to save them. They rejoiced in that salvation, their very exclamations denoting a plea for God to “come and save us.” But I cannot help but wonder how much they then grasped of the Savior’s mission. Did they know He had come to die? Did they know this entry into the holy city would be His last as a mortal man? Did they realize that the salvation He was bringing required Him to suffer and relinquish His life to His enemies? Given even Peter’s impulsive, violent response to those a few days later who tried to arrest his Lord, and the doubt and confusion expressed by the apostles when Christ alluded to His death, I somewhat doubt that these faithful welcomers understood the significance of their palm fronds and strewn clothing.

And how could they understand His need to die? Up to that point in the world’s history, death had enjoyed full reign over all mortal men. All who entered this world through birth had been forced to pay their dues at death’s unforgiving door, never to see their loved ones again in the flesh. No one had ever come back from death to immortality. Death was the end, the ultimate border of human knowledge and understanding. Without precedent of resurrection, how could these citizens of Jerusalem grasp that the one they saw as Deliverer could save them by dying? In order to release them from their physical and political oppressors, He needed to remain alive; He had to be continually heralded by crowds waving palm fronds; He had to increase in popularity and eventually overthrow those who tormented the people.

But He didn't. He didn't do any of those things they expected. He decreased in popularity. He surrendered His spotless life into the hands of evil men and pass through the valley of death. He entered into the grave’s silent darkness. He came to die. And by dying, to save.

I’m grateful that today, with the knowledge we have of His glorious resurrection—the bursting of the bands that had for millennia held captive each who departed from this world—we understand His death. We see in the ascent to Calvary not the despair of a potential Deliverer lost forever, but the necessary precursor to the resurrection—we see the working of an infinite atonement. We see the divine Son of the living God offering Himself as a sacrifice in order to bring about the immortality and eternal life of all mankind. Because the grave wasn't the end of His story. He rose again. He wrought a perfect atonement that would reach not only those who greeted Him with palm fronds, but those who pierced his hands with nails.

And that atonement reaches us today.

Because of Him, we will each live again. We can be reunited with those we love. We can have hope amidst the Gethsemanes and Calvarys of our day.

And as grateful as I am for the knowledge that death is not the end of existence, there is another aspect of the atonement that currently holds greater poignancy for me—the truth that Christ suffered and atoned for my sins and weaknesses and that through Him not only can I find support and healing and forgiveness, but also experience joy. Right now. Christ performed the atonement not only so that we can live forever—He did it so that we can live today. He did it so that we could find meaning and purpose each morning. He did it so that we could endure life’s greatest sorrows. He did it so that we could feel the presence of a loving Friend when it seems no one else is around. He did it for every single day of our lives.

Each of us goes through our own valleys of shadow where there is nowhere to turn except to the God of heaven. I remember such a time in my life near the beginning of my missionary service in Ukraine when homesickness and inadequacies threatened to immobilize me. During those days, I would pray to God, fighting back bitter tears as I went about my missionary duties, pleading with the Creator of the universe: “I don’t know if I can do today. But I can probably do the next hour. Then we’ll reconvene and talk about it again. Just hold my hand for the next hour.” And I kept walking.  I kept studying. I kept knocking. And through the loneliness and the rejection and the fear, He held my hand and brought me through those hours. He didn't take away the loneliness completely. He didn't take away the need to work and keep moving forward.  He didn't remove all of the angry or drunk people from my path. But He strengthened me. He lifted me. He supported me. He saved me day by day, hour by hour, moment by moment. 

I have come to learn that our God is a God of saving grace. Through the power of the atonement, He is able to reach us and strengthen us. He is able to walk our bitter journeys with us and comfort us with His compassion. Because of His atonement, death, and resurrection, we can live. Today.

So on this Palm Sunday, I raise my own figurative palm branch and shout my own hosannas to the One who came to save. I praise His glorious entry into Jerusalem and the humble submission He showed to His Father. I praise His willingness to relinquish His perfect life. I praise His atonement which brought about eternal life and forgiveness and the constant daily support that I crave. I praise the God of my—daily and eternal—salvation.