The crowds that went ahead of him and those that followed shouted, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” “Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
Matthew 21:9
I grew up in a little house on the banks of the Allgheny River, in rural Western Pennsylvania. It had a been our family camp until my parents decided to escape city life and we moved up there full time. I loved it. Still do. I spent long summer days growing up reading in the warm sun on our deck that faces the river. In the middle of summer the water level would go down and a small sand bar would appear partway out into the water, would drag my beach chair and book down to the river and sit on that sandbar and read for hours. Then I would paddle around in the water, floating on my back and think that I had to be one of the luckiest girls in the world.
Now instead of living in a valley by a river, I live on the top of a hill, in a house that faces east and west, surrounded by a few neighbors, woods and horse pastures. I look out my sliding glass door early in the morning and watch as the sun crests the far off hills and paints the sky with all the glory of the morning colors, I look at the horses slowly eating grass as the morning fog burns off and I think, surely I must be one of the luckiest girls in the world. Then in the evening I get to watch as the sun again colors the sky to the west as the sun set and I ask; how do I get to enjoy such splendor every day?
I love to travel and to see different places, to learn about the history of different cultures, but I’m always glad to walk through the doors of my home. I love being in the place that is my home. But this world isn’t my real home, not my forever home— it’s easy for me to forget this.
Today is Palm Sunday, the day we commorate Jesus’s coming through Jerusalem on a young donkey and the people crying out “Hosanna, Hosanna!” how it must have broken Jesus’s heart. Today the people loved Him and praised Him, but He knew this wouldn’t last. I can’t imagine knowing that the very people who were welcoming you would also be the ones to call for your tortuous death in just a few days. How did He manage to show grace to them? `
Perhaps it helped Jesus knew the end was in sight, He knew that in a week He would be returning to His real home— Heaven. For Him this earth was never His home, and perhaps that helped Him endure the horrible events that were to come.
This is just one small lesson of many for us to remember on days when life is so very hard— it gives us hope. But this is also a lesson for us to remember on days when life is good too. If this world can feel like, home, if the days here can be good, yes many of them even great; filled with joy, and laughter, and fun; how much better will our real home be?