In this week’s account of the Triumphal Entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, crowds of people shout praise to God, seeming to understand that Jesus was their long-awaited God-representative. Then, mysteriously, those hordes of supporters disappear. They’re never heard from again. Or maybe they are, but they’ve changed their minds about Jesus’ goodness and divinity.
What happened to those people? Did they just stay home after that, thinking their contributions, work, and message didn’t matter? Did they not come to Jesus’ defense later because they had changed their minds about him? Or because they were afraid? Or because they were lazy and apathetic and assumed he’d take care of everything all by himself?
I’m honestly curious about those questions, despite knowing I’ll never have an answer.* But the un-knowing does lead me to one knowing: the critical mass of people either stayed home or turned against Jesus. The critical mass of people had power that they either abdicated or used against him.
So this week, as I give thanks for the witness of Christ to God’s lovingkindness, I am contemplating my own power. My own power to stay home and save lives. My own power to advocate for the poor and marginalized. My own power to be the hands and feet of Jesus in the world now when “Christ has no hands and feet except ours.”
God, we remember Christ’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem,
His arrival met with cheering Hosannas.
He, seated on a humble donkey,
Accepting the praises of a fickle crowd (Matthew 21:1-11).
