Jesus had a long to-do list stuffed in his cloak pocket, or perhaps tucked in his tefillin, as he triumphantly entered Jerusalem on the back of a donkey. Only a true Messiah could look triumphant riding on the back of a donkey, but there He was, huge crowds lining his route into the City, laying palm branches in the pathway and shouting "Hosanna, Hosanna." "Save Us, Save Us." They were hoping, longing for a Messiah. Times for the Jews had gotten tough under the rule of the Romans. Only a people desperate for a Messiah could believe He would ride into town on a donkey. Except they were Jews, and the prophets had told them hundreds of years before this is the way it would be.
For almost three years Jesus had held back, ministering in a strange secrecy, or at least as much secrecy as can be maintained when you run around healing, multiplying fish and loaves to feed thousands, walking on water, and yes, even raising the dead. Often the miracles were followed by a Messianic shush. "Shhhhh, don't tell anybody about this . . ." Okay, that's not really in the gospels anywhere, but before entering Jerusalem, Jesus often gave similar post-miracle instructions. (His patients were about as obedient as I am with those post doctor visit instructions, but like my doctor, he tried) He had spoken in parables, almost in riddles, about who He was. When things had gotten too dangerous, He had slipped out of towns, mysteriously unseen by the crowds. When his own Blessed Mother simply asked for a little wine, He responded "Woman it is not yet my time." And after her long hours of labor in a cattle stall, and on Christmas Day, no less.
For almost three years, this had been Jesus' response. It is not quite time.
But this week things are different. The time had come. Jesus' time had come.
All of creation was waiting.
And there was much to do to get ready for Easter Sunday.
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