Monday, March 30, 2015

Palm Sunday {A Poem}

The next day the large crowd that had come to the feast heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem. So they took branches of palm trees and went out to meet him, crying out, “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, even the King of Israel!” And Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it, just as it is written,

“Fear not, daughter of Zion;
behold, your king is coming,
sitting on a donkey's colt!”
John 12:13-15, ESV

In high school, just shy of the first anniversary of my conversion to trusting only in Christ for my salvation, I wrote a poem on Holy Week for a poetry project for Mrs. Best's English class. Then I put the words to music, for reasons I don't recall except that choral and piano music filled much of my life then. Yesterday, Palm Sunday for the Western church, I remembered this and thought to share it here, a virtual back-up for the family album. As far as I know, it's the earliest poem I still possess.

The music is already yellow and tearing around the edges. My faith, too, shows some wear and tear since those early days. The writing and theology (especially the third stanza) are pretty immature, but for this post I'll leave the piece be as a reminder of the incremental nature of so much of our growth in understanding Scripture, our growth in knowing God. In many areas, we don't even know what we don't know. At no point in our walk with Christ do we fully understand the fullness of revelation, but with grace we can learn more as we go. Rather than "gospel truth," please regard this (anything on this blog, for that matter) as an old snapshot of my understanding of the Passion of Christ and take only the Word of God as your authority and mine.

"Hosanna in the highest!"
The little children cried
When they the King of kings did spy
As He on donkey nighed.

They spread their garments on the road;
Palm branches did they wave.
They welcomed Him, the Lord of hosts,
And royal reception gave.

This sip He had of earth's sweet wine
Caused many a tear to fall
When He a bitter cup did drink
Beyond that garden wall.

He soon stood next to Pilate as
His people a murd'rer freed.
As for their King, they shouted,
"On us let His blood be!"

All this was but a shadow that
Before the Lamb did lie;
As people shouted blessings,
He a lonely cross did spy.

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