Week 2 Monday - That First Easter... I Was There
Day 8: The Crowd on Palm Sunday
Day 8: The Crowd on Palm Sunday
Matthew 21:1-11; Luke 19:41-44; Matthew 27:20-23
Introduction
They gave Him a parade.
Cloaks spread across the road. Palm branches waving in the air. A crowd pressing in from every direction, shouting the words of Psalm 118 — the ancient pilgrim song of Israel’s hope:
“Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
If you were standing in that crowd on Palm Sunday, the energy would have been electric. Something was finally happening. After decades of Roman occupation, after generations of longing, here was a man the people were ready to crown. He’d raised Lazarus from the dead. He’d healed the blind and the lame. He’d spoken with an authority no one had heard since the prophets. The city of Jerusalem was stirred — “Who is this?” the crowds asked. And the answer roared back:
“This is Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth in Galilee.”
Five days later, the same city was shouting something else entirely.
Not “Hosanna.” Not “Blessed is He.” But — “Crucify Him.”
Five days. That’s all it took for celebration to become condemnation. For palm branches to become a crown of thorns. For a parade to become a crucifixion procession.
But here’s what the crowd didn’t know: Jesus knew. As He crested the Mount of Olives and the city came into view, He stopped and wept over it. “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace,” He said through tears. He could see exactly what was coming — the rejection, the betrayal, the cross. He knew the voices shouting “Hosanna!” would soon be screaming for His blood. And He came anyway. He rode into their praise knowing it would turn to condemnation. He entered Jerusalem with His eyes wide open and His arms open wide.
We like to read the Palm Sunday story and position ourselves as observers — watching the crowd’s fickleness from a safe distance, shaking our heads at how quickly they turned. But we weren’t observers. We were in that crowd.
We still are.
Scripture
¹ As they approached Jerusalem and came to Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, ² saying to them, “Go to the village ahead of you, and at once you will find a donkey tied there, with her colt beside her. Untie them and bring them to me. ³ If anyone says anything to you, say that the Lord needs them, and he will send them right away.”
⁴ This took place to fulfill what was spoken through the prophet: ⁵ “Say to Daughter Zion, ‘See, your king comes to you, gentle and riding on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’”
⁶ The disciples went and did as Jesus had instructed them. ⁷ They brought the donkey and the colt and placed their cloaks on them for Jesus to sit on. ⁸ A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, while others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. ⁹ 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!”
¹⁰ When Jesus entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred and asked, “Who is this?” ¹¹ The crowds answered, “This is Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth in Galilee.”
— Matthew 21:1-11 (NIV)
⁴¹ As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it ⁴² and said, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace — but now it is hidden from your eyes. ⁴³ The days will come upon you when your enemies will build an embankment against you and encircle you and hem you in on every side. ⁴⁴ They will dash you to the ground, you and the children within your walls. They will not leave one stone on another, because you did not recognize the time of God’s coming to you.”
— Luke 19:41-44 (NIV)
²⁰ But the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowd to ask for Barabbas and to have Jesus executed. ²¹ “Which of the two do you want me to release to you?” asked the governor. “Barabbas,” they answered. ²² “What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called the Messiah?” Pilate asked. They all answered, “Crucify him!” ²³ “Why? What crime has he committed?” asked Pilate. But they shouted all the louder, “Crucify him!”
— Matthew 27:20-23 (NIV)
Reflection
Five Days
The distance between “Hosanna” and “Crucify Him” is five days.
Same city. Same Passover crowd swollen with pilgrims. Many of the same people. But the palm branches were gone, and blood was in the air. What changed?
Jesus didn’t give them what they wanted.
The crowd that cheered on Sunday had a Messiah in mind — one who would seize political power, overthrow Rome, restore the kingdom to Israel. When Jesus rode in on a donkey instead of a warhorse, they cheered anyway, maybe expecting the moment of revolution to come. But as the week unfolded, Jesus cleansed the temple instead of seizing it. He debated religious leaders instead of rallying an army. He talked about dying instead of conquering. He washed feet instead of crowning Himself king.
He refused to be the Messiah they wanted. So they decided He was no Messiah at all.
Their worship was conditional. When He stopped performing, they stopped praising.
We Are Like Them
We like to think our faith is more durable than theirs. That our commitment runs deeper. That we wouldn’t turn.
But how many of us have had our own five-day moments?
We praise Jesus when the diagnosis comes back clear. When the job comes through. When the relationship heals. When prayers get answered on our timeline. Hosanna — blessed is He! — when life is going our way and God is doing what we asked. But what about when He doesn’t? When the prayer goes unanswered. When the situation gets worse instead of better. When Jesus doesn’t show up the way we expected — riding in on a donkey instead of a warhorse, doing things His way instead of ours?
That’s when the shouting changes.
We don’t usually shout “Crucify Him” out loud. But we do it quietly. We stop showing up. We put the Bible down. We skip church. We tell ourselves we’re just tired, just busy, just going through a season — but underneath it all is the same disappointment the Palm Sunday crowd felt: He didn’t come through the way I needed Him to.
The crowd’s real problem wasn’t that they turned quickly. It was that they never truly knew Him. They loved the idea of Jesus — the miracle worker, the revolutionary, the king who would fix everything — but they hadn’t surrendered to the actual Jesus. So when the actual Jesus didn’t fit their script, they had nothing left.
The same thing happens to us when our faith is built on what Jesus does rather than who Jesus is. Performance-based faith is fragile. The first time Jesus doesn’t perform on cue, it fractures.
But here is what undoes us if we let it: He knew we would turn. He came anyway.
Standing on the Mount of Olives, listening to the crowd’s hosannas, Jesus wept. Not because He was surprised. Because He wasn’t. He could see our fickleness, our disappointment, our conditional love — all of it laid out before Him like a road He had already decided to walk. And He kept riding. Into the city. Toward the cross. Toward us.
The crowd’s love for Jesus lasted five days. His love for the crowd — for us — had no expiration. He didn’t wait to see if we’d stay faithful before He committed to dying for us. He wept over our weakness and came anyway. He saw the worst of what we are and rode straight toward it.
That’s not a crowd story. That’s a gospel.
We were in that crowd on Sunday, waving our branches. We have been in that crowd on Friday too, going quiet when He didn’t perform. But He knew — and He came for us anyway.
Grace Note
“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” — Romans 5:8 (NIV)
Not after we got it together. Not once we proved our loyalty. Not when we’d demonstrated we could hold our hosannas past Friday. While we were still the fickle, disappointing, crowd-following people we are — He came. He wept over us. He rode into our mess with His eyes open. The lament on the Mount of Olives wasn’t despair. It was the sound of love that refuses to turn back.
Prayer Prompt
Jesus,
I confess that my worship has conditions I don’t always admit. I praise You when things go well and go quiet when they don’t. I follow closely when You’re doing what I asked, and I drift when You’re asking me to trust without seeing. Forgive me for loving the idea of You more than surrendering to the reality of You.
But what stops me cold is this: You knew. You saw exactly what I would do — every time I’ve gone quiet, every time I’ve pulled back, every moment my hosanna became silence — and You came anyway. You wept over me and kept riding. You went to the cross for the version of me that would have been in that crowd.
I don’t want to stay in the crowd. I want to know the real You — not the Jesus I’ve constructed to meet my expectations, but the One who loved me before I ever loved Him back. Teach me to worship You on the hard days the same way I worship You on the good ones. Not because of what You’ve done for me lately — but because of who You have always been. Amen.
Response
1. Audit Your Hosanna: Think honestly about the last time your worship cooled — when you pulled back from prayer, church, or God in general. Was there a disappointment underneath it? An unanswered prayer? A moment when Jesus didn’t show up the way you expected? Name it. Bring it to Him honestly. Not to accuse, but to acknowledge where conditional worship has quietly taken root.
2. Separate Who He Is from What He Does: Spend 5 minutes today praising Jesus for who He is — not for anything He’s done for you recently. His character: faithful, holy, good, unchanging, just, merciful. His names: Prince of Peace, Lamb of God, Good Shepherd, Resurrection and Life. Worship Him for Him. Practice the kind of praise that doesn’t depend on your circumstances.
3. Let the Lament Land: Read Luke 19:41-44 slowly today — just those four verses. Picture Jesus on the hillside, the city spread out before Him, tears on His face. He’s weeping over people He knows will reject Him. Let that image sit with you. Then ask: Is there someone in my life I’ve written off — someone I’ve stopped loving because they disappointed me? Jesus didn’t write off the crowd. Ask Him for the grace to love someone the way He loves you.
To read all the posts in this devotional series, visit: That First Easter... I Was There
© Steve Peschke / This Is The Way