John 12:12–13 – “They took palm branches and went out to meet him, shouting, ‘Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!’”

The road is dusted with palms,
but the air is heavy.

This is not the parade we thought it would be.
Not a king on a stallion.
Not a revolution with swords.
But a man on a donkey.
Weeping.

He moves toward the city,
not away from the danger.
And the same crowd who cries Hosanna
will soon cry something else.

Still, he rides.
Still, he comes close.

Let this be the day you do not rush to the songs.
Let this be the day you walk the road slowly—
with him.

Palm Sunday has always held contradiction.

The joy of welcome.
The ache of knowing.
The crowd surging forward with praise—
not realizing the kind of king they greet.

Jesus knows what’s waiting.
And still, he enters.

He does not shield himself.
He does not protect his reputation.
He does not seek a different ending.

He receives the cloaks, the palms, the cries—
not because he needs them,
but because he loves those who offer them.
Even knowing they will falter.

This is the beginning of surrender.
Not from weakness,
but from love.

Let today be the day you don’t just wave your branches—
but walk the road.

Take a walk today—outside if possible.

With each step, whisper:
“He walks toward the cross.”
Then:
“I do not walk alone.”

Let your body feel the gravity of the movement.
Not toward spectacle,
but toward surrender.

If you cannot walk, simply place your feet flat on the floor.
Feel the ground beneath you.
Stay there. Let it be enough.

Jesus,
you did not turn back.
You did not flinch.
You came close to us,
even knowing we would not understand.

Help me walk with you—not just today,
but into whatever this week will ask.

Let my hosanna mean something.

Amen.