Not What We Expected: Of Distancing and Donkeys

"Rejoice greatly, Daughter Zion!

Shout, Daughter Jerusalem!

See, your king comes to you,

righteous and victorious,

lowly and riding on a donkey."

Zechariah 9:9

I am awake too early and immediately aware that I am out of sorts.
Sort of.

For all my mostly okay adaptation to staying at home for the rest of the week,
I really don't want to be staying at home on a Sunday.
And not this Sunday.
Not when it comes just before next Sunday!

I get up and make a fire and weep a while,
making space for the grief of all that's not okay,
and for the little bit of the dread of knowing
it won't be okay for a while.

In that space He sits with me,
not really saying anything.
Neither of us are.
The tenderness of the moment overwhelms me.
It's like we're praying together,
and it's one of those silent prayers
where nothing can be said,
so spirit and Spirit simply,
quietly
groan together.

But maybe then,
after a little while,
He does speak,
because I remember that He knows what it's like
for everything not to be okay.
And to dread something.
And that He rode the donkey anyways.

Not a steed.
Not a war horse.
Not the way Kings are expected to arrive.
Righteous.
Victorious.
Lowly.
Unexpected.
Dreadful.
Crowds shouting Hosannas.
Not expecting what would come next.

Palm Sunday just before Good Friday.
Suffering is ahead.
He knows.
And He rides the donkey anyways.

This is not the Easter week any of us were expecting.
Not the spring any of us wanted.
I don't like it.
But
I love that we have a Saviour like this One.
Who knows.
Who deserves our adoration
and rejoicing, shouting Hosannas
and palm branches of courage
and faith
and hope
right now.

I love that I have a Saviour like this One.
Who sits with me for a while
by the fire
and dissolves my expectations
with overwhelming tenderness.
Who inspires my own steely tenacity
with movement toward the Cross.