The King on a Donkey

Opening Prayer Heavenly Father, Open our hearts today to Your word, clear our minds of distractions, and tune our ears to Your gentle voice. Guide us through the contradictions of life, and teach us the humble way of Your Son, our Saviour. Through Christ our Lord, Amen.

Palm Sunday always begins with such joy. We hold palm crosses in our hands today, simple yet meaningful reminders of this day—of the moment Jesus rode into Jerusalem amid cheers and praises: “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!” Can you imagine the atmosphere? The excitement, the anticipation, the electricity in the air? People waving palm branches, laying down their cloaks on the dusty road, convinced this was it. The long-awaited moment. The promised King had come.

And yet, even as we hold these palm crosses, we are reminded of something deeply contradictory about this day. The people welcomed a king, but what they expected was not what they received. They looked for power, glory, triumph—a warrior who would restore their fortunes, overthrow oppression, and usher in something big and bold. But the King they got arrived humbly, riding on a donkey—a young colt, no less. This wasn’t a triumphal parade in the way the world would expect it. It was a gentle procession. Jesus deliberately chose a path of quiet humility rather than one of public dominance. He did not come to fulfil the crowd’s expectations; He came to fulfil God's deeper purpose.

That contradiction sits at the heart of Palm Sunday, and in many ways, it sits at the heart of the Christian life. The contrast between what we expect and what God provides. The space between our longing and His wisdom. We know what it is to be hopeful, to be full of excitement about a new beginning—a job, a relationship, a calling—and then to discover that the reality is more complex, more challenging, less immediate than we imagined. I’ve spoken before about how often joy and disappointment live side by side. How quickly things can change. And how, in those difficult, disorienting moments, God is not absent. He is working quietly, deeply, even when we don't recognise it at first.

That’s the first lesson of this day: what we expect is not always what we receive, but what we receive is often exactly what we need.

When Jesus chose to ride a donkey, He wasn’t being modest for modesty’s sake. He was showing the world what true kingship looks like. His power wasn’t in show or spectacle. It was in obedience—to the Father’s will, even when that will led Him into suffering. This was the King who washed His disciples’ feet. The one who served the outcasts. The one who didn’t build armies or seek political alliances, but who gave Himself in love. In Jesus, we see power redefined: not as dominance, but as surrender; not as control, but as compassion.

And this message was not lost on those early followers. Paul writes in Philippians that Christ Jesus, though in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but emptied Himself—taking the form of a servant, becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross. That downward movement of humility—of stepping away from glory in order to serve—is at the very centre of our faith. And Paul calls us to share that same mindset: not to push ourselves forward, but to lower ourselves in service of others.

This is, as Henri Nouwen once said, “the way of downward mobility.”

“The way of Jesus is radically different. It is the way not of upward mobility but of downward mobility. It is going to the bottom, staying behind the sets, and choosing the last place.” — Henri J.M. Nouwen, In the Name of Jesus: Reflections on Christian Leadership

And of course, this way of living is entirely countercultural. We live in a world that celebrates ambition, platform, and success. A world that tells us to brand ourselves, to gather followers, to get ahead. Humility isn’t praised; it’s often misunderstood as weakness or passivity. But Jesus shows us another way—the way of quiet strength, of unshakeable obedience, of grace under pressure. True humility doesn’t seek applause. It seeks to serve.

We are not just called to admire Christ’s humility—we are called to follow it. And that’s hard. It requires giving up control. It means trusting when we don't fully understand. It means forgiving when we feel justified in holding onto our pain. It means continuing to serve even when no one notices or thanks us.

That’s not easy, especially when life disappoints us. Especially when people let us down. Especially when things don’t turn out the way we hoped. The crowd that welcomed Jesus so joyfully would soon turn on Him. The palm branches they waved today would be long forgotten by Friday. What began in triumph would end in silence, darkness, and grief.

And yet, Jesus still rode on. He knew what lay ahead. He knew the praise was fleeting. He knew betrayal, suffering, and death awaited. And He still chose the donkey. He still chose to enter Jerusalem. He still chose to give Himself fully for the sake of love.

As we hold our palm crosses today, I wonder what contradictions we carry in our own hearts. What expectations we’ve held that haven’t come to pass. What dreams feel dashed, or what hopes we’re afraid to hold onto. I wonder how we respond when God’s plans look nothing like ours.

Perhaps that’s why these small palm crosses are so powerful. They are, in a way, symbols of tension. They are shaped by praise and by suffering—by the crowd’s joy and by the looming shadow of the cross. They are fragile reminders that Jesus’ glory was not found in grandeur, but in His gentle, humble obedience. They call us back to the centre of our faith—not to power, but to love. Not to acclaim, but to quiet service.

It’s easy to admire Jesus when He’s being celebrated. It’s harder to follow Him when the road grows narrow. When people are difficult. When the work is slow. When the applause disappears. But that’s precisely the path He invites us to walk.

As we hold these palm crosses in our hands and reflect on what it means to walk the way of Jesus, it’s worth remembering that His was never a path of status or self-promotion. And as we enter a season where we’ll be discerning roles within our own church family—those who will help guide and serve our community in the year ahead—it’s helpful to keep this image before us. True leadership in the Church doesn’t begin with the desire to be seen, but with the willingness to serve—quietly, humbly, faithfully, even when no one notices.

And the contradiction of Holy Week—the strange, sacred beauty of it—is that this path through humility and suffering is the very path to glory. Paul doesn’t end the story at the cross. He goes on: “Therefore God exalted Him to the highest place and gave Him the name above every name.” Jesus’ exaltation didn’t come despite the cross; it came through it. The crown of thorns became a crown of glory. And so, when we walk humbly—when we serve without recognition, when we love without condition, when we carry our crosses with faith—we are sharing in His glory.

So, as we move into Holy Week, may these palm crosses stay with us—not just as physical tokens, but as reminders of the One who calls us to a different way. May we see in them both the joy of the crowd and the sorrow of the cross. May they remind us of the gentle King who defied expectations. And may they lead us to trust Him—not just when things make sense, but especially when they don’t.

As we carry these palm crosses into the week ahead, they gently remind us that the way of Christ is not loud or showy—it’s humble, steady, and often unnoticed. They invite us not only to remember Jesus but to follow Him. And that means refusing to settle for a comfortable, passive faith. It means moving from being consumers of religion to becoming disciples who quietly and consistently live out the way of the cross. Like Jesus, we are called to love without condition, to form relationships that aren’t about what we can gain, to serve without seeking recognition, to give generously without waiting for applause, and to invite others into this journey not to build numbers, but to share love. In a world drawn to spectacle, Palm Sunday calls us to something quieter, deeper, and far more beautiful.

Because Christ still comes humbly. Still chooses service. Still meets us in the contradictions of our own lives—and walks with us, gently, faithfully, all the way to the cross, and beyond it, to resurrection.

Closing Prayer Lord Jesus, You entered Jerusalem not with splendour but in humility. You embraced the cheers of the crowd, knowing the cross lay ahead. Help us to walk with You not just in joy, but in faithfulness. Give us grace to serve humbly, to love without recognition, and to trust You in every contradiction of life. As we hold these crosses, may they mark our hearts with the way of love, and draw us ever closer to the heart of our Servant King. Through Christ our Lord, Amen.