The Courageous King

Letting Go

Palm Sunday is not a gentle story. It is not a sentimental scene with waving palm branches and smiling crowds. It is the opening act of the most intense and violent week in human history—a week that begins with celebration and ends in blood. This is the day Jesus Christ—the Son of God—rode straight into the storm, knowing exactly what was coming.

He wasn’t caught off guard. He wasn’t surprised by betrayal. He walked into it. Eyes open. Heart resolved.

From the world’s perspective, Jesus was about to fail—spectacularly. Arrested. Convicted. Beaten. Mocked. Crucified. Dead. Buried. That’s the record. And by human standards, that looks like weakness. Defeat. But that is because the world does not understand what power really looks like.

This week—Holy Week—is a collision. A violent collision between God’s relentless love and mankind’s endless lust for control, power, and self-preservation.

Jesus rode into Jerusalem not on a stallion, but on a donkey—because He came to make peace, not war. He washed the feet of men who would abandon Him. He was betrayed with a kiss. He was stripped, spat on, whipped, humiliated. They hung a sarcastic sign over His head: “King of the Jews.” They meant it as mockery. It was the truth.

And yet, through every step of that brutal road—from the donkey to the grave—Jesus revealed something most of us would never expect: the raw, blazing core of God’s nature is self-giving love.

You want to know what someone’s really made of? Don’t watch them when things are easy. Watch them when everything falls apart. When the pressure hits. When the betrayal cuts deep. When the body breaks. When death is knocking.

Squeeze a lemon—you get lemon juice. Squeeze an orange—you get orange juice. Squeeze the Son of God— You get love. You get forgiveness. You get blood poured out not in rage, but in redemption.

When Jesus Christ—the holy, blameless Son of God—was crushed under the full weight of human wickedness, religious hypocrisy, political corruption, cowardice, and cruelty, what poured out of Him was not hatred. It was grace. When the nails went in, He prayed for His executioners. When His friends scattered, He stayed the course. When heaven went silent, He kept bleeding.

Why?

Because this was the plan. This was the only way. There was no detour, no shortcut, no escape clause. The Cross wasn’t Plan B. It was the mission.

And in that mission, Jesus showed us who God is—not a distant deity, not a cold cosmic judge, but a Savior who bleeds. A King who suffers. A Lord who stoops.

This is what real power looks like: not domination, but sacrifice. Not vengeance, but mercy. Not saving Himself, but saving us.

And it all begins here. Today. Palm Sunday.

This is not the beginning of the end. This is the beginning of salvation. Let’s go to the story.

Jesus didn’t slip into Jerusalem quietly. He wasn’t trying to avoid attention. He was making a declaration. And it wasn’t subtle.

He was proclaiming Himself King.

He was—and still is—the King. The Messiah. The long-awaited Ruler whose kingdom would never end.

And He didn’t just say He had authority—He proved it. Over and over again.

When He spoke, creation didn’t debate—it obeyed. Winds and waves fell silent at His command (Mark 4:39). Blind eyes opened at the sound of His voice (John 9:7). Why? Because they had no choice. Everything—everything—is under His command.

Nature bows to Him because He made it. Sickness retreats because it answers to Him. Spiritual darkness breaks and runs because it fears Him.

Mark 1:22 “And they were astonished at his teaching, for he taught them as one who had authority, and not as the scribes.” tells us people were astonished—not by how much He knew, but by how He spoke. As if reality itself waited for His voice to move.

And it still does.

This is who rode into Jerusalem. Not a teacher trying to make a point. Not a martyr seeking sympathy. But the King of kings.

The early Christians didn’t whisper their allegiance to Christ. They shouted it, even when it cost them everything.

“Jesus is Lord.” That was their creed. Not a polite title. Not “Mister Jesus.” Lord meant one thing—absolute authority. Over everything. Over nature. Over sickness. Over demons. Over death. And most dangerously—over them. Over their lives, their choices, their loyalties, their futures.

That confession didn’t just get them ridiculed. It got them killed.

Because in Rome, there was already a "lord." His name was Caesar. And to say someone else had supreme authority wasn’t just heresy—it was treason. What fear is there left in a crown made of gold? What terror can an empire hold over someone who’s already bowed the knee to the King of the universe?

But don’t misunderstand the nature of His authority.

Yes, Jesus shattered storms with a word. Yes, He cast out demons with a sentence and crushed disease under His feet. But when it came to people—the broken, the dirty, the ashamed—He didn’t crush. He welcomed.

He sat with tax collectors. He embraced the outcasts. He touched the untouchable, spoke peace into chaos, and bent down to lift up those everyone else had written off.

And—don’t miss this—He didn’t just love the oppressed. He also loved their oppressors. That’s how far His grace reaches. That’s how dangerous His mercy is.

Why? Because He didn’t come to destroy the world. He came to save it.

“God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him” (John 3:17).

He used His authority to heal, to rescue, to restore what was broken and make it whole. He used it to demonstrate what divine love actually looks like—not domination, but sacrifice. Not control, but compassion.

This is the King we follow. The One with all authority, who chose to use it not to destroy, but to save.

So when we say “Jesus is Lord,” we’re not just stating theology. We’re surrendering our lives to a King who rules through a crown of thorns.

Here’s the question that cuts straight to the heart: Jesus has all authority over nature, sickness, demons, and death, but does He have all authority over you?

I’m not asking if you’ve memorized the right words about Jesus. I’m not asking if you’ve accepted a creed or nodded your head in agreement with religious doctrine. I’m asking: Do you trust Him—in Him—as the Lord of your life?

We can all say “Jesus is Lord” with our lips. But do we live like He is? Do we submit every part of our lives to His authority? Every thought? Every relationship? Every decision?

Here’s the brutal truth: If Jesus isn’t Lord of everything, He’s not Lord of anything. He doesn’t want a piece of your life. He wants all of it. The whole thing. You can’t pick and choose which parts of your life you hand over to Him like you’re making a wish list for a genie. He demands complete surrender. Either He’s the King—or He’s nothing at all.

So, ask yourself—are you truly His disciple? Are you following His lead in everything? Not just in the parts that fit your schedule, but in the parts that challenge your comfort, your control, your agenda?

B. Jesus is Courageous

When Jesus rode into Jerusalem, it wasn’t a spontaneous moment of inspiration. It was a deliberate, calculated act. Every detail had been planned, every step carefully laid out.

And let’s be clear: Jesus knew exactly what was coming. He knew He was walking straight into danger, into betrayal, into the hands of those who would condemn Him. But He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t back down. He didn’t run.

He rode into Jerusalem knowing full well the consequences. And the timing? It wasn’t coincidence. It wasn’t chance. This was perfectly timed. The Passover was at hand, and Jerusalem would be overflowing with people. Tens of thousands would gather, expecting a king, expecting a deliverer. Jesus didn’t miss this moment. This was His moment.

He didn’t try to avoid the cross. He walked straight into it. This was the time. This was His plan. And He would be crowned King—not with gold and jewels, but with a crown of thorns. Not with a palace, but with a Cross.

And in that moment, He made the most courageous statement the world has ever known: He chose to die—so we could live.

Do you think there’s a lack of courage in your life?

Here’s the test. I’ll be specific. If you’re truly courageous, it looks like this:

You do the right thing, regardless of the consequences.

You feel fear, but you do it anyway.

You don’t stop at failure; you rise again, stronger.

You risk being criticized, knowing it’s better to stand firm than to shrink.

You choose purpose over comfort—every single time.

To be courageous is to be Christlike.

Too many of us, though, are stuck. Stuck in lives that don’t require much of us. We’re too comfortable. We avoid risk, we avoid failure, we avoid criticism, and we settle for lives with little meaning. We numb ourselves with distractions, comforts, and excuses. And when that happens, we stop living and start merely existing.

So here’s the real question: How can our church help people get unstuck from lives that are comfortable but meaningless? How can we break through the numbness of complacency and ignite a fire for purpose?

People are hungry for meaning. They’re searching. You see it everywhere—in their eyes, in their actions, in their desperation for something real. But how can they find it? How can we show them the way?

What would it look like if our church became a place where people’s lives were transformed—where they were equipped to step into the courageous purpose God has for them? What if we stepped out of our comfortable lives and started living with the kind of courage that would make the world take notice?

Let me ask you: How can you partner with the church to be part of that movement? We’re not here to stay comfortable. We’re here to step into the call of God, to change the world with courage.

Who do you say that Jesus is?

Let’s make this personal. Because how you answer that question will shape everything about your life—your choices, your purpose, your future. So, who is He to you?

But here’s the thing—while they laid down their cloaks and shouted “Hosanna” in the streets, they still didn’t fully grasp who He was. They thought He was the kind of king who would come and defeat their enemies, restore their kingdom, and bring peace on their terms. But they had no idea that the King they were praising was about to turn their entire understanding of power, authority, and salvation upside down.

Who is Jesus to you? C.S. Lewis says this: “Let us not say, ‘I'm ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don't accept his claim to be God.’ That is one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic--on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg-- or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God: or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great moral teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.”[1]

Who is Jesus?

What does it matter to your life today?

What does it matter to your life, everlasting?

And then think about the people around you. Maybe they’re struggling to answer these questions too. Maybe they don’t even know they’re struggling—they’re just lost, uncertain, or stuck in their own fear, sin, and shame. Can you invite them to Easter Sunday? Can you challenge them to Let Go of all that weighs them down and accept the freedom that comes with knowing the real Jesus? Can you be the one to speak truth into their lives, to open the door for them to experience a life transformed by the real, living King?

This is more than an invitation to a service. This is an invitation to eternal life. This is the time to step out of comfort, out of fear, and into the reality of what Jesus offers: a life that’s fully His, a life that’s been changed forever.

[1] C.S. Lewis, in Mere Christianity