The King We Didn't Expect

Kingdom Come Week 1

Good morning Church.

Grab your Bible and make your way to Matthew 21.

It’s good to be back in the pulpit this morning. We were up in DC this past week, and I’ll just say this—I’ve seen enough monuments and museums to last me a while. At one point I thought I might need a vacation from the vacation. But it was a great trip, and I’m thankful for the time.

I also want to say this—Bob did an excellent job finishing out our Core Values series. I’m grateful for him, for his faithfulness to the Word, and for the way he serves this church.

This morning, we’re stepping into a short series called Kingdom Come. As we know today is palm sunday, holy week, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday. These are familiar moments for many of us, but they are not small moments. This is the center of everything. If we miss what’s happening here, we miss the gospel.

So today, we begin with Palm Sunday, and the title is The King We Did Not Expect.

Let’s call it what everybody calls it—the “Triumphal Entry.” Sounds impressive. Sounds like a victory parade. That’s the point. In Jesus’ day, when a general rolled into town after crushing somebody, he didn’t show up casually. He came in on a warhorse or a chariot, chest out, crowd losing their minds, people lining the streets like it was the Super Bowl of domination. That’s what a real triumphal entry looked like.

And then Jesus shows up… on a donkey.

Not a stallion. Not a chariot. A donkey. Which, if we’re being honest, is about the least intimidating animal you could pick if you’re trying to flex power. So now you’ve got a problem. Either this isn’t a real triumphal entry, or Jesus is redefining the whole thing right in front of them—and most people completely miss it.

Because think about it—if Rome thought this was an actual political takeover, they shut it down immediately. They don’t do “cute parades for new kings.” And if Jesus is playing along with the triumphal entry idea, why is He weeping over the city like a funeral just broke out? Why is He predicting its destruction (Luke 19:41–44)? That doesn’t exactly scream “victory lap.”

We call it Palm Sunday because of John 12—people waving palm branches, shouting like they finally found their guy, their king— the Messiah who will free the people from Roman Rule. Just like Moses.

So they got Big energy. They got Big expectations. But John flat out tells us the disciples didn’t even understand what was happening at the time. Which is comforting, because two thousand years later, people are still missing it. We turned it into a nice, clean church moment, and completely ignore the tension sitting underneath it.

Matthew says this fulfills Zechariah: “Behold, your king is coming to you… humble, and mounted on a donkey.” That’s not accidental. That’s intentional. Jesus isn’t failing to look like a king—He’s redefining what kind of king He is. Like Craig Keener points out, Matthew shows Jesus as King, but then flips everybody’s expectations of kingship on its head.

The crowd? Oh, they’re excited. Cloaks on the road, shouting, praising God. Looks great on the surface. But listen to what they actually say—they call Him “the prophet from Galilee.” Not king. Not Messiah in the way they should understand it. Prophet. Close… but not close enough.

So here’s the irony: they’re celebrating a King they don’t actually recognize, cheering for a victory they don’t understand, and welcoming a kingdom that doesn’t work the way they want it to.

But sure—“triumphal entry.” Sounds nice. Until you actually pay attention.

This is really the beginning of the end.

That’s the best way to understand Matthew 21.

For twenty chapters, Jesus has gone everywhere—Bethlehem, Egypt, Nazareth, all through Galilee, into places like Capernaum and Gennesaret, even out into Gentile regions like Tyre and Sidon, down through Caesarea Philippi, and into Jericho and Judea.

And now, for the first time in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus enters Jerusalem.

And everything from here forward is moving toward the cross.

In Matthew 21, Jesus is making it clear—He is the Messiah. He is the promised King who came to save His people from their sins, just like Matthew has been pointing to from the very beginning.

But He’s not just a King for the Jews. His rule extends to the nations. It reaches all the way to us. THe promised serpent crusher is here.

God told Abraham that his descendants would be a blessing to all of the nations. This is how.

This is a huge deal.

Which means this isn’t just something to observe—it’s something we step into. We are called to bring every part of our lives under His rule and His authority.

Jesus is worthy of more than acknowledgment. He’s worthy of our surrender, our obedience, our lives.

And in this chapter, Matthew gives us a clear picture of who this King really is. You see His authority. You see His heart. You see His mission.

And it forces a response.

Because this is the King who came… and here is the goodnews, this is the King who is coming again.

So lets read Matthew 21:1-11 and dive into God’s Word

Now when they drew near to Jerusalem and came to Bethphage, to the Mount of Olives, then Jesus sent two disciples, 2 saying to them, “Go into the village in front of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her. Untie them and bring them to me. 3 If anyone says anything to you, you shall say, ‘The Lord needs them,’ and he will send them at once.” 4 This took place to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet, saying,

5 “Say to the daughter of Zion, ‘Behold, your king is coming to you,     humble, and mounted on a donkey,     on a colt,[a] the foal of a beast of burden.’”

6 The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them. 7 They brought the donkey and the colt and put on them their cloaks, and he sat on them. 8 Most of the crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. 9 And the crowds that went before him and that followed him were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!” 10 And when he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred up, saying, “Who is this?” 11 And the crowds said, “This is the prophet Jesus, from Nazareth of Galilee.”

Pray

He’s coming from the mount of Olives. It’s not a GPS detail Matthew threw in to help us find it on a map. Mount of Olives is pretty significant.

In the Book of Ezekiel. Ezekiel is speaking to exiles sitting in Babylon, watching everything they knew fall apart. And what does Ezekiel see? The glory of the Lord leaving Jerusalem. Not quietly either—Ezekiel 11:23 says the glory of the LORD goes up from the city and stops on the mountain east of it.

That’s the Mount of Olives.

So get this straight—the Mount of Olives is where God’s glory pauses on its way out. It’s the exit point. The moment where you realize, “This is bad. God’s presence is leaving.”

But Ezekiel doesn’t stop there. Later, in chapter 43, he sees the glory coming back—from the east. Same direction. Same pathway. Which means the Mount of Olives isn’t just about departure—it’s about return. It’s the front door God uses when He comes back.

Then when you fast forward to Book of Zechariah.

Zechariah is talking to people who’ve come back from exile, trying to rebuild what’s left. And he gives them this picture of the Day of the Lord—God showing up to fight for His people. And where does He land? Zechariah 14:4—His feet stand on the Mount of Olives. Not metaphorically. Physically. The mountain splits in two.

So by the time Jesus shows up, nobody is guessing. They know the scriptures. When the Messiah comes, He’s coming from the Mount of Olives.

And then Jesus does exactly that.

From the east. From that mountain. Walking straight into Jerusalem.

This isn’t coincidence. Jesus isn’t accidentally taking a scenic route. He is intentionally, deliberately saying without saying, “I’m Him.”

The same place where the glory left… is the place where the glory returns.

1. Our King has Total Authority.

In the first few verses, Jesus tells His disciples exactly where to go, exactly what they’re going to find, and exactly what to say when someone inevitably asks questions.

And shockingly—it all happens exactly like He said.

That’s not luck. That’s not good planning. That’s authority.

Jesus sends them into a village and basically says, “You’re going to find a donkey and a colt tied up. Untie them, bring them to Me, and if anyone says anything, just tell them, ‘The Lord needs them.’”

Now just think about that for a second. That only works if two things are true:

Jesus knows exactly what’s waiting for them.

Jesus has the authority to claim it.

Otherwise, that’s a great way to get arrested.

We were just in Washington DC this week, and I can promise you this—if I went to the National Archives, broke the glass, grabbed the Declaration of Independence, and told the security guy, “The Lord needs it,” that conversation is not going to end well for me. I’m probably getting arrested or shot. But to be crystal clear, I saw the type of guards they had around there— I’m almost positive, if I could get my hands on it, I could out run them and Im not even built for speed. But thisn’t is national treasure— and at no point would the security guard step back and say, “Oh, got it. The Lord needs it. Carry on.” That’s not how that works.

But here—it works.

Because Jesus isn’t guessing— He’s not deceiving— he’s not threatening—He’s ruling.

And when He says, “The Lord needs them,” that’s not a respectful title like we might throw around. That is a statement of ownership and authority. He’s not just a teacher. He’s not just a good moral example. He is the Lord over all of it.

Which means He’s not reacting to events—He’s orchestrating them.

And here’s what’s interesting. He has all authority, all power, complete control… and He chooses a donkey.

That’s not a transportation issue. That’s intentional.

Because the way Jesus exercises His authority is not how we expect power to look. He doesn’t flex it the way we would. He doesn’t come in demanding, posturing, or proving Himself. He knows exactly who He is, so He doesn’t have to act like it.

We struggle with that. We think if someone really has authority, they need to show it.

Jesus doesn’t need to prove anything—He just is.

R.C. Sproul said it well: “Everyone wants a savior. Few want a Lord.”

And that’s where this presses in on us a little.

Because we like the idea that Jesus saves us. We’re a little less excited about Him having authority over everything—our plans, our timing, our preferences.

We want Him to fix things. We’re not always interested in Him running things.

But this passage doesn’t give us that option.

He knows exactly where the donkey is. He knows exactly how this moment is going to unfold. He knows exactly where this week is headed—the cross.

And He walks straight into it.

So when your life feels uncertain, or things aren’t unfolding the way you would’ve written them, this is where you have to decide what you believe about Jesus.

Either He knows what He’s doing… or He doesn’t.

Either He has authority… or He doesn’t.

Because if He can orchestrate something this specific, at this exact moment, in fulfillment of prophecy written hundreds of years before—He’s not sitting in heaven confused about your situation.

He’s not scrambling to figure things out.

Danny Akin pointed out: "From the moment He enters Jerusalem the prerogatives of deity are present. Jesus is Lord and Master of every detail of His divine destiny. He knows what will happen and when it will happen. It will all go according to plan."

He’s the Sovereign King.

And He doesn’t just know what’s happening—He knows exactly what He’s doing.

Also, let me point out something we just read right past like it’s normal—Jesus rides into Jerusalem on a colt that has never been ridden. Ever. No training. No warm-up laps. No “let’s see how this goes.” Just sits on it and rides in like He owns the place.

Because He does.

This isn’t a neat little detail. This is a statement. Animals don’t do that. You don’t just hop on an unbroken colt and expect it to cooperate. Unless, of course, you’re the One who has authority over everything. Creation doesn’t get a vote when the Creator shows up. The colt doesn’t need training—it just needs Jesus.

And then there’s the symbolism, which is not subtle if you’re paying attention.

In the ancient world, a mount that had never been ridden was reserved for something special—sacred, royal. You don’t let just anyone take the first ride. That’s king-level privilege. So Jesus isn’t just borrowing transportation—He’s making a claim. Loud and clear.

But here’s where it really messes with people’s expectations. He chooses a donkey.

Not a warhorse. Not something that looks impressive on a battlefield. A donkey. Because Jesus isn’t coming to crush Rome with swords—He’s coming to conquer sin and death with a cross. You don’t wage war on a donkey. You don’t intimidate nations from a donkey. You bring peace on a donkey. And the people are going to miss it.

So don’t miss it—this is power, just not the kind people were hoping for. This is authority, just not packaged the way the world recognizes it. He’s the King, absolutely. Just not the kind that makes you comfortable if you were looking for someone to just dominate your enemies for you.

He’s better than that. Which, honestly, is exactly why most people didn’t get it.

So Jesus is the Sovereign King.

Secondly, Our King Brings Peace.

The people wanted war. what is it good for absolutely nothing.

They’re expecting another Exodus type moment. They escaped Egypt in Exodus.

They went back to Jerusalem as a second Exodus under Persian rule in Ezra— Nehemiah.

This is where the disconnect really starts to show.

Because the people aren’t confused about the moment—they’re confused about the mission.

They know the Scriptures. Zechariah 9:9 isn’t hidden. It’s not buried somewhere nobody reads. It says your King is coming… humble… riding on a donkey. That’s pretty clear. Hard to not understand those details. That’s specific.

So when Jesus comes over the Mount of Olives on a donkey, this should’ve clicked immediately.

But it doesn’t.

And it doesn’t because they’ve already decided what kind of King they want.

They’re not looking for peace. They’re looking for power. They’re not hoping for reconciliation. They want Rome dealt with. They want their enemies crushed— Like Conana the Barbarian— To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women, they want their nation restored, their position elevated. In their minds, this is about to be another Exodus. God steps in, wipes out the oppressor, and they walk into freedom with everybody watching.

That’s what they’re expecting as Jesus rides into Jerusalem.

And Jesus knows that… and completely refuses to meet that expectation.

Because He didn’t come to crush Rome. He came to deal with something far more serious than Rome ever was.

He came to deal with sin.

JI Packer said “Sin is lawlessness, revolt against God, the dethroning of God, the deifying of self.”

Let’s just be honest about sin for a second, because we’ve watered this thing down so much it barely means anything anymore.

Sin is not you having a rough day. It’s not you slipping up. It’s not, “I need to clean a few things up and get back on track.”

Sin is lawlessness. It’s revolt against God. It’s you looking at God—His authority, His commands, His rule—and saying, “No. I’ll take it from here.”

That’s what’s going on.

It’s the dethroning of God and the deifying of self. It’s not just that you did something wrong—it’s that you put yourself in the place only God is supposed to be.

So when we talk about sin, we’re not talking about behavior modification. This isn’t, “Let’s clean you up a little bit and make you more presentable.” That’s not the issue.

The issue is you’ve got a heart that doesn’t want God on the throne.

And that’s why Jesus didn’t come just to make bad people better. He came to deal with sin at the root—to put God back where He belongs and take us out of the seat we were never meant to sit in.

And thats the problem— that’s not what they wanted.

You can hear it in what they’re shouting. “Hosanna.” We’ve turned that into a church word that just sounds like praise music language, but that’s not how they meant it. That comes straight out of Psalm 118, and it literally means, “Save us now.” It’s urgent. It’s loaded. It’s not just admiration—it’s expectation.

They’re not just celebrating Jesus. They’re telling Him what they want Him to do.

“Save us… right now… the way we need you to.”

And Jesus doesn’t respond to that demand the way they expect.

Because their biggest issue isn’t Rome—it’s sin. And as long as sin is still there, it doesn’t matter who’s in charge politically. Nothing actually changes at the deepest level.

That’s why Spurgeon’s quote hits so hard here: “The greatest enemy to human souls is the self-righteous spirit which makes men look to themselves for salvation.”

What he’s getting at is this—self-righteousness blinds you.

It convinces you that your biggest problem is somewhere outside of you. It’s out there. It’s those people. It’s that system. It’s that situation. And if God would just fix that, everything would be fine.

Yeah, that’s the lie. And we eat it up.

Because it’s a whole lot easier to point out there than it is to look in here.

So now your marriage isn’t struggling because of your pride—it’s because “she doesn’t respect me” or “he doesn’t lead right.” Your kids aren’t difficult because you’ve been passive or inconsistent—it’s because “this generation is just crazy.” Your spiritual life is dry, but that’s not on you—that’s the church, that’s the worship, that’s the preaching, that’s the schedule. If everything around you would just tighten up, then you’d finally be on fire for Jesus.

Right.

Or maybe—just maybe—the problem isn’t out there.

Maybe the issue is that you love control more than you love Christ. Maybe the issue is you don’t actually want holiness—you want comfort with a little bit of Jesus sprinkled on top so your conscience calms down. Maybe the reason you keep blaming the system is because if it’s the system, then you don’t have to repent.

See, sin will let you critique everything except yourself.

You’ll break down leadership decisions like you’re on a board of directors. You’ll analyze your spouse like you’re their holy spirit. You’ll diagnose the church like youre the solution.

And all the while, your own heart is sitting there untouched, unchecked, and unrepentant.

That’s what sin does. It turns you into a professional critic and a spiritual coward at the same time.

Cowards aren’t good for anything. To quote Tombstone— "You gonna do somethin'? Or are you just gonna stand there and bleed?" 

Spurgeon used to say “ Bold Hearted men are always called mean-spirited by cowards.”

You want to be a bold hearted man? You want to be a woman with a passion for the Lord— Recognize that the problem isn’t out therem but its in here.

And Jesus is not interested in playing that game.

You remember Luke 18—the Pharisee and the tax collector? The Pharisee stands there talking about everybody else. “God, I thank you that I’m not like other men…” Translation: the problem is out there.

And the tax collector won’t even lift his eyes. “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” Translation: the problem is right here.

And Jesus says that guy—the one who owned it, the one who stopped blaming, the one who stopped performing—he’s the one who went home justified.

So here’s the uncomfortable truth: If your entire life is built on fixing everything around you, but you’ve never let God deal with what’s inside you… you’re not growing. You’re just redirecting blame with Bible language.

Sounds great but its useless. Its being a white washed tomb.

Lovely on the outside, just pushing up daisies on the inside.

And until you get honest about your sin—not their sin, not culture’s sin, not the system—your sin… nothing changes.

Because Jesus didn’t come to fix your circumstances first.

He came to deal with your heart.

Which is offensive. Everyone want to clutch their pearls — How dare you think I have a heart problem?

Because, if thats the case, now we’re not talking about Rome anymore. Now we’re talking about your heart. Now we’re talking about sin. Now we’re talking about the fact that the issue isn’t just what’s been done to you—it’s what’s inside of you.

And that’s exactly why Christ came.

He came to crush sin because sin is what separates us from God. The distractions aren’t seperating us from God. Our sin is. It’s not just behavior. It’s not just mistakes. It’s rebellion at the core. It affects how you think, what you love, what you pursue. It distorts everything. Rome could oppress them physically, but sin had already taken hold of them spiritually.

So Jesus doesn’t come to rearrange their circumstances. He comes to rescue them from their condition.

And the only way to do that… is the cross.

There is no version of salvation where sin gets dealt with and a cross isn’t involved. Which means from the moment Jesus rides into Jerusalem, this isn’t a victory parade—it’s a march toward execution.

And He knows it.

That’s why this whole scene has tension in it that we usually just ignore. The crowd is celebrating like they’re about to get everything they’ve been asking for. And Jesus is riding in knowing He’s about to give them something they didn’t even realize they needed.

And when that becomes clear—when He doesn’t overthrow Rome, when He doesn’t meet their expectations, when He starts talking more about sin than politics—the tone shifts.

The same voices shouting “Hosanna” don’t stay there.

Some of them go quiet.

Some of them turn.

And some of them, a few days later, are yelling “Crucify Him.”

Not because Jesus failed… but because He refused to be the king they wanted.

He came as the King they actually needed.

And if we’re honest, that tension hasn’t gone anywhere.

Because we still do the same thing.

We’re good with Jesus as long as He’s fixing what we want fixed. As long as He’s dealing with the things out there that frustrate us, threaten us, or inconvenience us, we’re on board.

But the moment He starts pressing in on sin… the moment He starts dealing with us instead of just our situation… that’s where people start to pull back.

Because the peace Jesus brings is not surface-level. It’s not circumstantial. It’s not “everything around you is calm now.”

It’s deeper than that.

It’s the removal of sin and the restoration of your relationship with God.

And that kind of peace doesn’t come cheap.

It comes through a cross.

Which is exactly where this King is headed.

3. You Can Be Close to Jesus and Still Completely Miss Him

This is where it gets dangerous… because now we’re not talking about outsiders. We’re talking about people who look like they’re doing everything right.

The whole city is stirred up. That’s what Matthew says. There’s energy, there’s noise, there’s movement. People are quoting Scripture like they’ve been waiting on this moment their whole lives.

They are crying out Son of David!

When the crowd starts calling Jesus “Son of David,” they’re not just using a nice title—they’ve got a very specific picture in their heads.

They’re thinking David 2.0.

A king who shows up, takes out Israel’s enemies, throws off Roman rule, and puts everything back the way it’s supposed to be. That’s the expectation. That’s what “Son of David” means to them in that moment.

There were even prayers circulating during that time asking God to raise up a Son of David who would step in, deal with corrupt rulers, cleanse Jerusalem of Gentile influence, and establish a righteous kingdom.

So when they say it, they’re not guessing.

They think they know exactly what kind of King He is.

And they’re about to find out… they don’t.

Crying out. Taking there cloaks off and throwing them on the ground. Thats a big deal.

That goes back to Jehu in 2 Kings 9.

Jehu starts off as a commander in the army of Israel. He’s not royalty. He’s not next in line. Nobody is looking at him thinking, “that’s the next king.” And then out of nowhere, God flips the script. Elisha sends a messenger, pulls Jehu aside, pours oil on his head, and says, “You’re king now. And you’re going to wipe out the house of Ahab.”

Now that’s not a light assignment. That’s not “go lead well and inspire people.” That’s, “I need you to execute judgment because my people have gone off the rails.”

And what’s fascinating is what happens next. Jehu walks back out to his men, and they can tell something just happened. They press him, he finally tells them, “I’ve been anointed king.” And these guys don’t hesitate. They don’t form a committee. They don’t ask for a vote at a business meeting.

The Bible says they took off their coats and threw them down under him on the steps and started blowing trumpets saying, “Jehu is king.”

That’s a moment.

That’s submission. That’s recognition. That’s them saying, “We’re under you now. You’re the authority. You’re the one in charge, and where you go— I’ll go.”

Thats what these people are doing with Jesus.

You got a bunch of folks you have come into Jerusalem.

Praise is loud. If you walked into that scene, you’d think, “Alright, they get it.”

Except… they don’t.

Because when the question gets asked—“Who is this?”—their answer tells you everything:

“This is the prophet Jesus, from Nazareth of Galilee.”

That’s where it stops.

Not King. Not Messiah. Not Son of God.

Just… prophet.

And again, that sounds respectful. It sounds close. It sounds like they’re almost there. But “almost” doesn’t save anybody.

Because you can say true things about Jesus and still completely miss who He actually is.

When the crowd answers the question, “Who is this?” and they say, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth,” that sounds respectful, but it’s not nearly enough.

Now to be fair, calling Him a prophet isn’t random. There was an expectation in Israel about the prophet—the one like Moses that Deuteronomy 18 talks about. Someone who speaks for God, does mighty works, stands in that line of Elijah, Elisha, Isaiah. So they’re not pulling that out of thin air.

But that’s still a downgrade.

Because Matthew has already made it clear—Jesus is not just a prophet.

So here they are, in this massive moment, with everything building, everything pointing to who He actually is—and they land on something that sounds right… but falls short.

And then they add, “from Nazareth.”

Which doesn’t help.

Because Nazareth didn’t exactly carry weight. That’s where the whole “can anything good come from Nazareth?” idea comes from. So now you’ve got a description that sounds respectful on the surface, but underneath it, it’s still missing the point.

And this is where the whole scene starts to unravel a little.

Because for all the noise, for all the excitement, for all the shouting—nothing actually happens the way they expect.

Jesus doesn’t perform a miracle to wow the crowd. He doesn’t rally a movement. He doesn’t take a shot at Rome.

He walks into the temple.

That’s it.

And if you read Luke’s account alongside this, it makes it even clearer, because as Jesus approaches the city, He starts weeping.

Not celebrating. Not soaking it in.

Weeping.

Because He knows exactly what they don’t.

He knows what would actually bring them peace—and He knows they’re missing it.

Not because it’s unavailable.

Because it’s right in front of them, and they’ve already decided they want something else.

They’re near Him. They’re involved in the moment. They’re participating in what looks like worship. And they still don’t recognize Him.

J.C. Ryle said it like this: “It is possible to be near Christ and yet have no saving acquaintance with Him.”

That’s exactly what you’re seeing here. Close… but not connected. Familiar… but not surrendered.

And this isn’t just a Bible problem. This is a right now problem.

One of things that blew my mind was all of the history at DC. You’ve got original documents, artifacts, things that actually matter, the box where President Lincoln was shot by John Wilkes Booth in Ford Theatre is still just as it was. And people are packed in there, shoulder to shoulder, phones out, taking pictures of everything.

And I watched a guy stand in front of something significant—like, historically significant—and he never actually looked at it. Not really. He looked up, snapped a picture, glanced at his screen, and moved on. Didn’t read anything. Didn’t process anything. Didn’t take it in. Just close enough to capture it… but not close enough to understand it.

And I thought, that’s exactly how a lot of people treat Jesus.

They get close enough to be around it. Close enough to say they’ve seen it. Close enough to feel like they’ve checked the box.

The did the baptism, took the picture, and got the certificate.

But never actually stop long enough to deal with who He is.

That’s what this crowd is doing.

They’re in the moment. They’re part of the scene. They’re saying the words. But they never actually arrive at the truth.

And the danger is, you can do the same thing in church.

You can be around the worship, around the Word, around the people of God. You can know when to stand, when to sing, what to say, how to respond. You can look like you’re in it.

And still miss Him completely.

Because proximity is not the same thing as relationship.

Being near Jesus is not the same thing as knowing Jesus.

And reducing Him down to something manageable—“He’s a good teacher,” “He’s a prophet,” “He’s inspiring”—that lets you stay in control.

Because a prophet might influence you.

A King takes authority over you.

And that’s where the line gets drawn.

This crowd is fine with Jesus as long as He fits their category. As long as He stays within their expectations. But they never move to the place where they actually recognize Him for who He is.

And that’s the warning.

You can be close enough to feel like you’ve got it… and still be completely wrong about Him.

So the question isn’t whether you’ve been around Jesus.

The question is whether you’ve actually seen Him for who He is… and responded accordingly.

So the same question the the people ask- who is this? Who is Jesus? Thats the most important question you will ever answer in your entire existence.

Pastor Jerry Vines said “A faith that has not changed your life has not saved your soul.”

You’ve seen the King. You know the answers. But have you ever submitted to the Lordship of Jesus Christ.

Not the version people wanted. Not the one that fits neatly into your expectations. Not the one who just fixes your circumstances and leaves you alone.

The real King.

The one with total authority… The one who brings peace—but through a cross… The one you can be standing right next to and still completely miss…

And now we’re stepping into what is commonly called Holy Week.

This isn’t just another week on the calendar. This is where everything moves from theory to reality.

Wednesday night—Spy Wednesday—we’re going to gather and pray. And let’s be honest, prayer is where control starts to die. Because you can’t actually pray and still pretend you’re in charge. Not real prayer.

RC Sproul said “Prayer changes things, all kinds of things. But the most important thing it changes is us.”

So we’re going to come in here and seek the Lord—not casually, not checking a box, but actually asking Him to do something in us and through us.

Friday night—Good Friday—we’re going to gather around the cross. Communion. And don’t miss that… the same crowd that shouted “Hosanna” is days away from “Crucify Him.” Which means you better not assume you’re different just because you’re sitting in church. The cross forces you to deal with what’s actually in your heart.

And then Sunday… we celebrate that the tomb is empty and our savior lives.

But before we get there, we’re not skipping past the cross like it’s a speed bump on the way to Easter. We’re going to sit in it.

So here’s what we’re going to do right now.

We’re entering into a time of invitation and consecration.

And I’m not going to dress this up for you.

Whatever God is calling you to do—you do it.

Not later. Not when it’s more convenient. Not when your schedule clears up or your feelings catch up.

You do it.

Because here’s the issue—we’ve got a lot of people who want Jesus as Savior, but they still insist on being lord of their own life.

That’s not how this works.

You don’t get both.

Either He’s Lord of all or not at all.

And let me help you out—that experiment of you running your own life? How’s that going? Yeah. Exactly.

So here’s the progression, and it’s not complicated:

First step—salvation.

You don’t clean yourself up. You don’t fix your life first. You come to Christ as you are, and you repent. You stop playing games, stop blaming everyone else, and you deal with your sin. You bow your knee to the King. You believe in your heart and confess with your mouth that Jesus Christ is Lord.

Second step—baptism.

This is about obedience. It’s you saying publicly, “its no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me” Some of you have been saved for years and still haven’t taken that step. That’s not confusion. That’s disobedience.

Third step—whatever He is calling you to do.

And that’s where it gets real specific.

For some of you, it’s repentance. You’ve been playing church, staying close enough to look the part, but you know you haven’t surrendered anything.

For some of you, it’s obedience in your home. You’ve been blaming everybody else, and God’s been trying to deal with you.

For some of you, it’s stepping into something you’ve been avoiding because it costs you control, comfort, or reputation.

And here’s the bottom line:

Do not be the lord of your own life.

You’re not built for that.

You weren’t designed to sit on that throne.

And every time you try, you make a mess of it.

There is a King.

He has come.

And He is coming again.

So the question is not, “Do you like Him?”

The question is—have you surrendered to Him?

Let’s pray.