The crowds around Jesus spread their palm branches and even their cloaks on the road so that He would ride through the gate and into their midst on a pathway paved in worship. The King was entering the city of Jerusalem in preparation for Passover.
The crowds had some expectations. They wanted a Savior from the vicious rule of Rome, a Deliverer to rescue them and restore God's ways among the nation of Israel. In their hearts, the crowd had a plan for this Man on the donkey that day.
Less than a week later, when their expectations weren't met, the people turned on Jesus. He didn't set up His throne and declare Himself King. He didn't roust the Romans and restore the kingdom to God. He didn't do what they wanted. And they turned on Him.
The Object of their worship became the One they condemned to die.
But we cannot dictate the acts of this God.
My daughters and I watched a concert on a sitcom recently. The lead singer starts in quietly on the piano set up on stage and the camera pans back to reveal the audience swaying, with arms raised. My daughters mentioned to me: hey, mom, they're worshipping! I knew by my girls' faces that they realized something true of humanity in that moment. We are made to worship. Every human heart will seek a focus for worship. We were made to want to give our hearts to something, because our Creator wants us to give our whole selves to Him, to His love.
Music softens our hearts and helps us open ourselves up. At church (or anywhere) we raise our arms toward Jesus as we worship. We surrender ourselves in those moments (and hopefully beyond) to the One Who made us. We delight in Him. We give ourselves to Him and learn from Him where we're going, not try to earn His favor so we can tell Him where He's going in our lives.
Jesus said the Father is looking for those who will worship Him in spirit and in truth. No barriers, no lies, no controlling efforts, just honest connection with the God of the universe--heart to heart.
We're fast approaching Resurrection Day. Come. Let us worship the King.
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