When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?”
– Matthew 21:10

Palm branches waving.
Loud hosannas ringing.
Palm Sunday.
Jesus comes.
A hero, they say.
Mighty in possibility.
Powerful in hope.

And yet.
Not that kind of hero.

Not that kind of hero.

Not that kind of hero. That donkey is disquieting. That hero is all too mortal. That possibility is wrought through struggle. That hope is birthed through surrender.

Who is this?
Who is this?
Who is this?
(Repeat aloud with an emphasis on the bolded word.)

Who is this?

Stop. Now.
Go no further down the road of this week until you search your heart, and a response arises that you can live, and die with, this Holy Week.

Who is this?

Palm Sunday promise.
And yet, the sting.

Who am I?

HOLY ONE, even in this moment You are living fully. So, I rise. I rise humming even as the loud hosannas elude me this year. I rise humming. Amen.