Rejoice greatly, daughter of Zion; shout aloud, daughter of Jerusalem. See, your king comes to you, his cause won, his victory gained, humble and mounted on a donkey, on a colt the foal of a donkey. (Zechariah 9:9)
And as it was written in the prophecy of Zechariah, so it occurred. The king came to Jerusalem, and the crowds that accompanied him shouted and sang with joy. Here was a ruler whose mount was not the military charger but the domestic pack-animal, a ruler with a popular bearing with whom they could identify, a ruler with a pacific programme, whose authority conferred by God would put an end to conflict and free their life from fear. And so they did identify with him, and so they did become fearless, strewing branches in his path and running confidently alongside. But then came a turn to this happy scene not written in the prophecy of Zechariah, the turn that disconcerts us today and every Palm Sunday. “Behold, your king comes!” declared the prophet, and “This is the king of the Jews!” was written over his cross a week later. How could the triumph of divine authority give place in so short a time to its defeat?