When Palm Sunday comes, we picture Jesus entering Jerusalem as people wave palm branches and shout in celebration. On that day, however, there were two processions in the city. One was the Roman military parade—horses, armor, and weapons—symbolizing power, authority, and domination. The other was Jesus, riding on a donkey.
In a world like ours, where war and conflict never seem to end, it often feels as though the “king on a powerful horse” still rules the world—just as in the days of the Roman Empire. But Jesus still comes to us riding on a donkey. The cross looked like failure, yet it was precisely through the cross that God chose to change the world.
During Holy Week, there is a danger we must be aware of: becoming too familiar with religious activity. We know so much. We have heard the story of the cross countless times. And perhaps, without realizing it, the cross has become not “the saving event for me,” but simply “a story we already know.”
I find myself reflecting on this as well. After so many years in ministry, surrounded by countless services and sermons, I must ask—how far have I truly entered the path of sanctification that John Wesley so passionately pursued? And perhaps the same question applies to many believers. After decades of faith, shouldn’t our words, our attitudes, and even our faces begin to reflect something of Christ? Shouldn’t the fragrance of Jesus be evident in our lives? And yet, how true is that for us?
What we truly need during Holy Week is a personal encounter with the cross. Faith is not about knowing a great deal about the cross. Faith begins the moment we realize that the cross is directed toward me.
And God has entrusted each of us with a cross to carry. The church, too, has a cross to bear in this generation—to share love, to proclaim the gospel, and to open our hearts to those who are suffering.
The Lord who rode on a donkey is still calling us today.
My prayer is that, in response to His call, this Holy Week would become a time when we once again offer our lives fully to Him.