Even his horse had a great name.
Bucephalus, that worthy, war-seasoned steed, would carry Alexander to many victories. So glorious was the beast that, when he passed after some 30 years, he was given a royal funeral, and a city was established in his honor. Over half of the ancient statuary and relief art depicting Alexander features him astride Bucephalus, an enduring remembrance of his conquest and dominance of the known world.
In more recent memory, the Romans celebrated the return of Caesar from his Gallic campaigns with four days of feasting, games, and parades. Led by Caesar’s chariot, tens of thousands of marching prisoners and captive kings from distant lands streamed behind his grand procession to Rome.
Jesus’ triumphal entry would be no such a spectacle. Had anyone announced the event as “triumphant,” any self-respecting Roman would have scoffed. His parade was humble, his mount even more so. Not even a donkey, but a colt, the foal of a donkey. It was more likely to make a fool of him than bring him honor. With a makeshift saddle of castoff clothing adorning the clumsy colt, Jesus would plod up Jerusalem’s hill in the likewise makeshift and meek celebration.
It must have been meek, for no Roman governor would permit a “triumphant” entry of an opposing party. This parade would be the hidden-in-plain-sight kind. A peasant on a colt attracting a chorus of praises would garner the attention of the ruling elites to be sure, but there was no threat to be detected. There were no horses, chariots, or grand displays. No golden crowns, marching captives, or servile kings could be observed. The meaning could not be discerned by uninitiated eyes.
For the Jews, however, the donkey would carry much meaning despite its meanness. Gideon’s 30 sons rode 30 donkeys (Judges 10:4), Solomon rode a mule to his coronation (1Kings 1:33-38), and it was prophesied that the Messiah from Judah’s line would tie his foal to a vine (Genesis 49:11). Profound symbols of peace and goodness were connected with this beast of burden.
The ancient prophecy of Zechariah would resonate in Jewish ears:
Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion!
Make a loud shout, O daughter of Jerusalem!
Behold, your king is coming to you;
He is righteous and endowed with salvation,
Lowly and mounted on a donkey,
Even on a colt, the foal of a pack animal. (Zechariah 9:9)
Those gathered thirsty souls cried out, as each of us has, “Hosanna!” with translated means, “We beg you to save us!” Save them he would, and saved us he has. Perhaps these same criers would later be those shouting “Crucify him!” to Pilate, but whether these blessed welcomers would later become the object lesson of personified irony cannot be discerned from centuries afar.
What of their expectations? Did Jesus disappoint the gathered masses of the triumphal entry? Were these among those who expected a new ruler, a leader of revolution to overthrow Rome as so many zealots hoped? Or did they heed the deeper calls of Zechariah 9:10?
I will cut off the chariot from Ephraim
And the horse from Jerusalem;
And the bow of war will be cut off.
And He will speak peace to the nations;
And His reign will be from sea to sea
And from the River to the ends of the earth.
Could they have understood the significance of that humble foal? That the Messiah would need no warhorse for his revolution? That he would forsake the bow and yet reign with sovereign power? His parade was not like Caesar’s. It wasn’t for admiration, bravado, or status. It was not a call to homage and tribute. It was low, humble, and invitational. It was a more profound call—a call to spiritual enlivening and that peace with God proclaimed at his birth that he now mediated. It was a call to forsake the aspirations of the flesh and seek the satisfaction of the spirit.
Jesus rode the donkey up Jerusalem’s hill to enter in the Eastern Gate. He rode low and slow and drove himself to the place in which he would become the least of all men.
Let us behold him here. Let us see him as the sinner’s friend, the peasant’s pardon, and the One who saves. He went up, and if we take hold of him on his way we do well.
His second coming will allow no such kind attachments. He will come as for war. Yet how those who he calls his own anticipate the day! Not for bloodthirst, but for justice. Not for revenge, but for victory. Not for punishment, but for eternal peace. He will triumphantly come again, but no one will mistake his return for anything other than triumphant, nor can it be resisted.
Then I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse! The one sitting on it is called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he judges and makes war. His eyes are like a flame of fire, and on his head are many diadems, and he has a name written that no one knows but himself. He is clothed in a robe dipped in blood, and the name by which he is called is The Word of God. And the armies of heaven, arrayed in fine linen, white and pure, were following him on white horses. From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron. He will tread the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has a name written, King of kings and Lord of lords. (Revelation 19:11-16 ESV)
Come now, dear Christian, join me at our Savior’s feet. Cry with me upon his tender and merciful shoulder. Cry with gratitude for covered shame and for atonement and the attention of our eternal God to our bleak estate. Cry as starving spirit for Bread of Life. Praise him, for he draws near to save. He comes to us humble and accessible. Receive his peace and fall upon his gracious pardon. Call your friends and family to gather here and take hold of their God while he is yet stooped, allowing us the honor of welcoming him.
