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Originally posted for Poetry Friday.

This Sunday, exactly one week before Easter, is Palm Sunday–the first day of Holy Week, perhaps the most celebrated week in Christianity. It begins with Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, recorded in all four Gospels (Matthew 21, Mark 11, Luke 19, John 12). This week I have been reading these accounts again, imagining how I might have felt if I had been there. Wednesday, after reading them again, I began to pen a narrative. I share a part of it today, in draft form, the part about Jesus’ triumphal entry.

I Was a Child

I was a child on that day
sitting on the shoulders of my uncle
part of a great multitude
gathered on Mt. Olivet, waiting
along the road to Jerusalem,
waiting to see him.

I was a child on that day
listening to miracle stories
of ten men outside a village who cried,
“Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.”
once lepers but now clean,
of Bartimaeus who called out,
“Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me!”
once blind but now seeing,
of Lazarus who died and was
in the tomb four days,
once dead but now alive.

I was a child on that day
watching the road from Bethany
when excitement exploded
like lightning bolts striking:
“He’s coming! He’s coming!”
We tossed down our garments
and great leafy branches,
a carpet to cover the roadway.

I was a child on that day
lifting my voice to join
a thunderous roar —
“Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna!
Blessed be the King who
comes in the name of the Lord;
peace in heaven, and
glory in the highest!”

I was a child on that day
sitting on the shoulders of my uncle
in a great multitude near Mt. Olivet
along the road to Jerusalem
when I saw Jesus of Nazareth
riding on the colt of a donkey.

© Alice Nine, 2019 (draft)

“Entry of Christ into Jerusalem” by Jan van Orley


Two years ago, I shared “Palm Sunday” by Maria Post.
I offer a link to it again, for those who do not know it must read it.
With a haunting beauty, Post captures the antithesis between Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem and his arrest, trial, and crucifixion later in the week.


Last year I shared Malcom Guite’s sonnet “Palm Sunday(read entire sonnet or listen to Guite read it).
It speaks not of the day when Jesus rode a colt into Jerusalem amidst shouts of Hosanna but rather of this day, this moment. It speaks of the holy dwelling place in the heart of man. It asks a question. It offers an invitation.
I share it again.

Now to the gate of my Jerusalem,
The seething holy city of my heart,
The saviour comes. But will I welcome him?
.  .  .
.  .  . x x x x x x x x x x x x x x Jesus come

Break my resistance and make me your home.

This I have prayed:
“Jesus come, break my resistance, and make me your home.”
And He has.


This week’s
#PoetryFriday Roundup
is hosted by Irene at  Live Your Poem
Poetry Friday Schedule
Jan – June 2019

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