8 Most of the crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. 9 And the crowds that went before Him and that followed Him were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the LORD! Hosanna in the highest!” 10 And when He entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred up, saying, “Who is this?” 11 And the crowds said, “This is the prophet Jesus, from Nazareth of Galilee.” ~ Matthew 21:8-11
Picture the scene: Jerusalem is abuzz with the news. Lazarus, a man dead for four days, has been raised to life by the prophet from Nazareth of Galilee. And now He’s on His way to Jerusalem. The crowd that had gathered in Jerusalem to celebrate Passover is electric with excitement. And here He comes, Jesus riding in—not on a flashy stallion like some Roman big shot, but on a borrowed donkey, kicking up dust. The crowd rushes together and, as one man, begins to shout, “Hosanna!”—which means “Save us, please!”—now the whole company of people is joining in the chorus. The noise is so loud that it seems like it is shaking the ground, which catches the attention of the Pharisees who stand aloof, watching.
The crowd rips off their own cloaks and throws them down as others run to cut palm branches, and run back to lay the palm branches down in front of Jesus along with their cloaks, turning the road into a makeshift red carpet as He slowly makes His way up the hill toward the Temple. Those cloaks weren’t just old rags. For many, a cloak was protection from the sun, a blanket at night, a cover from the wind, or maybe it was their one decent piece of clothing. Laying it down was a sacrifice, a way of saying, “Jesus, you’re worth more than my comfort.”
Ask yourself, what’s my cloak? Is it your schedule, packed so tight there’s no room for God? Your reputation, where you’d rather look good than be real? Maybe it’s a grudge you’re wearing like a second skin. Laying it down means trusting Jesus enough to let go, but it might just cost you something. Now consider this for a moment. The crowd that day is all-in, shouting “Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the LORD!” They’re actually calling Jesus the Messiah, the King of Israel, the one they’ve been waiting for. The problem is, they wanted a king to fix their problems their way—kick out the Romans, make life easy, give us self-government. But Jesus isn’t here for their script. He’s on a donkey, not a warhorse, heading toward a cross, not an earthly throne.
How often do we cheer for Jesus when He fits our plans—a better job, healed relationship, smooth sailing—but get shaky when He leads us somewhere uncomfortable? Palm Sunday’s a gut-check: Are we welcoming the real Jesus, or just the version we’ve dressed up in our heads? And then there’s the shadow hanging over the party.
Jesus knows this crowd is fickle. Some of these same voices yelling “Hosanna” will scream “Crucify Him” in five days. He knows that all too well. But it’s not just about them—it’s us, too. We’ve all got moments where we’re loud for God at a worship night or when life’s good, but we go silent when the job’s stressful, the diagnosis hits, or following Jesus means standing out in a way that feels risky.
The cloaks on the road are a beautiful gesture, but Jesus isn’t after our stuff—He’s after our hearts. Not just for a parade, but for the long, messy road to the cross and beyond. So, what does it look like to lay down your cloak not just for a moment, but as a way of life? Maybe it’s choosing to trust Him daily, even when the path feels uncertain. Maybe it’s admitting you don’t have it all together and letting Him meet you there. Palm Sunday is a mix of joy and tension—celebration, surrender, and a hint of what’s coming. It’s Jesus saying, “I’m your King, but I’m doing this My way, for your sake.” And it’s us, invited to join the crowd—not just with our voices, but with our whole lives.
Heavenly Father. Thank You for sending Your Son, Jesus Christ, to die on the Cross for us. Thank You for Your obedience to the Father, LORD Jesus. I praise You for all You did, and all You went through for us. Help me to live for You now, and forever. In Jesus’ name, I pray, amen.