The snow padded in on quiet feet, introduced first by sister rain mixed with sleet that ricocheted silently off the wind shield as our blue van nosed out of the church parking lot. We stopped by the sub shop and picked up lunch, and arriving at home, we dropped our coats, lit the lamps, and pulled out the Easter box. These many weeks, the house has slumbered quiet and unadorned. Lent has been as silent as the snow that began filling the woods late in the afternoon. A Lent of the heart. . .
Now we come to this, the first day of Holy Week, and we pull out the familiar items and set the stage for the drama to unfold. Snow begins to accumulate thick on the yard, and the startled weatherman takes a break from the basketball games to change his forecast.
But i watch the snow with wonder. . . and listen to Words tumbling from the cataract of my heart. . .
"Behold, your King comes to you, humble, and riding on a donkey."
I see in my mind's eye the crowds on that first Palm Sunday, crowds of holiday-revelers, waving branches plucked from the trees and hailing the local celebrity of the moment, pushing, stretching necks to catch a glimpse, laughing and singing.
But Quiet rode on the donkey.
In the center of all the noise, Peace is seated as a Humble King.
Inexorably He winds His way into a city that would hate him, seek to kill him, in a few short hours.
Daughter looks at me thoughtfully this afternoon and speaks softly, dark eyes wide, "I don't know how He did it. Ride into Jerusalem, knowing. . ." She shook her head gently, pensively.
I don't either.
And i realize: He is calling me to follow. To ride Quiet into this difficult thing, distracted palm-sunday-crowds on every side.
He will not force me. He calls. He goes before.
And Quiet enters heart on softly padded feet. If He is willing, i will go.
Would you be willing to go with me to this post Journey to the Cross, to think further about the Quiet of this One?