Riding Into Jerusalem
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Their acclamations were now silenced, while many tears flowed in
sympathy with the grief they could not comprehend.
Jesus had wept at the grave of Lazarus, but it was in a God-like
grief in harmony with the occasion. But this sudden sorrow is like a
note of wailing in a grand triumphal chorus. In the midst of a scene
of rejoicing, where all were paying him homage, Israel’s King was
in tears; not silent tears of gladness, but tears and groans of insup-
pressible agony. The multitude are struck with a sudden gloom while
they look upon this grief which is incomprehensible to them. The
tears of Jesus were not in anticipation of physical suffering as he con-
templated his crucifixion, though just before him was the garden of
Gethsemane where he knew that soon the horror of a great darkness
would overshadow him. The sheep gate was also in sight through
which for centuries the beasts for sacrificial offerings had been con-
ducted. This gate was soon to open for him, the great Antitype toward
whose sacrifice for the sins of the world all these offerings had pointed.
Near by was Calvary, the scene of his approaching agony.
Yet it is not because of these reminders of his cruel death that the
Redeemer weeps and groans in anguish of spirit. His is no selfish
sorrow. The thought of physical pain does not intimidate that noble,
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self-sacrificing soul. It is the sight of Jerusalem that pierces the heart of
Jesus with anguish,—Jerusalem that had rejected the Son of God and
scorned his love, who refused to be convinced by his mighty miracles
and is about to take his life. He sees what she is in her guilt of rejecting
her Redeemer, and what she might have been had she accepted Him
who alone could heal her wound. He had come to save her; how can
he give up the child of his care!
He raised his hand,—that had so often blessed the sick and
suffering,—and waving it toward the doomed city, in broken utterances
of grief exclaimed: “If thou hadst known, even thou, in this thy day
the things which belong to thy peace—” Here the Saviour paused and
left unsaid what might have been the condition of Jerusalem had she
accepted the only help that God could give her,—the gift of his beloved
Son. If Jerusalem had known what it was her privilege to know, and
had acted according to the light bestowed upon her by God, she might
have stood forth in the pride of prosperity, the queen of kingdoms, free
in the strength of her God-given power. There would then have been
no armed soldiers waiting at her gates, no Roman banners waving from