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He didn’t ride in on a war horse.

He didn’t wear a crown of gold.

He didn’t come swinging a sword or flexing military might.

 

He came low. He came meek. He came humble—riding on a donkey.

And still… the city shook with the sound of praise.

 

“Hosanna!” they cried. “Blessed is He that cometh in the name of the Lord!”

They laid down cloaks. They waved palms.

But not all worship is born from surrender. Some is born from self-interest.

 

Because when the miracles slowed…

When the chains didn’t break like they expected…

When He wouldn’t overthrow Rome like they hoped…

Their hosannas turned to “Crucify Him.”

 

He was still the King.

Still the Savior.

Still the Lamb.

 

But He didn’t fit their narrative—so they nailed Him to a tree.

 

This Palm Sunday, ask yourself:

What voice are you?

A voice that worships only when it’s convenient?

Only when God meets your expectations?

 

Or are you the voice that praises through the silence…

Worships through the storm…

And cries “Holy” even when the crowd walks away?

 

This is not the hour for hollow hosannas.

It’s time to lift a sound hell can’t silence.

It’s time to raise a praise that doesn’t quit when the miracles pause.

Let the earth shake again—

not from a crowd craving blessings… but from a remnant who knows the worth of the Lamb.

Hosanna to the King. Forever and always.