You knew, I think, as you rode into Jerusalem, that the end was near – but did you know how many of us, thousands of years later, would give anything for the chance to try again, to stand before you waving nature’s sign of life and acclaiming your glory? That we would long for the chance to get it right? But better for you that you do not try again, because deep down in our selfish hearts we know we’d crucify you all over again. How dare you try to steal our petty passions? How dare you ask for our devotion? How dare you challenge us to total commitment, the kind that can only come from often uncomfortable self awareness?
You would ask the same things of us you always ask, and we would flee in fright. The freedom to which you call us threatens us so we give ourselves over to the only creature who would presume to attempt to overpower you, hoping that by letting him in he will protect us from the difficult things you wish us to do. The battle between freedom and fear plays out in our hearts every day, just as it did in Jerusalem 2000 years ago. Part of me is dying for you to return to us, because you need to make the world right, and it is so wrong now. But who’s to say, if you came to us again, that we wouldn’t find another way to screw it up? We are so lucky that you are stronger than us, that we cannot get away, that we cannot kill you, because we would if we could but we need you so.