The King on a Colt
Jesus rides into Jerusalem not on a warhorse but on a humble colt, fulfilling prophecy and revealing that his kingdom advances not by spectacle and power but by humility and the cross.
Mark 11 As they approached Jerusalem and came to Bethphage and Bethany at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two of his disciples, 2 saying to them, “Go to the village ahead of you, and just as you enter it, you will find a colt tied there, which no one has ever ridden. Untie it and bring it here. 3 If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ say, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here shortly.’”
As Jesus and his disciples approached Jerusalem, Jesus pauses to orchestrate his entrance. Kings and conquerors ride into cities on warhorses or chariots, announcing their dominance with spectacle. But this King—the King of Kings—chooses differently. He sends two disciples ahead with rather odd instructions: “Go snag a colt. If anyone asks why, just tell them I need it and I’ll bring it back.” Pilgrims always entered Jerusalem on foot, so even riding anything at all would have stood out. But Jesus isn’t aiming for pomp and circumstance; he’s making a statement. The colt fulfills Zechariah’s prophecy (9:9), declaring a humble king bringing salvation. And, maybe just as importantly, it pokes fun at the rulers who arrive mounted on great stallions. The ruler of the upside-down kingdom, the friend of losers, tax collectors, and prostitutes, doesn’t need a spectacle. A borrowed baby donkey will do just fine.
4 They went and found a colt outside in the street, tied at a doorway. As they untied it, 5 some people standing there asked, “What are you doing, untying that colt?” 6 They answered as Jesus had told them to, and the people let them go. 7 When they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks over it, he sat on it.
The disciples, likely sheepish about the errand, find the colt just as Jesus said—complete with an awkward encounter with some confused bystanders. They lay their cloaks on it as a makeshift saddle, and the King of the universe perches himself on a colt too small to look impressive, too ordinary to inspire fear. Imagine the scene: no gilded harness, no soldiers in formation, just a rabbi on a little donkey covered in cloaks. It’s almost comical, but that’s the point. The Kingdom of God isn’t coming in a blaze of right-handed power—it comes cloaked in humility, vulnerability, and the kind of smallness that makes room for the broken and desperate.
8 Many people spread their cloaks on the road, while others spread branches they had cut in the fields. 9 Those who went ahead and those who followed shouted,
“Hosanna!”
“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”
10
“Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David!”
“Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
Then the crowd joins in, unwitting participants in the great parody of earthly kingship. They lay their own cloaks on the road, cut branches from the fields, and wave them as they shout psalms of coronation: “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” Some in the crowd no doubt catch the echoes of Solomon’s own coronation parade and imagine Jesus as a king in David’s line. Others simply get caught up in the joy of the moment. Either way, the irony is thick—this “triumphal entry” isn’t leading to a throne but to a cross. Jesus lets the shouts of Hosanna ring, not because they misunderstand, but because even in their misunderstanding they are speaking more truth than they know. The King has arrived, but his coronation will look nothing like they expect.
Reflection Question
Where might Jesus be challenging your expectations about what real power and victory look like?
