It feels like a good day to be contemplating Sunday’s sermon.
Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.
He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war horse from Jerusalem; and the battle bow shall be cut off, and he shall command peace to the nations; his dominion shall be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth. (Zechariah 9:9-12)
We will have no more of kings.
Except, perhaps, for one such as this,
who enters not on a horse dressed for battle
but on a colt, the child of a donkey.
No twenty-one gun salute for him,
since he has broken the bows of war.
Their caterpillar tires he has
morphed into moths; their tridents
he has given to the children
of Neptune as a plaything; he has
loosened the wheels of the barreling chariots;
they shall not pursue him across the sand
as he gazes into the horizon.
The waves bow down in peace.
We will have no more of kings
except for this.