**The Triumphal Entry and the Cleansing of the Temple**
The sun hung low over the Mount of Olives, casting long shadows across the dusty road that wound its way toward Jerusalem. The air was thick with anticipation, for the time of Passover was near, and pilgrims from all over Judea and beyond crowded the streets, their voices rising in songs of praise and expectation. Among them walked Jesus of Nazareth, His face set like flint toward the city that had both welcomed and rejected the prophets of old.
He paused near the village of Bethphage, where the road dipped before ascending again toward the Golden Gate. Turning to two of His disciples, He said, “Go into the village ahead of you. As soon as you enter it, you will find a colt tied there, one on which no one has ever sat. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ say, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here shortly.’”
The disciples obeyed, and soon they returned, leading a young donkey, its coat dusty but sturdy, its eyes wide with uncertainty. The people nearby watched in hushed curiosity as the disciples laid their cloaks over the animal’s back, and Jesus mounted it. Then, as if stirred by an unseen hand, the crowd erupted. Some spread their garments on the road before Him, while others cut branches from the fields and palm trees, laying them down like a royal carpet.
“Hosanna!” they cried, their voices swelling like a mighty river. “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David! Hosanna in the highest!”
The sound of their shouts echoed off the walls of Jerusalem as Jesus descended the slope, the colt stepping carefully over the cloaks and branches. The city gates loomed ahead, and within them, the Temple stood—its white stone gleaming, its courts filled with merchants and moneychangers, its priests moving about their duties. But as Jesus entered the Temple, His eyes burned with righteous fire.
He saw the corruption—the tables of the moneychangers, the stalls of those selling doves for sacrifice at exorbitant prices. The outer court, meant to be a house of prayer for all nations, had become a den of thieves. His hands clenched into fists, and with a voice like thunder, He overturned the tables, sending coins scattering across the marble floor. The doves burst from their cages in a flurry of wings, and the merchants scrambled to gather their wares.
“My house shall be called a house of prayer for all nations,” He declared, His words ringing with divine authority, “but you have made it a den of robbers!”
The chief priests and scribes, their faces dark with fury, whispered among themselves, plotting how they might destroy Him, for they feared Him—the crowds hung on His every word, and His authority was undeniable. Yet Jesus did not shrink from their glares. Instead, He healed the blind and the lame who came to Him in the Temple, and the children, innocent and pure, continued to cry out, “Hosanna to the Son of David!”
As evening fell, Jesus and His disciples left the city and returned to Bethany, where they lodged. The next morning, as they walked back toward Jerusalem, Peter noticed the fig tree Jesus had cursed the day before. Its leaves, once green and full, were now withered from the roots.
“Rabbi,” Peter said in amazement, “the fig tree You cursed has withered!”
Jesus turned to him, His gaze piercing. “Have faith in God,” He said. “Truly I tell you, if anyone says to this mountain, ‘Be lifted up and thrown into the sea,’ and does not doubt in his heart but believes that what he says will happen, it will be done for him. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive them, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins.”
The disciples fell silent, pondering His words as they continued toward Jerusalem, where greater trials—and greater glory—awaited.
