The Hope of His Coming

With palms waving, we settle into songs of praise. What beauty in the simple words, rooted in such tradition, held dear by so many around the world.

Hosanna! Baruch haba be’shem Adonai!

Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!

Last weekend, I joined Christians around the world in remembering Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. We recalled how the crowds erupted in cheers of “hosanna,” celebrating his arrival by laying down branches from beautiful trees, a ritual typically reserved for the fall festival, the Feast of Tabernacles. To them, Jesus was the promised king coming to dwell with God’s people, overthrowing Rome and ushering in a time of peace and restoration for Jerusalem.

But Jesus knew the time for Tabernacles had not yet come. It was springtime, and Jesus timed his death with Passover, when he would offer himself up as the spotless lamb to redeem his people.

In Matthew’s account of what we call “Palm Sunday,” it’s just a few chapters later when Jesus repeats this same heroic phrase himself, but his tone is much different. He utters the words in grief, his spirit groaning the fate that awaited his beloved people and homeland:

 “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, who kills the prophets and stones those who have been sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together, the way a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were unwilling. Behold, your house is being left to you desolate! For I say to you, from now on you will not see Me until you say, ‘Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord!’”

Matthew 23:37-39

On this holy week of the Christian liturgical calendar, we build momentum toward Easter Sunday. We repent of our sin on Good Friday, rightly remembering the wounds our suffering servant took upon himself. With great joy, we shout “He is risen!” on resurrection morning, sin and death conquered forever, forgiveness flowing out. For many, Easter is the pinnacle! It’s the highest holiday and culmination of the Christian faith. But curiously, what gets very little air time as we celebrate our Lord’s victory on Resurrection Sunday is the hope it is pointing towards.

So often at Easter we focus on Jesus’ crucifixion as the means of conquering death and taking the penalty for sin, which it does. However we often stop there, as if that is the ONLY thing it accomplished. A careful reading of any of the gospel accounts will highlight that Jesus didn’t die at Easter. He died at Passover. And when we consider his death in the frame of Passover, a high holiday of the Jewish faith that Jesus himself used to explain his own death, I believe it offers another perspective.

The blood will be a sign for you on the houses where you are, and when I see the blood, I will pass over you. No destructive plague will touch you when I strike Egypt.

Exodus 12:13

At Passover, the lamb’s blood over the door never covers sin. It doesn’t deal with the problem of the stained human heart or wipe the slate clean. (Another appointed time, the Day of Atonement or Yom Kippur, does that part of the job.) Instead, Passover is a symbol for the people that Yahweh is the one who protects, delivers, and rescues anyone inside the covered house.

Passover is primarily redemptive–the blood purchases and commemorates God’s deliverance to secure a people for a coming kingdom. Which is why on the night of the first Passover, plenty of guilty, sinful humans mercifully escaped death. The blood of the lamb caused God to pass over the house, sparing the people (both Hebrews and Egyptians!) inside from judgment. And in the coming days and weeks, these same people would emerge through the waters, victoriously singing to God on the other side where He invited them into way of life that would make them a whole kingdom of priests, bringing life and blessing to the nations around them.

At the other end of the Bible stands another song:

And they sang a new song, saying:

“You are worthy to take the scroll
    and to open its seals,
because you were slain,
    and with your blood you purchased for God
    persons from every tribe and language and people and nation.
You have made them to be a kingdom and priests to serve our God,
    and they will reign on the earth.”

Revelation 5:9-10

While we often sing lines from this powerful song on Easter morning, John’s vision in Revelation is Passover language. It vividly recalls Exodus. As John hears this glorious hymn, the truth and purpose of Jesus’ death rings out loudly. But notice that sin is not at all the focus of this song. For these worshipers, Jesus was slain like a Passover lamb to purchase people of all tribes and nations in order to make them a whole kingdom of priests so that they can reign together with him on the earth.

This amazing point is almost always glossed over at Easter, but it is the entire aim of Passover.

Baruch haba be’shem Adonai.

The words we hold high on Palm Sunday sent shockwaves through Israel 2000+ years ago. But I wonder if they still quake today? In our shouts of “hosanna,” do we really know what we’re saying? What we are hoping for? Do we realize that the triumphal entry sets in motion Passover, the event that marks the redemption of Israel and of all nations? Do we understand that when we sing these words we are joining our hearts in the anthem of heaven, begging the Lord to return and bring his people through the coming and greater exodus?

Jesus says he deeply longed to eat the Passover meal with his followers because for him, it perfectly explained what he was about to go do: pay for the future of his people with his blood on the cross so that he could bring God’s kingdom into its fullness at his return. He offered himself up as the lamb and defeated death when he rose from the grave. But Passover is pointless if the people never cross the Red Sea. It’s pointless if they starve to death in the wilderness. The resurrection of Jesus is miraculous, joyful, and worthy of great celebration, but it’s pointless if he doesn’t return. With the current state of the Church and the world what it is right now, it seems more critical than ever that we espouse this truth in this moment.

Darfur. Haiti. Moscow.

Blessed are the broken in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Baruch haba be’shem Adonai!

Kurdistan. Xingjiang. Yemen.

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

Baruch haba be’shem Adonai!

Gaza. The West Bank. The Golan.

Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.

Baruch haba be’shem Adonai!

These are words to cry out in desperation and repentance. They are words that beg our Lord to come back, to bring his justice, mercy, righteousness, love, and everlasting peace. Our God loved this world so much he gave his only son, so that whoever believes in God’s purposes for and through this son will not perish, but have everlasting life.

The crux of the crucifixion and resurrection is the promise of eternal life. Because Jesus died and rose again, conquering sin and death for all time, we can have confidence that when he returns to redeem what he already paid for he will rescue his people from the grave, restore us to new life, and position us as kings and priests to reign with him. At the cross, Jesus offered himself up as the Passover lamb up to redeem Israel for something greater. That something appears in miniature at his resurrection, trickling outwards from Jerusalem to the ends of the earth and is realized in the hearts of his followers all around Israel and the nations today. But the greater thing will reach its fullness only when he returns.

…we wait for the blessed hope – the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us to redeem us from all wickedness and to purify for himself a people that are his very own, eager to do what is good.”

Titus 2:13-14

At Passover, many Jews traditionally read the Song of Songs. For them, the Song is a poetic retelling of the Exodus, filled with themes of passionate love threatened, rescued, and hopefully consummated. But for followers of Jesus Messiah, the final lines of the poem hit with a crescendo that calls us into action:

Him: “O you who sit in the gardens,
My companions are listening for your voice—
Let me hear it!”

Her: “Hurry, my beloved,
And be like a gazelle or a young stag
On the mountains of spices.”

Song of Songs 8:13-14

This Easter, he’s listening for our voice. He’s longing with all heaven to hear us hasten his return. And so when we walk into our Good Friday and Easter Sunday services this week, may we posture our hearts not merely in gratitude for the salvation and forgiveness his death and resurrection offers us individually, but in the hope his glorious return will offer to all of the world.

I have the blood of the Passover lamb over my heart, and I have confidence in my Great High Priest, interceding on my behalf and atoning for my sin. But my great hope this Easter is not in what he did, but in what he has yet to do. I hope in his coming. I hope for the promised day when he walks out of the holy space, fiery-eyed and victorious clothed in a robe drenched in his own blood, to bring the reign of heaven to the land. In that day, I will sing out the beautiful words and lay down the branch in my hand.

As we walk through the passion of our Messiah, repenting the weight of our sin and joyfully praising his defeat of death, I pray with every fiber of my dusty frame that the most glorious celebration of all is in the magnificent wonder and heavy labor of his return. May it be reflected in the outcry of our hearts as we hope for what all creation awaits.

The everlasting reign of our brother, the humble and victorious Passover King.

Happy Easter! Maranatha.