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Palm Sunday For Those who Don't Feel Victorious

I wasn’t sure if Palm Sunday would hold anything new for me this year…what could I possibly learn that 25.5 years in church hasn’t taught me?!


I should’ve known Spirit would take that as a challenge 😅


Maybe what I’m about to share with you is old news, but maybe, just maybe, it’s the fresh perspective your soul needs, too.


Ava leans against a cream wall wearing blue jeans and a grey sweater. She is holding a book partially cracked in front of her face, and her mouth is open in a laugh. She is standing next to a vibrant green palm plant.

“Hosanna” is a Hebrew word with two meanings – ‘oh save!’ or as a statement of adoration, ‘favor.‘


And while I’d love to write a series on what adoring our Savior looks like and how that fills His heart, I find myself drawn more to the first definition this year.


Oh save!


This word “hosanna” is found only six times in the entire Bible, and five of the six are in the Gospels, recorded during Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem.


But the odd one out…


Mmm, let me tell you about that one.



Penned by King David, sung as the Second Temple was founded, referred to as Jesus’ life was reflected on, Psalm 118 is the story of Jesus.


Praising God for His mercy and deliverance. A testimony to God’s enduring mercy. Surrounded by enemies but helped by God. Rejoicing in deliverance from death.


The open gates of righteousness. The chief cornerstone. The sacrifice bound to the alter.


It’s the story and identity of Jesus.


And buried deep within this song lies verse 25.


The only hosanna outside of the New Testament, the only one apart from the Palm Sunday narrative.


Lord, save us! Lord, please grant us success! (CSB)


Lord, hosanna! Lord, please hosanna!


Salvation now, God. Salvation now! Oh yes, God—a free and full life! (The Message)


Hosanna is not the cry of the victorious…it is the cry of the desperate, the forlorn, the one who longs and waits for the impossible, the one apart from God.


Rev. Nancy Koester, Ph.D. writes that, “In its ancient Jewish context, Psalm 118 was most likely an entrance liturgy to the Temple…”


Hosanna was how a people estranged from their Creator entered into His holy space.


The torso of a woman in a grey sweater while her hands hold an open book. In the background is a green palm plant.

Which is why hosanna with a palm branch is so stunning to me!


See, Jewish culture was steeped in the symbolism of the palm branch. Deborah held court under the palms. King Solomon had palms carved into the walls of the Temple. And every year, during the week-long Feast of the Tabernacles, the Israelites celebrated God hosanna-ing them from Egypt by living in huts made from palm branches.


Generation after generation, the Jewish people picked, collected, and waved palms, and with each one, they were reminded of God’s power and victory.


Power and victory.


Power to deliver. To rescue. To name. To meet with humanity intimately. To rearrange the heavens and the earth. Victory over earthly enemies. Over fears and worries. Over impossibilities. Over death.


That is what the palm branch symbolizes.

That is why it was a central piece of observing justice and worshipping God.

And that is why the people waved palms on what we call ‘Palm Sunday.’


A woman's shoulder clad in a gray sweater is visible despite the stack of 4 old book spines in front of it. A green palm plant takes up half the photo.

I’m not in a celebratory season right now. I’m exhausted, nearing burn-out, and desperately trying to reclaim some sort of balance and life. As I approached Palm Sunday, my soul rebelled at the thought of joyfully shouting, “Glory to God in the highest!”


And while we can dissect my theology of “praising God in all circumstances” later, these discoveries around hosanna free me to exist exactly where I am. As I am.


Just like Jesus.


Exhausted. Broken. Silent. Barely able to crawl to the Cross.


And as my heart weakly whispers, “Hosanna. Save me,” I’ve realized this is exactly how I am supposed to enter into His holy space.


So on this Palm Sunday, I’m not putting on my best. I’m not prancing into a sanctuary. I won’t be picking up any kind of palm branch and waving it in the air as I close my eyes to music preying on my emotions. And I won’t be swaying in any kind of celebratory, corporate worship.


This Palm Sunday, I’ll be sleeping in, rolling out of bed with groans as my body protests another day. I’ll switch into clean pajamas with a whispered prayer, “Maybe I’ll feel like myself tomorrow.” And as I attempt to get myself, my house, and my husband in order for another week, hosanna will be on my lips.


Save me, O God. Save me.


This is the refrain of my worship. This is my ever-constant prayer for His power and His victory over my life and in my life.


This, my friend, is faith.


And palm branch or not, that’s a little more than those present at the first Palm Sunday possessed.


So if you find yourself unable or unwilling to sing “Glory to God in the Highest” with joy this year, know this.


You are not alone.

That is not required of you.

“Save me” is a just as Biblical use of hosanna, and it, too, reflects the power, victory, divinity, and humanity of Christ.


Hosanna, dear one.


You have been saved. You will be saved.

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