Now as soon as He was approaching, near the descent of the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God, rejoicing with a loud voice for all the miracles which they had seen, saying,

“Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord.
Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!” -Luke 19:37-38

Today, Palm Sunday, we celebrate the Triumphal Entry. Echoing the crowd that welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem, we acknowledge Him as King. He is the Son of David, the rightful heir to David’s throne, and he will reign forever.

But the first time He came, He came to die. Next Sunday, we’ll celebrate his glorious resurrection. Today, pause with me to remember why He went to the cross.

 

I wrote a story, imagining the events of the Passion Week as told by one of the shepherds who’d been at the manger. Tobiah, the youngest shepherd, was there when Jesus was born.

My Easter story, The Passover Lamb, is below. Tobiah follows Jesus to the cross. If you’d like it in ebook format, you can find it here. 

He was oppressed and He was afflicted,  Yet He did not open His mouth;  Like a lamb that is led to slaughter,  And like a sheep that is silent before its shearers,  So He did not open His mouth.
Isaiah 53:7, NASB

Tobiah:

Dreading the high priest’s visit, I kicked a rock down the grassy slope. On the morrow, he’d come to choose the Passover lamb. And with him would come—

My brother spoke through gritted teeth. “Don’t look, but Simeon’s headed our way.”

My childhood bully stumped down the hillside, a dark form against the setting sun. He swaggered, hands held out for balance but always poised near his sword hilt. As if the lambs were a threat. Or maybe he feared us stupid shepherds.

Eliezer glared. “I said, ‘Don’t look.’ Be civil, Tobiah. We don’t want any trouble.”

I gave him a curt nod. “I always am.”

I’d swallowed my anger for three decades—every time Simeon made the trek back to Bethlehem. When we were children, he’d called me a stupid, grubby nobody because I was a shepherd. High and mighty Simeon had grand plans to go to Jerusalem to be a Temple guard.

“Have I ever told you how glad I am that you’re the chief shepherd, big brother?”

“Only every Passover.” Eliezer smirked. “I should let you deal with him this time.”

Scoffing, I walked away far enough that Simeon would have to make an effort to seek me out. All the other shepherds had busied themselves among the herd, too.

Simeon ignored Eliezer’s greeting, focusing on the lambs sniffing his sandals. “I came to make sure you had some decent lambs for the high priest to choose from.”

Why would this year be any different? Pompous pufferfish.

An unexpected wave of compassion washed over me. If only Simeon knew the hope I’d known ever since I’d met Jesus.

When Eliezer took the taunt in stride, he huffed, already laughing at the joke on his tongue. “Ho, there, Tobiah. Had any more visions? Strange visitors?”

Simeon could mock us, but he couldn’t erase the wonder of seeing angels filling the sky, rejoicing at our Messiah’s birth. We shepherds knew Jesus was the Messiah, and I’d had the honor of looking after Him when He was a baby. For months, I took every chance I could get to play with Jesus and make him laugh—until the family fled in the middle of the night.

I aways wondered where they ended up and never stopped praying for them, but I stopped talking about the night we met the Messiah. Too many scoffers like Simeon.

Simeon crossed his arms across his broad chest. “Passover’s going to go down in history this year, you know.”

Don’t take the bait, Eliezer.

I glanced up to catch Simeon staring at me, and the words popped out. “You don’t say?”

I wanted to kick something.

“Maybe you haven’t heard, but we’ve got riffraff crawling out from under rocks claiming to be the Messiah.”

My heart raced as I struggled to focus on his words.

“The one called Jesus, the carpenter’s son, has created a dangerous situation. Rome doesn’t like it, you know. The Sanhedrin are going to put a stop to it.” Simeon’s booming voice got louder, making sure we all heard. “Word is he’ll be arrested.”

Panic rising, I clutched my staff to stay upright.

“We may not be allowed to stone him, but he’ll be just as dead, hanging on a cross.”

Memories flooded my mind. Jesus swaddled like a Passover lamb. Mary’s husband Joseph handing Him to Uncle Asa, saying, “You must examine him to make sure he’s fit.”

Fit for sacrifice.

 

 

Had that only been a week ago? Time had lost its meaning as I sat at the edge of the garden, watching over Jesus’s tomb. I’d stood vigil since the rich man had placed Jesus in his own tomb. Last night, a stranger in a Pharisee’s robe had joined me, telling his own stories of Rabbi Jesus. We hadn’t shared names, just grief.

I continued my story. “I set out the next morning to warn Jesus, but I couldn’t even make it inside the gate. The crowd was so thick, I didn’t know how I’d find him. Then I realized he was at the center of the hubbub, riding a donkey toward Jerusalem.”

My companion’s whisper was wistful.

Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion!  Shout in triumph, O daughter of Jerusalem!  Behold, your king is coming to you;  He is just and endowed with salvation,  Humble, and mounted on a donkey,  Even on a colt, the foal of a donkey.

I nodded. “Palm branches waving, voices raised, ‘Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.’ I had so much hope. I truly believed Jesus was going to be crowned king.” My chest rose and fell. “That feels like another lifetime.”

In the darkest, coldest watch of night, we wrapped our blankets tighter and waited for dawn. But why? I shivered. “What’s keeping you here?”

“They’ll open the tomb this morning. I want to help the women prepare his body.” His voice broke.  “You?”

Roman helmets stood in stark relief against the pale stone tomb. I shrugged. “I don’t know.” I’d known this was why Jesus came, but I still didn’t understand why he had to die. And I couldn’t leave until I knew.

The stillness shifted. A tingling rippled down my spine. The ache in my chest deepened from despair to hope. Something brushed my cheek.

A burst of light shattered the darkness. For one instant, the tomb looked like an eclipse of the sun, the pale stone cast into shadow by a ring of fire blindingly white. And yet, within the white pulsed all the colors of the rainbow, even ones I’d never seen. When I squeezed my eyes shut, the dazzling brightness remained behind my eyelids. I opened them, and I was in an ocean of living light.

A hand groped for me. I took it, an anchor in this bright sea.

The earth shook as if warhorses thundered toward us. The Pharisee and I clung together, two buoys bobbing in raging waters. A gust of wind carried away my scream.

And then—calm. Utter peace. All I knew was the light before my eyes, the ground beneath me, and the arms around me.

Little by little, my vision cleared. The centurion and his men lay sprawled in the garden, inert. The stone that had been in front of the tomb lay flat, an angel of the Lord sitting on it. His familiar shout split the stillness. “He is risen!”

                                   

 

Author’s Note

The Passover Lamb is a sequel to While Shepherds Watched, my advent story. In that story, Tobiah is an eight-year-old shepherd who sees the angels announce Jesus’s birth. It’s available here.

I’ve always wondered what happened to those shepherds, so I gave Tobiah the chance to witness the resurrection.

I took inspiration from the four Gospel accounts, of course, but also from the investigation of the Shroud of Turin.

According to Dr. Paolo Di Lazzaro, the image on the Shroud was formed by a burst of energy — 34 quadrillion watts delivered in 1/40,000,000,000th of a second, the world’s first selfie. An inconceivably large amount of energy in an inconceivably short amount of time. No wonder the soldiers were knocked loopy!

For more information on the Shroud, see this blog post or check out Christian Thinkers’ Society. In March, 2026, Jeremiah Johnston will release The Jesus Discoveries, a study of the Shroud.

May this story bless you in the Easter season.