Do You Want Jesus—or Just Someone to Take Your Side?

By Pastor John Erickson

When someone hurts me, I know how to start building a case.

I can gather people to my side. I can explain the situation in a way that makes my own behavior look a little more reasonable. If I am not careful, I can even exaggerate the hurt just enough to make sure everybody knows who the bad guy is.

I would like to say that always stays far away from my faith. It does not. Sometimes I want Jesus to endorse the case I have already built.

Then I read about his entry into Jerusalem, and the King I meet will not fit comfortably inside my plans.

A King who comes lowly

In Luke 19, Jesus sends disciples to bring a colt. They place him on it, and the crowd of disciples celebrates as he approaches Jerusalem.

They praise God for the mighty works they have seen. They announce the coming King.

This is not an accidental image. Zechariah 9 describes Zion's king coming righteous, victorious, and lowly, riding on a donkey. The following verse speaks of the removal of chariots, warhorses, and battle bows, and the proclamation of peace to the nations.

Jesus' kingship is real. So is the difference between his way and the familiar machinery of domination.

We do not need to reconstruct every person's private expectation in the crowd to notice that contrast. The Gospel will show us a King whose road leads to the cross.

His victory cannot be separated from his humility and self-giving love.

Expectations can become demands

There is nothing wrong with asking God for help. The Psalms are full of people calling for rescue, justice, and deliverance.

The problem comes when my request turns into a definition of who God must be.

I can begin with a real wound and quietly move toward an ultimatum: if Jesus loves me, he will handle this person the way I want him to. If he is King, he will secure the outcome I have identified as victory.

That may leave very little room for him to address my own heart.

What if the person I want defeated is someone he tells me to love? What if following him requires relinquishing the right to retaliate? What if peace involves a truthful, difficult conversation instead of assembling a larger team against someone?

That does not mean injustice should be ignored. Jesus confronts evil. Nor does forgiveness eliminate wise boundaries or the need for protection.

But his kingdom will not let me make revenge holy simply by attaching his name to it.

The tears change the scene

As Jesus approaches the city, Luke tells us that he weeps over it.

A celebration is happening, but the King is grieving. He speaks about the peace the city has failed to recognize and the devastation ahead.

That is an important part of this picture. Jesus' response is not smug satisfaction that people who misunderstand him will finally get what is coming to them. His words are a warning spoken through tears.

I need that correction.

It is possible to be right about another person's spiritual danger and wrong in the posture from which I speak. I can notice confusion, hypocrisy, or pride and begin to enjoy my distance from it.

Jesus makes me ask whether my heart is breaking or merely congratulating itself.

Jonah on the hill, or Jesus over the city?

The contrast reminds me of Jonah. After Nineveh responds to God's warning, Jonah is angry about the mercy shown to people he regards as enemies.

He would rather see the city destroyed than share in God's compassion for it.

Jesus also looks toward a city. But he weeps.

Those two scenes make an uncomfortable mirror. When I look at people who seem far from God, which posture comes more naturally? Am I hoping they discover mercy, or waiting for a public failure that confirms my opinion?

I can do this with an individual. I can do it with another church. I can do it with whole groups of people I only know through headlines.

The King who brings peace asks me to let his compassion interrupt that instinct.

Let him enter the part you are defending

We sometimes imagine welcoming Jesus as a single dramatic moment. But his lordship reaches into ordinary places: a family disagreement, a workplace rivalry, the way I speak about someone online, the story I tell about a person who disappointed me.

The question is not merely whether I would cheer for him on the road. It is whether I will follow the direction he takes.

His peace is more than winning an argument or making everybody who troubles me disappear. He reconciles us to God and forms a people whose lives begin to reflect that reconciliation.

I do not always want that as much as I want vindication. Admitting it is a useful beginning.

Bring him the hurt. Bring him the desire for justice. Bring him the resentment too.

Then leave room for the possibility that the King you need will challenge the side you have asked him to take.