Palm Sunday 2013

The Herefordshire countryside is looking bleak this morning: sheep huddled under the trees, dribbles of dirty snow along the verges and a cold grey sky overhead. It isn’t the kind of Palm Sunday we wanted. Is the Messiah we acclaim today the kind of Messiah we want, either? Do we want someone imposing, who will make us feel good about ourselves, or are we prepared to follow this rather ridiculous fellow on a donkey, who promises only that we must drink the cup that he drinks?

You choose.