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Title: The Gentle Majesty of Christ
Scripture: Zechariah 9:9
Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion!
Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem!
Behold, your King is coming to you;
righteous and having salvation is he,
humble and mounted on a donkey,
on a colt, the foal of a donkey.
The prophet lifts the curtain on a scene that would not grace imperial banners: a King who chooses a young beast of burden for His throne. Earthly monarchs measure majesty by the thunder of cavalry and the gleam of armor, but the King of heaven measures it by meekness. His coronation procession is not stained with the blood of conquered foes but saturated with the blood He will soon shed for His enemies—us included.
This is no weak sentimentality; it is fiercer than any warrior’s rage. True gentleness is not the absence of power but power under perfect control. Christ’s restraint is the most muscular display of sovereignty imaginable: He who flung stars into space now reins in the legions of His wrath, choosing instead to absorb wrath in Himself. Here is a King whose conquest is forgiveness, whose sword is mercy, whose victory parade ends at a skull-shaped hill.
Let the picture rebuke our craving for swaggering Christianity. We court the world’s methods—platform, prestige, coercion—while our King enters lowly, asking only for room in the colt’s borrowed stall. The gospel spreads not through Christian celebrity but through disciples who, like their Lord, refuse to break a bruised reed or quench a smoldering wick. The louder the culture shouts, the more we lean into quiet confidence that the meek inherit the earth because the Meek One already owns it.
Today, measure your strength by what you could have crushed yet chose to bless. When the co-worker’s sarcasm begs for a sharper retort, answer with patience; when social media invites you to brandish truth like a cudgel, dismount from high rhetoric and walk on colt-level ground. In so doing you ride with the King, and every gentle word is palm branch strewn on His path.
Prayer:
King Jesus, dethrone my pride; make me lowly enough to bear You into places that know only noisy tyranny. Let Your quiet righteousness ride through my conversations, my parenting, my unseen thoughts, until the world sees Your gentleness and finds in it the might that saves. Amen.
