Whenever I think of Palm Sunday, I am reminded of the church I grew up in. Every year, when I walked through the doors on Palm Sunday, someone would greet me and give me a palm branch. And it was a reminder that this was no ordinary Sunday; but it marked the beginning of the holiest week of the year. Everything in the past five weeks has been building up to this moment, so if you are here this morning, it’s no accident, because this is Holy Week, the Passion Week, a time of deep reflection, transformation, and new beginnings.

Before we dive into our text this morning, I want to ask you something to help you enter into the text before us.

Have you ever been right next to something, standing close enough to touch it, and still not recognize what it was?

Have you ever looked at something and completely missed it, failing to catch its meaning because it was so familiar?

That’s exactly what happened on the first Palm Sunday, and it’s often what happens in many of our lives. And so, today I believe the Holy Spirit wants to open your eyes as we look at the gospel of Mark at the eleventh chapter. Reading at verse one:

“As they approached Jerusalem and came to Bethphage and Bethany at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two of his disciples, saying to them, ‘Go to the village ahead of you, and just as you enter it, you will find a colt tied there, which no one has ever ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, “Why are you doing this?” say, “The Lord needs it and will send it back here shortly” (Mark 11:1-3).

“They went and found a colt outside in the street, tied at a doorway. As they untied it, some people standing there asked, "What are you doing, untying that colt?" They answered as Jesus had told them to, and the people let them go” (Mark 11:4-6).

And what strikes me about this moment is that Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem, aware of the cross ahead and carrying the weight of the world's salvation on his shoulders. Amid all that, he knew about a small colt tied in a doorway in the nearby village. It had never been needed, and no one had ever ridden it, but Jesus knew exactly where it was and had a purpose for it that no one passing by could see.

He told his disciples, if anyone asks you, 'Why are you untying that colt?’, tell them,

“The Lord needs it” (Mark 11:3).

Notice, it’s not the strongest donkey in town, nor a prize stallion from the temple stables, but it’s that one. You know, the one that nobody has ever ridden, the one that has been tied there with no apparent purpose, no clear future; that is the one the Lord has need of.

Some of you thought you were neglected, even rejected. But the truth is, you were reserved.

For example, when you go to a restaurant and want to sit at a certain table, but the sign says reserved, you're not being rejected. That table has been set aside for someone specific, for a specific purpose, at a specific time.

The colt thought he was stuck, but he was reserved. In fact, the prophet Zechariah had already written,

"See, your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey" (Zechariah 9:9).

The colt's condition was not an accident. God had him right there, tied in that place, for a purpose no one who passed by could recognize.

There may be someone here this morning who has been tied in place, watching everyone else move, wondering why God has not released you yet. But you are not forgotten. You are not overlooked. You are reserved. The Lord has need of you.

It was that same colt, now freed and carrying his King, that rode right into one of the most misunderstood moments in all of Scripture. When Jesus entered Jerusalem, the people were waiting, and the street erupted. They threw down their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees to spread in the path. They cried out:

"Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David! Hosanna in the highest!" (Mark 11:9-10).

That word, "Hosanna," means "save us now." And they meant it with everything they had because Jerusalem was controlled by the Romans. These people were oppressed in their own land, their own history, their own city, and Rome had a rope around their neck. They were desperate when Jesus came healing the sick, raising the dead, and riding into their city like a king. So, yes, they shouted, waved, and spread their coats on the road.

But here is what they did not see: they were singing 'Hosanna, save us now,' to the only one who could truly answer that prayer, yet they failed to recognize him.

In other words, they saw a political liberator. They expected him to take the throne, overthrow Rome, and restore the kingdom. They were crying out to a king they thought they recognized, but they had no idea who was truly passing by. It was the Lord, the Creator of the universe, the Lamb of God, the one who would purchase their salvation with his own blood, who was passing right through their praise, and they were cheering for the wrong story.

Jesus had to walk through all of that, the waving palms and shouting, through all their expectations, all the while knowing he was headed somewhere they could not yet see. He was walking toward a cross, but they were shouting about a crown. He was going to Calvary, but they thought he was going to the palace.

Too often, we repeat the same pattern. We boast about crowns but face crosses. When the cross appears, we rebuke it, cover it with the blood, anoint with oil, yet it remains standing before us because we haven't yet realized that the cross is part of God’s plan to lead us to where he is taking us. God hasn't forgotten your crown; the path to it simply goes through a cross.

But here is the deeper issue: the crowd on Palm Sunday failed to recognize who Jesus truly was, and that failure is not just their story. It serves as a warning for all of us because the same lack of recognition that prevented the crowd from understanding the triumphant entry is the same failure that Scripture warns us about at the communion table. These two events are more connected than they seem.

A few days after riding into Jerusalem, Jesus gathered his disciples in an upper room for the Passover meal. They had celebrated this feast their entire lives. They knew every element—the bread, the cup, the familiar rhythm of a meal they had observed since childhood. Their minds and hearts had been wired from birth to recognize these symbols in a specific way. They represented the Lamb whose blood was painted on the doorpost in Egypt, the night they were passed over and their people were set free. It was holy. It was sacred. It was deeply familiar.

But then, Jesus did something that must have hushed the room. He picked up the bread,

“And when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, 'This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me” (1 Corinthians 11:24).

Then he took the cup and said:

“This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me” (1 Corinthians 11:25).

With just one piece of bread and one cup, Jesus shattered generations of tradition. He took the oldest, most familiar elements of their worship and gave them entirely new meaning. He was not discarding the old; he was fulfilling it. The Passover lamb had always been a shadow pointing to this moment. The substance had now arrived. And in order to receive it, they had to recognize what was standing right in front of them.

This is what revelation does: it takes something you've looked at a hundred times and opens your eyes to see it as if for the first time. It doesn’t give you something entirely new; it gives you new eyes for what has always been there. And recognition, truly seeing what is right in front of you, is the hinge on which everything else turns.

The apostle Paul understood this with great urgency. Writing to the church at Corinth, he said:

“For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes” (1 Corinthians 11:26).

“Therefore, whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of sinning against the body and blood of the Lord. A man ought to examine himself before he eats of the bread and drinks of the cup. For anyone who eats and drinks without recognizing the body of the Lord eats and drinks judgment on himself” (1 Corinthians 11:26-29).

Without discerning. Without recognizing. That is the warning. Paul is saying that it is possible to hold the bread in your hand, to raise the cup to your lips, to go through the motions of communion, and completely fail to recognize what you are holding. You can be right next to the greatest blessing of your life and miss it entirely because you do not recognize it for what it is.

And this isn’t just about communion; it’s also the story of the very first Palm Sunday. It’s the story of Joseph’s brothers, who came to Egypt starving during a famine and stood face-to-face with the man who could save them—their brother Joseph—yet they didn't recognize him. They needed what he had; he was right in front of them. But they were blind to his identity, and until that changed, the blessing couldn’t flow. The Bible says that,

“Joseph saw his brothers, he recognized them… but they did not recognize him” (Genesis 42:7-8).

This is the story the apostle John tells us at the very beginning of his gospel.

“He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him” (John 1:10-11).

The creator of the universe walked among his creation, and they did not recognize him. He came to his own people, and they could not see who he was. Not because the truth was hidden, but because they were not wired to receive it.

Imagine the disciples in a boat late at night during a storm, in the middle of a lake. Mark tells us that after a long day of watching Jesus heal the sick and feed the crowds, he came walking toward them on the water.

"When they saw him walking on the lake, they thought he was a ghost. They cried out” (Mark 6:49).

In other words, they could recognize him in the sunshine, on the shore, in calm water, but they couldn’t recognize him in the storm, so they screamed because they were terrified.

And some of us are the same way. When life is steady, and things are going well, we know exactly where God is, but the moment the storm rises, we cry out in fear, not realizing he is walking straight toward us through the very thing that frightens us most. The prophet Isaiah declared that,

"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you" (Isaiah 43:2).

He isn't waiting for the storm to pass before he shows up. He's already there, in the middle of it, and the only question is whether or not we will recognize him.

Here's what we need to understand today. The enemy can't always prevent the blessing from coming your way, but if he can stop you from recognizing it, he achieves the same goal. If he can cloud your eyes so that you see the cross but not what it's accomplishing. If he can throw you into a storm and make you see a ghost instead of a Savior. If he can sit you at a table with bread and a cup in your hands and keep you from recognizing the Lord’s body, then the blessing is there, but you walk away empty.

That’s why Paul says,

“A man ought to examine himself” (1 Corinthians 11:28).

Not your neighbor, not the person beside you… yourself. Come to the table with open eyes and an open heart.

And so, this Palm Sunday morning, I want you to see the thread that runs from the dusty road into Jerusalem all the way to this table.

On the road to Jerusalem, a colt nobody recognized was waiting to carry a king nobody recognized into a city that was shouting his name without understanding its significance. The crowd cried,

“Hosanna, save us now” (Mark 11:9).

And they were right. They were shouting to the one person in the universe who could truly answer that prayer.

“At first his disciples did not understand all this” (John 12:16).

In other words, they couldn’t see clearly enough to realize it.

But just a few days later, that same Jesus sat at a table and picked up a piece of bread and said,

“This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me" (Luke 22:19).

Then he took a cup, saying,

“This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you” (Luke 22:20).

And a few days later, he emerged from a sealed tomb, breaking every chain, shattering every restriction, and defeating every enemy, so that every soul who opens their eyes and recognizes him as Lord can be completely and eternally set free.

The colt was tied at that doorway, not because he was forgotten, but because he was reserved; and Jesus loosed him for the greatest moment of his life.

There may be someone here listening this morning, and that might be your story. Maybe you've been stuck in one place, watching everyone else move on, wondering why God hasn't released you yet. Today, I want to reassure you that you are not forgotten or overlooked because the Lord sees you. He knows exactly where you are, and he's telling you today what he told that colt: the Lord has need of you.

You are not neglected. You are not being ignored. But you are reserved. And this communion table behind me is the proof.

This bread and this cup are not just a ceremony or tradition. They are a memorial of a body given and blood poured out specifically for you. When you receive these elements with eyes open and a heart that truly recognizes who he is and what he has done, something happens that goes beyond explanation. You proclaim his death. You declare that you recognize him as Lord. And in that recognition, there is redemption.

The crowd on Palm Sunday cried Hosanna, but did not fully understand what they were saying. They shouted salvation to the Savior without truly recognizing who he was. Today, we come to this table with eyes wide open. We declare our Hosanna because we know Jesus. He saved us, he freed us, and we will never be the same.

Graphics, notes, and commentary from LifeChurch, Ministry Pass, PC Study Bible, Preaching Library, and Sermon Central. Scripture from the New International Version unless otherwise noted.