Today is Selection Sunday.
If you are a college basketball fan, this is the day where you learn if your team is in or out of the Big Dance. The day where the committee decides which teams are worthy to play in the 65+ team field.
And if you’ve experienced March Madness before, you know anything is possible.
Did you know the first selection Sunday occurred 3,455 years ago—at approximately 1441 BC? Now, I’m not talking basketball anymore obviously. In Exodus 12, we find God’s people, the Israelites, trapped as slaves in Egypt for over 400 years.
And God hears their cries and he shares his rescue plan with his people. He orders them to select a one-year old male lamb without defect. After four days, they are to slaughter it, eat it, and smear its blood above their doorposts.
Picking it up in verse 12, God says, “On that same night I will pass through Egypt and strike down every firstborn of both people and animals, and I will bring judgment on all the gods of Egypt. I am the LORD. The blood will be a sign for you on the houses where you are, and when I see the blood, I will pass over you. No destructive plague will touch you when I strike Egypt.”
He orders them to select a lamb every year, sacrifice it, and eat it in remembrance of God saving them. And you know the rest of the story—God passes over his people, sends a plague upon Egypt, and sets his people free.
Fast forward about 1500 years and we arrive in Jerusalem. We find Jesus and his disciples going to the temple to celebrate the anniversary of deliverance. To celebrate the Passover.
Imagine with me Matthew 21:1-11 and the triumphal entry from a little different perspective…
15 year old Sam woke up with excitement. The day had finally come. Overflowing with anticipation, he set his feet on the ground and said a prayer, “God, thank you for rescuing us from Egypt. Thank you for setting us free from slavery. Thank you for sparing your people. Thank you for hearing our cries. Thank you for passing us over.”
And like a good Jewish boy, he readied himself for his six mile walk to Bethlehem. “Are you ready?” he asked his father. “Son, I meant to tell you,” the father explained, “Since you are a young man now, I think you should go to Bethlehem by yourself this year. I have some things I need to take care of.”
Sam replied, “But how will I know which one to choose?” His father cut him off, “You’ll know son. You’ll know.” Strapping on his helmet and sword, the father hugged his son and headed out on a mission.
Sam loved his Dad. He admired his passion for the Jewish people. He was zealous. In fact, his father and his friends were called zealots—because at certain times of the year, especially Passover, they would get extra zealous.
They would revolt against the Roman rule and try to overthrow their regime with force. Political freedom is what they longed for. In fact, many Jews would actually step up and claim to be Messiahs. Sam feared his Dad’s passion for his people was out of control.
And so Sam, on a beautiful, crisp sunny morning, set out by himself on a mission. To find a lamb. And not just any lamb. While he walked, Sam repeated to himself, “One-year old male. Unblemished. One year old male. Unblemished.” For this was the Lord’s requirement.
The Passover feast was just four days away and he felt the weight of responsibility to select the perfect lamb for his family. And so he set off for Bethlehem—where all the lambs came from.
As he made his way out of Jerusalem, he walked briskly. The streets were crawling with Roman soldiers. They were preparing for the annual Jewish uprising. Sam worried he would never see his Dad alive again.
As he stepped outside the walls of the city and began to walk towards Bethlehem, he heard something. Shouting. Yelling. Singing. A commotion like never before. “Oh no,” he thought, “The zealots are at it again.”
As he walked up the hill towards the Mount of Olives, someone handed him a palm branch and he took it—clueless about what was happening. He laid it on the road like everyone else. He looked up the hill and noticed the road was completely covered with palms and cloaks.
He remembered his Dad telling him about this tradition. Covering the path of someone was a way to honor them. It signified triumph and victory.
He took a coin out of his pocket and gazed at the engraved palm branch. The palm branches were not a symbol of peace and love, they were a symbol of Jewish nationalism, an expression of the people’s desire for political freedom. “My Dad must be nearby,” Sam thought.
He could barely hear himself think—people were yelling at the top of their lungs, “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the King of Israel.” “Who are they talking about?” Sam asked the man next to him.
The man replied, “Well, it’s our king. The one to save us from the Romans. We have been waiting for him a long time!” He recognized the word “Hosanna” as a slogan his Dad used a lot, which meant, “Please save us! Give us freedom! We’re sick of these Romans!”
“Someone else claiming to be the Messiah,” Sam thought. “What if it was my Dad?” he thought.
And then he saw him. He saw the one people were yelling about. But it didn’t make sense. Warring kings rode horses, not donkeys. Warring kings adorned themselves with gold, not dirty garments.
Even though this man was the center of attention, it didn’t seem like he wanted to be. As the man drew closer, Sam saw something on his cheek. There were tears. But kings didn’t cry. And if they did it was never in public.
Sam looked at the donkey—hunched over just like the man riding it. Immediately, Sam realized something. He remembered that the donkey is the symbol of peace. And he tried to tell the man next to him, “He is coming to wage peace, not war!”
One man walking right next to Jesus yelled joyfully in a loud voice, “He raises the dead, makes the blind see, the deaf hear, the lame walk, and he even calms storms! Behold, the Lamb of God!”
Sam stopped in his tracks. His heart skipped a beat. What was that? “The lamb of God?” Suddenly he sensed he wasn’t supposed to go to Bethlehem. He would postpone his trip. Besides, it seemed like everyone else was. “Dad would understand,” he thought. He followed the man on the donkey. And the more he gazed at him, the more he reminded him of a lamb.
They walked through the Sheep’s gate and into Jerusalem. “What a coincidence?” Sam thought. “Someone claiming to be the lamb of God, on lamb selection day, passing through the Sheep’s Gate—the traditional entrance all Jews brought their selected lambs through.” “What if he was from Bethlehem?” Sam thought out loud. “Actually, he was born there,” someone nearby explained.
Sam felt something amazing was happening. There were too many incredible coincidences. He was too curious. He didn’t want to miss out. So he kept following. And he couldn’t take his eyes off that lamb…
Friends, we are all on the road. We have a responsibility. A mission. To select a lamb.
Which one will we choose? Will we keep walking to Bethlehem—or will we realize Bethlehem has come to us?
What kind of king are we looking for? Are we ready for a different kind of king?
He is the king of kings and the lord of lords, but he is the prince of peace—gentle and riding on a donkey.
Do we see him? Do we know him? The lamb of God?
Like a father releases his bride, our Father in Heaven has released His lamb. His only lamb. For you and I. Our hearts go pitter patter as the lamb draws towards us.
For he is simple, shorn, silent, and spotless. The perfect and permanent substitute.
We are undeserving of such spotless love. But the lamb comes anyway—and the Father entrusts us with His one and only.
So may our eyes be fixed on the lamb.
And may we know His blood was poured out on the cross so we might receive the forgiveness of sins. So we might cry out, “Hosanna!” Not because He has saved us from the world, but from our sins.
And may we discover that the more we watch the lamb, the more we become like Him.