John 12:13 NIV They took palm branches and went out to meet him, shouting, ‘Hosanna!’ ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!

[04/13/2025; Sony A6400]

Today is Palm Sunday, and while I’m now back in England, after church I took some time to reflect on the quick trip I just spent in Berlin for this devotional. It was my 3^rd time in Germany, but 1^st time in Berlin. I landed at Berlin Brandenburg Airport with just enough time to catch my breath before heading into the city. After settling into my hotel and grabbing my camera, I stepped out eager to begin exploring. 

My first stop was the Berlin Wall Memorial Museum, a place I had long wanted to visit. As I walked through the quiet exhibits and open-air memorials, the weight of history pressed in gently, yet unmistakably. Concrete slabs and faded photographs stood as stark reminders of division, of stories interrupted, of people separated by walls—both physical and ideological. I didn’t know it yet, but these scenes would linger in my spirit as I remembered another crowd, another city, and another kind of King, welcomed by a crowd with palm branches crying out “Hosanna.” 

After visiting the Berlin Wall Memorial, I returned to my hotel to regroup. I hadn’t eaten all day, so I grabbed a quick bite and tried currywurst for the first time, a Berlin specialty with a spicy curry/ketchup-smothered sausage that somehow felt just right for a cold Berlin afternoon. With some warmth back in me, I set out again, this time for Checkpoint Charlie, a place steeped in the tension, symbolism, and uncertainty of the Cold War. 

Checkpoint Charlie wasn’t just a border crossing; it was the face of the Iron Curtain. It was here, on November 4th, 1989, that over half a million East Berliners gathered in the streets of East Berlin to demand change. In the days that followed, the pressure on the East German government became unbearable. Then came the chaotic, history-shifting announcement on November 9^th, 1989: the travel restrictions between East and West Berlin were to be lifted. It was meant to go into effect the next day and crossings guards still had orders to shoot on sight but that night, thousands gathered at the checkpoints and the border guards became overwhelmed and for the first time in nearly three decades, East and West Berliners crossed freely. Strangers embraced like family. Some climbed the wall and began to tear it down with their bare hands. The Iron Curtain had cracked open, and within a year, Germany would be reunified. 

It’s wild to think that just 28 years earlier, on August 13, 1961, the city had been cut in two overnight. Families were separated, lives were lost trying to cross the border, and freedom became a memory for so many. In October of that same year, the world teetered on the edge of nuclear disaster, as American and Soviet tanks faced each other at this very checkpoint for 16 tense hours. Thankfully, slowly, both sides backed down, inch by inch, from what could have been a nuclear apocalypse. 

As I stood there, I couldn’t help but feel the tense air, not just the politics, but the human cost. Crowds gathered at Checkpoint Charlie longing for freedom, pressing toward a future they could barely believe was possible. Centuries earlier in Jerusalem, a different kind of crowd once gathered—waving palm branches instead of passports, crying “Hosanna!”. They were hoping for liberation too—not just from Rome, but from fear, oppression, and silence. 

John 12:13 tells us: “They took palm branches and went out to meet him, shouting, ‘Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!’” 

Hosanna (הצילו אותנו). is a Hebrew word that means save us, it is also an exclamation of praise towards God 

As I left Checkpoint Charlie and made my way back through the city, I couldn’t stop thinking about that word—Hosanna (הצילו אותנו). It echoed not just in the pages of Scripture, but in the voices of all who have ever longed for something more. In Jerusalem, they cried it to a man riding a donkey, hoping He would bring them freedom. Sometimes the walls aren’t made of concrete but are built from unforgiveness, insecurity, pride, or pain. We may not live in a divided city, but how many of us live with divided hearts? How often do we block off parts of ourselves from others—or even from God—because it feels safer that way?  He doesn’t force His way in. He doesn’t ride in on a warhorse or tanks or show up with legions of angels. 
He shows up humbly on a donkey through a gate into a city, into a story, and into our hearts. 

There’s a line in Hillsong United’s song Hosanna that brings me chills every time:  

“Break my heart for what breaks Yours / Everything I am for Your Kingdom’s cause.” 

It’s more than a worship lyric—it’s a prayer. A letting-go. A cry for peace. 
Because Palm Sunday isn’t only about remembering a moment in history—it’s about welcoming Jesus in again and again, and asking Him to break down anything in us that keeps Him out. In Romans there is a verse that tells us that we can change the person we are by changing the way that we think. I want to change the way that I think so drastically that sin no longer looks appealing to me, and that I view sin in a way that breaks my heart just as it breaks His “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.” 
— Romans 12:2 (NIV) 

So as we begin Holy Week, maybe that’s the invitation: 
To look honestly at the walls we’ve built. 
To whisper “Hosanna” not just with our lips, but with our lives. 
To let the King of peace walk right into our chaos—not with force, but with love. 

He didn’t just come to a city. He came to hearts.

Closing: 

As I reflect on Palm Sunday through the lens of Berlin’s history—of walls raised and walls torn down—I’m reminded that Jesus is still in the business of crossing barriers. Not with power plays or political force, but with presence. With compassion. With a cross on His back. 

The people in Jerusalem cried out for rescue. The people of Berlin pressed forward, desperate for freedom. And today, you and I still whisper that same ancient word: Hosanna (הצילו אותנו).. Save us. 

Maybe this Holy Week, Jesus is asking us to lay down more than palm branches. Maybe He’s asking us to lay down pride, fear, unforgiveness, or distraction—whatever keeps us from truly letting Him in. 

He came gently then. He still comes gently now. 

And the walls in our lives? 
They don’t stand a chance when Love walks in. 

 
As you enter this Holy Week, ask yourself: 
“What am I still holding onto that Jesus may be inviting me to surrender and what might change if I actually let Him in?” Please share in the comments! 

💎