When the moment came, he rode the mule.
Not the warhorse, not the chariot, not the thundercloud. He rode the low beast of burden—the foul-smelling, knee-knocked, undesired transport of peasants and prophets. And he rode it like a king.
This was Solomon, son of David, crowned not by conquest but by לקח—a word that means not merely “to receive,” but to take, to seize, to lay hold with decision and intent.
Solomon did not inherit the throne passively. The throne was his by covenant, but covenants unattended decay into myths. It was Bathsheba who spoke, Nathan who moved, and Solomon who acted. Zadok anointed him by the spring of Gihon, and the same mule David had ridden in triumph now bore the weight of succession. The trumpet sounded, the people shouted, the usurper Adonijah fled. The kingdom was seized—not by bloodlust, but by holy timing and masculine courage.
He rode the ass and didn’t look back.
The ass is the Cross. It is obedience. It is wisdom.
To see the moment God that gives and seize it, in the Spirit. This is to follow the Man who hid Moses in the cleft. This is to taste the fire that made David rush the giant with a sling. This is the Breath that enters Dry Bones when prophets speak.
The world calls it pride. The coward will call it risk. The angels see the trust.
A Greater than Solomon
When his moment came, he too rode the ass and didn’t look back. He sent his disciples to find the colt tied in a place only he could have foreseen. He fulfilled what was written: “Behold, your King comes to you, lowly and riding on a donkey.”
He did not grasp the sword of Rome. He did not rally legions. He did not demand to be served. He came to serve. He came to die.
But do not mistake meekness for passivity.
He rode into Jerusalem knowing. Knowing he would weep. Knowing they would not see. Knowing that the cheers of “Hosanna” would become the screams of “Crucify.” And still he rode.
He looked back upon the vineyard he had planted, the holy city he had loved, and then he looked forward to the cross. He took the cup. He seized the burden. He gripped death by its snide grin and bore it down into his divine grave.
לקח—the taking of glory by the acceptance of the curse, the seizure of praise from God, by obedience to his discipline as love.
The throne is not contested. The rainbow arcs over Him, not as a symbol of tolerance but of covenant fulfilled. The thunder of Sinai and the tears of Eden meet in his voice over your baptism, which is not once, but always. And the earth is silent before him.
So Go: The King is Crowned
Stand in your holy place.
Go—ride what you’ve been given.
Go—seize not the day, for it is already at hand. So seize and seed the Kingdom’s inauguration by acclamation as the joyful rights and duties of a Christian.
This is not the hour to delay. This is the hour to rise and grasp the hand of the One who formed you as he reaches down to lift you up.
He rode the ass and didn’t look back. You—son of dust, heir of glory—fear not to do the same.
