There’s this one verse at the end of the story of the Triumphal Entry in Mark 11 – that seems like it might be a throw away line. Honestly, I’ve probably read the story tens of times, and I can’t remember thinking anything of it, in any of the times I have. Maybe it’s because it seems inconsequential, or maybe it’s because the story feels over already; but in any case, like all of scripture, it’s probably there for a reason. It reads like this; 

Mark 11:11 (ESV) – And he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple. And when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve. 

As I was reading the story this time, it stuck out to me like a sore thumb. I didn’t really remember, or perhaps even know, that after all the pomp and circumstance, after the palms and the parade – when His followers and disciples were probably busy eating, drinking and being merry – Jesus took time alone, and went into the temple to look around. 

Why is this so significant that Mark (probably Peter telling him) thought it merited space in his version of the story? I think the answer is this. The events of Holy Week are incredibly calculated. Things happen on purpose, with purpose, and for a purpose. Seemingly nothing is unplanned or by chance. There is symbolism and prophetic fulfillment running rampant at all times. The events are usually big, bold and memorable. Lots to see, more to hear, and it’s all designed to grab your attention and never let go. Big entrances into the capital city. Flipping over tables in the temple. Cursing fig trees and returning to see them dead in the morning. And then there’s the Last Supper, sweating blood in the garden, a betrayal, a trial, and the crucifixion of God’s only Son. It doesn’t get much bigger than that, now does it? 

And yet, every so often, hidden right there in the text, there are little moments when you see the humanity of Jesus play out in ways that prove it was really there. I can imagine – when you know what’s coming – after all the clamoring and colt riding of the day, we’d all be tempted to step away and collect ourselves. And that’s what Jesus does. Knowing full well that tomorrow is going to include a trip to the temple, and an epic sized ruckus – He steps in and surveys the land. 

But I believe that this moment was about more than just that. More than just a look around. More than just a minute away from Peter and John. It strikes me that it was kind of like this; 

If you’ve ever lost someone you love, and been to a wake the day before the funeral, there comes a moment when everyone has gone, it’s just you and your family, or maybe even just you. In that moment the room is quiet. Or maybe you’re sitting in your car alone, in an equal kind of solitude, and the gravity of the situation really hits you. Tomorrow will be hard, and it will be the first step towards a life that you’re unsure you know how to live. 

I think in those minutes in the temple, that’s how Jesus felt. That is what consumed His thoughts.

“Tomorrow will be hard. And every day after that.” 

This is why we read the line. This is why it can’t be thrown away. Sure it’s Palm Sunday. Yes, the day seemed tremendous and triumphant. But somewhere in the quiet and emptiness of the temple that night, Jesus is alone and praying a prayer we’ve all at one time prayed. 

“Father, give me the strength. I’m not sure that I can do this. I need you now more than ever.” 

This is not a throwaway line. It’s a window into the soul of a Savior.