The General Who Walked

In September 1945, when Douglas MacArthur arrived in Tokyo to accept Japan's formal surrender, his aides prepared a convoy of armored vehicles, flags snapping from every fender. MacArthur waved them off. He climbed into an ordinary sedan — no stars on the hood, no motorcycle escort — and rode through streets lined with two million Japanese citizens who expected a conqueror draped in the trappings of total victory. Instead, they saw an unarmed man in a simple khaki uniform, open-collared, without even a sidearm. The message was unmistakable: I have not come to crush you. I have come to rebuild.

The ancient world understood this language instinctively. A king mounted on a war horse was announcing conquest. A king seated on a donkey was declaring peace. When Zechariah proclaimed that Israel's true King would arrive "righteous and having salvation, lowly and riding on a donkey," he was describing a ruler whose strength would not be measured in chariots or cavalry. This King would dismantle the weapons of war — the battle bow cut off, peace spoken to the nations — not because He lacked power, but because His power operated on an entirely different frequency.

Every empire in history has announced itself with a show of force. The God of Israel announced His reign on the back of a borrowed colt, and in doing so redefined what it means for a King to save His people.