Many poets have tried to capture the profound tension. One attempt which speaks to me is in Clive Sansom’s poem, “The Donkey’s Owner,” in which he compares the pompous entry of Pilate to Jerusalem one day followed by the arrival of Jesus the next morning. (It is best read it with a working man’s accent like you might hear in the pub at outback Menindee or at ‘Young and Jackson’s’ in Melbourne):

THE DONKEY’S OWNER
Snaffled my donkey, he did --- good luck to him!
Rode him astride, feet dangling, near scraping the ground
Gave me the laugh of my life when I first saw him,
Remembering yesterday --- you know, how Pilate come
Bouncing the same road, on that horse of his
Big as a house and the armour shining
And half of Rome trotting behind him. Tight mouthed he was
Looking as if he owned the world.
Then today,
Him and my little donkey! Ha! Laugh ---?
I thought I’d kill myself when he first started.
So did the rest of them. Gave him a cheer
Like he was Caesar himself, only more hearty:
Tore off some palm twigs and followed shouting,
Whacking the donkey’s behind  . . .
Then suddenly
We see his face.
The smile had gone, and somehow the way he sat
Was different --- like he was much older --- you know ---
Didn’t want to laugh no more.

Powerful stuff. At first the donkey’s owner thinks it’s a just a laugh, but when he sees the face of Jesus, something profound spears at his heart: “Didn’t want to laugh no more.”