Palm Sunday

It is Palm Sunday today. There are a few observations I have about this day from the sublime to the well, you can decide if they are ridiculous or not.

The church I am a member of uses the observation of this particular Sunday to process. We gather someplace other than the sanctuary, grasp and grapple with our palm fronds, hear the story of Palm Sunday and then begin the trek to the worship area singing a capella "All Glory Laud and Honor, to Thee Redeemer King." Most of us are usually off key and a stanza slow when we finally arrive up the steps wheezing, holding our palms aloft and straggling to a pew. We muffle our voices somewhat to find out what stanza the rest of the well-rested congregation is singing (these are the people who didn't want to process because they are: a)too old, b)too young (and are being held by their tired looking mommies and daddies) or c)too smart to want to climb those steps and be all out of breath by the time they get to the pew). The service continues after we all get up there as though we started from the same place.

I am reminded that years and years ago, the Sunday School, when it was still a robust and lively program used to encourage bringing in Spring flowers for a Styrofoam shaped cross. Some older ladies would arrange the beautiful daffodils and tulips onto the cross form and it would precede us up the steps to the sanctuary. The tradition began to fall off though, as attendance began to lag and as children didn't bring in real flowers, they brought in plastic ones and the cross began to look, well, fake--which of course it was by then. In the gathering area this year before the actual reading of the lesson began, the palms were just sort of plopped on an old piano bench. I noticed that they were not individual fronds necessarily, they were sort of clumped together and I began to separate them. Maybe I was thinking that there would be a run on them or something and we wouldn't have enough (that never happens). So I began to separate them. Soon we had several people doing this chore and I began to think about when we were kids going to the Palm Sunday Service at our old church. The leaves/fronds whatever they're called seemed stiffer then. Better for jabbing out eyes or tormenting smaller children in the pew in front of you. I decided that I wouldn't separate any more, why should today's children not be subjected to the same torments as I as a child? Several people in our congregation know how to make those beautiful crosses by criss-crossing the stems into braided works of art. I don't how to do that. I always put mine on the top of a picture frame in the dining room and forget they are there until the middle of the summer. They're wickedly sharp by then, but my siblings live too far away to torture and they would probably look at me strangely if I tried (well, okay, they look at me strangely anyway--but not because of that).

We do a kind of re-enactment of the entire Passion during the service. It was pointed out that we began doing this to remind us of the week ahead, so we won't forget it was just a triumphal entry, but an ending as well. I read a devotional that said the person was kind of annoyed with this practice. I had to agree. Palm Sunday was always cheerful amidst the cool breezes heralding Easter and Spring. As a child we celebrated it with a nice dinner and fond thoughts of that little donkey with that big guy (yeah, you know, Jesus) sitting on him. I liked the warm fuzzy of that without the reminder that this week was not a picnic to be him (yeah, Jesus--stay with me here). But I know we need to be reminded what this Sunday and the rest of the week is about.

So Happy Palm Sunday, everyone. Only one more week of giving up whatever you gave up for Lent. Only one more week and then it's Easter! The time for a big dinner and warm thoughts about the big guy, yeah, you know Jesus.