Like many children of the 1990s (and, I suspect, of many generations before), I found Palm Sunday to be one of the most fun days of the church. The children’s choir would gather on the porch, where we were handed long palm branches. The goal was always a sweet, melodic procession of children waving palms to the beat of “Hosanna, Sweet Hosanna.” The result was always palm sword-fights, broken stems, and mass chaos. But no matter what mayhem we caused, the congregation always beamed at our arrival, happy to see the tradition continue. Which, I think, is where I got the idea that everyone was happy to see Jesus. Our Palm Sunday liturgical practices were so steeped in praise that I missed entirely that the crowds in Jerusalem were not united in their acclaim. After all, I reasoned as a child, who wouldn’t be happy to see Jesus? Especially on a cute little donkey? But the Gospel of Matthew makes clear that not everyone was happy to see Jesus. In fact, the crowds that sing his praises seem to be the ones that have been gathering all along his ministry, or at least this latest leg of it. But inside Jerusalem, the emotional response is very different. “When he entered Jerusalem,” the gospel tells us, “the whole city was in turmoil.” In this year in particular, with new wars and new worries, old wounds and old evils, continuing division and intensifying distrust in our communal life, I find myself caught up in the word “turmoil.” The triumphal parade – with a humble leader and the cloaks strewn joyfully upon the road – seems like the fairytale, while a city, or church, or family, or world in turmoil is all too easy to imagine. This word itself, it turns out, is a key piece of vocabulary. ... Thank you to this week's writer, Carol Prickett Read the rest of the commentary at pres-outlook.org. |
No comments:
Post a Comment