Today is Palm Sunday, April 13, 2014. As a child, this was such an exciting day for me. The junior choir generally sang, wearing our pretty little white robes. They may have had big bows, though I believe wings would have been more appropriate. It was expected of us to give our best, participate, and just be a part of the service. We were not humored nor cajoled -- it was just done. When we were finished, we quietly sat down with the rest of the congregation, except we had a couple pews reserved for us. Beyond the smiles and quiet pride of our families and friends, that was all the recognition we received. We may have been given a palm frond, though I don't recall, and I further imagine we wouldn't have been allowed to keep them during worship because that would have been too much like fun. Still, I recall the rehearsals, the other children, my brother, kids from our neighborhood and beyond, who shared these moments.
I don't attend church anymore. That doesn't make me any less of whatever it is that I am. Still, that's a whole other purgation for another day. Palm Sunday, for me, is about the messenger, the man who knew the reasons for our creation, the depths of our worth, the very nature of our being . . . His longing to tell the world, in all its selfish divisiveness, what it refused to acknowledge, because then we couldn't be all judgeyfied and better than. We are called to love and uphold each other. We are called to peace. We are called to goodness . . . to kindness . . . to be gentle, and tender -- not just with others, but with ourselves as well. He came to town not with a declaration of war and separation, but with a declaration of peace, hope, and love.
Today, I celebrate Palm Sunday, and its message in my heart, by upholding all those I love with a prayer of thanksgiving, of hope that their lives will be touched by peace, of remembrance and celebration.