Palm Sunday: All Wrong, But It's All Right

The Palm Sunday church service yesterday proceeded like a play that's gone all wrong, with characters missing their cues, lines being flubbed and awkward silences.

The service began well enough with a blessing and procession into the church as people received strips of palm to commemorate the arrival of Jesus into Jerusalem and how the people hailed him. Like a well-written screenplay, it's the second act where Jesus is the hero, but then disaster strikes as he shakes up the establishment. (At the beginning of the third act, his apostle, Judas, betrays him and he is crucified. As is any good script, when it looks like all hope is lost and Jesus dies, he is resurrected in the next scene three days later.)

Anyway, once the procession ended, the youth were to read the lines of how the apostles turned away as Jesus was being tried. They mispronounced a slew of words. It was embarrassing. Adults turned and looked at each other. It was like having your own children make a mistake in the school play. During the rest of the service, there were parts in which adults also stumbled.

After the sermon, given by a retired priest affiliated with the church, the guest priest told the congregation that the Rector was away because his mother had died. He also spoke of two other parishioners who'd died that week and reminded the congregation about their funerals. When he asked if there were visitors or newcomers in the crowd, nearly half a dozen people and couples took turns saying who they were, where they were from, and who they were visiting. The last to speak was the daughter of one of the parishioners who'd died. She said she had been there to take care of her dad at the end of his life.

After the service, people rushed to her side to comfort her and to make her feel welcome. It was then that the service felt right. It reminded me of how in fellowship we are one big family, sometimes disfunctional, but there for each other just the same. I also thought of my grandmother, who died in the spring, and my aunt who had died at age 32 on Good Friday, and my grandfather who had died shortly after.

Thanks to Jesus' death and resurrection, the sting was taken out of those events, eventually replaced with peace and understanding that they do live on.