Palm Sunday

Dear Lord,
I dread it.
The planning (or lack of it)
Children speaking different languages,
Unsure of what I mean when
I wave a palm branch in front of them
and invite them to join the palm parade.
We sit in a clump as we wait for the right time to enter the sanctuary.
Together we practice saying "Hosannah!"
Me encouraging them to be loud,
knowing the silence that will overcome even the boldest child,
in the large sanctuary.
A girl dressed all in pink begins to wander
The older children begin to scheme, perhaps consider a get-away
We pass out the palm branches, discouraging sword fights
There is some excitement
It is fun to wave the branches after all
Finally, it is time to line up and head up the stairs
More waiting on the stairs (how long can one organ piece be?)
Here we go! Cheerios carefully hoarded from Sunday school spill to the floor.
The sanctuary seems so big, so full,
what does it look like to children used to worship in a refugee camp?
They lift their palms in praise, in abandon, in triumph
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!

Amen.

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