Palm Sunday Musings

When I lived in Atlanta, I was an “epistler” in my local Episcopal congregation. For those unfamiliar with the term, that means that I was one of the lay members who, in the Sunday service, read an assigned passage from a “letter” from the New Testament. That usually means a passage from a letter from St. Paul to one of the early Christian congregations, but it includes other letters as well.

During the time I was there, the Palm Sunday service included a processional replete with palm fronds and a dramatic reading of the Passion of the Christ performed by various members of the congregation. For three years, I had the honor of being the narrator, which means I stood behind the lectern looking out on those in attendance.

As is often true when multiple people are called on to perform extemporaneously in public, something unexpected happens, and during one of my days as narrator, it did. Just as the gentleman who’d been assigned the part of Jesus began to speak one of his lines, his cell phone rang. While people in the pews glanced around, I watched as he dug into the pocket of his sport coat, fumbling and finally turning it off, and it was all I could do not to laugh out loud. He regained his composure, spoke his lines, and we proceeded with appropriate solemnity, at least until I returned to my seat. A parishioner known for his occasional irreverence was sitting behind me and when I sat down, he leaned up and whispered in my ear. “I almost yelled, “Jesus! Answer your phone!” he said. I felt like Mary Tyler Moore at the funeral of Chuckles the Clown.

The humor of the moment didn’t change my sense of solemnity with respect to the occasion, however, nor, truthfully, does it ever. The messages of this remembrance stay with me throughout the year. Toward the end of the Passion Narrative comes the exchange between Pontius Pilate and the crowd, when he offers them the choice between Jesus and Barabbas: Which will he set free? Whom will he crucify? The “crowd,” made up of the whole congregation, stands and responds together, yelling for Barabbas to be freed and Jesus to be crucified.

From the narrator’s spot, it is a daunting experience—watching and listening as people who entered the nave just moments before carrying palms in celebration of the triumphant entry into Jerusalem stand and scream for Jesus to be crucified. I imagine it was the same for Jesus. And yet, I think he knew what was coming, even as he rode the donkey and people spread palm fronds in front of him.

I’ve thought of this experience many times in the past several years in relation to our current political environment. These days, I try to listen more often than I engage in the noise, but I don’t always succeed. It’s easy to get caught up in the fever, no matter which sides of which issues you find yourself on. In time, when we look back, will we wallow in the certainty that we yelled for Jesus to be freed?

I will leave you with this part of a poem by Dr. Lois Cheney, author of a book I have loved since I was 12, 50 years ago: God is No Fool.

Would we crucify Jesus today? It’s not a
rhetorical question for the mind to play
with.
I believe
We are each born with a body, a mind, a
soul, and a handful of nails.
I believe
When we die, no one ever finds
any nails left,
clutched in our hands
or stuffed in our pocket.

Have a blessed day and stay safe.

V