Thursday, March 17, 2005
Palm Sunday Procession
OK, some things there are with which I struggle and processions are one of them. I don't know what it is, but the thought of walking across the parking lot yelling, "Hosanna in the Highest" while waving my palm branch in celebration of Jesus entering Jerusalem just doesn't sit well. I think the thing is that the real Palm Sunday was unexpected, extemporaneous, an outpouring of genuine love for the man Jesus, the Messiah in the flesh. How can we recreate the spontaneous outpouring of love that was Palm Sunday year after year after year. Please don't get me wrong, the love is there, obviously, in all of us... but it's like (for me) trying to recreate the excitement of new found love after many years of marriage.
I'm sure the re-creation of that romance, that blind, all-encompassing first wash of love, would be a good thing in any marriage, but can we recapture such moments by re-living them? At my next marriage anniversary should I take my wife to the lounge of some Dorm, buy us both some cheese crackers from the vending machine and watch a re-run of Gunsmoke? (You had to be there... and that's the point I'm trying to make.)
So, there you have it. I will process through the parking lot with my palm branch and I will think back to those days just after Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead and I will try to imagine what I would have done then. I will feel out of place because I am out of place. As my wife used to say about the cheese crackers, "It's the thought that counts."
I'm sure the re-creation of that romance, that blind, all-encompassing first wash of love, would be a good thing in any marriage, but can we recapture such moments by re-living them? At my next marriage anniversary should I take my wife to the lounge of some Dorm, buy us both some cheese crackers from the vending machine and watch a re-run of Gunsmoke? (You had to be there... and that's the point I'm trying to make.)
So, there you have it. I will process through the parking lot with my palm branch and I will think back to those days just after Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead and I will try to imagine what I would have done then. I will feel out of place because I am out of place. As my wife used to say about the cheese crackers, "It's the thought that counts."
