Reflections on Palm Sunday

Palm Sunday.  The day we shout "Hosanna!"  The day we give praise to the Savior.  The day we realize, that Jesus is not just an ordinary man, but something much more.  We shout as loudly as we can, with as much emotion as we can possibly muster.  But, by Friday, just as passionately, we are shouting "crucify him!" 

I say we, because it is we who put the nails in his hands.  It is us, you and I, who hung him on the cross.  It is us who spat in his face.  It is us, in need of his grace.  It is you, it is me.

Palm Sunday-Hosanna!

How is it that on Sunday we can praise him?  Praise him to the point that we are as the Rev. describes it, "wildly chopping palm branches down."  We take off our coats and lay them on the dirty, dusty ground so that a donkey, an animal can walk over them.  How is it that on Sunday we praise him and by Friday we despise him?

I'm not sure, but whether we admit or not, we all do it.  Sure, we may not feel as if we despise him, but our actions say otherwise.  We gossip, we hate, we envy.  We keep the bountiful blessings He gives us to ourselves.  "It is my time, it is my money," we say.  I am as guilty as the next. 

We look at history, at the Holy Week in scriptures and pretend that we would not have been one of the traitors.  We pretend that we would not be one of "those people" who praised Him and then hated Him.  We do this in the same way we blame the Israelites for complaining about manna, all while impatiently waiting for the latest Facebook updates to load on our smartphones. 

Sinners, traitors, jealous and impatient, we are.  Not one of us deserves it, but all who ask receive it.  The gift of Grace.  The beautiful, incomprehensible gift of Grace.  Grace that we fail to extend to others, but continue to receive from the Father.

Today I watched my sweet boy and sweet girl exuberantly wave their palm branches and sing.  But, I know they too, are human.  They are sinful and as they age, as they learn to cope in this broken world, they will too, will despise him through their actions.  It breaks my heart to think of that.  It puts a knot in the pit of my stomach.  You see, Jesus came for me, for which I am eternally grateful, but he came for my children too, and as a mother that strikes an even deeper cord within me.

So, as Little E and KJ grow, as they turn their backs on Christ daily, just as the rest of us do, I also know that the story does not end there.  Because the week continues and culminates into a glorious ending.  They are, you are and I am saved.  Not because of our actions, but in spite of them.  And that, my friends, is worth shouting for.

Blessed Palm Sunday!