Palm Sunday is a lot of work.
I don’t mean planning for it or soaking in the wild good of children processing with palms waving.
I mean it is hard emotional work, because it is so very real.
We begin worship singing the wild hopes of the gathered – now and then. Surely this Jesus will save us. We join in the singing of “Hosannas” and feel ourselves swept into the shout of it.
And then the rest of the story commences. The part about betrayals and silencing. The part about the slinking away of the hopeful and the firing up of the machine of fear prompting the very ones who shouted hope to shout death.
It’s hard work.
Because it is so real.
Newspapers are packed full of this drama as it unfolds day after day after day. We want our President, our mothers, our please-God-SOMEBODY to save us when all along the answer to our heart clamor can be found within and among us.
A figurehead who does all our work for us will never save us.
Jesus came to teach us a new way, a way grounded in the hard work of lived compassion and justice through our very selves and we seemed then and seem now to prefer that he would do the work for us. The work seems too hard.
It is. But we’re not alone in it. The power and presence that took to the back of a donkey is in our midst yet.
Oh, may we be a people who take to our hearts and actions the living of “Hosanna”.
The world is sore in need of a break from “Crucify”.