Streams of Mercy

I joined the church on Palm Sunday the year I was in the sixth grade, at First Presbyterian in Harlan, KY. After weeks of study in what was then “Communicant’s Class,” the time had come! I remember my white dress with the tiny blue flowers, the scratchy crinoline that made little girls’ dresses stand out so pretty and full in those days; the new, shiny, black patent shoes that Mama would scuff on the sidewalk before I wore them, so I wouldn’t slip and fall. I remember the procession of palms, and how we laid them at the foot of the large wooden cross, already banked with dogwood or redbud or whatever was blooming at that time in the mountains. The choir sang “The Palms” every Palm Sunday!

I remember Palm Sundays at Ginter Park Presbyterian in Richmond, Virginia, during my seminary years. The entire congregation would gather on the church lawn to process in together, behind a team of liturgical dancers. The dancers’ carefully rehearsed “two steps forward, one step back” gave witness both to Jesus’ longing for that cup to pass, and his commitment to fulfilling his Father’s will. The women in the crowd shouted: “Hosanna! Hosanna!” and the men replied, “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!” This was shouted again and again as the gathered congregation made its way into the sanctuary.

I remember the community Palm Sunday processional in Rustburg, Virginia, making its way through the little village, following a donkey with a purple robe on its back. Choirs and ministers wore robes and stoles, confirmation classes from the Methodist and Presbyterian Churches walked together and carried banners, there were babies in strollers, folks in wheelchairs, and young children pulled in wagons. There was joyful singing as we walked along together, waving our palm branches. After breakfast together at that year’s host church, we went our separate ways to Sunday School, while the congregation providing the donkey that year got it safely back to pasture.

We all have our individual and personal memories of holy times and places and seasons that deepen and enrich our journeys of life and faith, and it’s important that we remember and share them.

We’ve come a long way since we began the journey on Ash Wednesday, with the solemn call to remember that we are dust, and to dust we shall return, as we received the smudge of ashes on our foreheads. As we began the Lenten journey that evening, little did we know of the coming “virtual” journey and “e-mail Palm Sunday Service” to come. Now we stand at the threshold of Holy Week.

The challenge before us is to embrace this Holy Week, and to enter into the drama of the passion by reading the Passion Story in each of the four gospels; in the gathering darkness, let us see the darkness in our own lives; in the anger and rejection suffered by the Lord Jesus, let us confront our own anger and deal with our own rejection; as we see Peter’s denial of Jesus, let us see our own. In those sleepy disciples who could not watch and pray in the garden, let us see ourselves. Let us see all the ways we contribute to the suffering of the Savior, and all the ways we are undeserving recipients of his love and grace. As the temple is cleansed, let’s ask the Lord to clear from our lives anything that keeps us from giving to Him His rightful place in each of our lives. Let’s look honestly at our own lives in light of his demonstration of humility and love, his sacrifice and truthfulness, his unselfishness and forgiveness. Holy Week will be “holy” for you and for me if we choose to embrace it, and let its events touch our lives.

As we journey through this Holy Week, may we see with eyes of faith the one who emptied himself, the one who humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross, so that at the name of Jesus, every knee should bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. (from Philippians 2)

Giving thanks for this Holy Week, and for those streams of mercy, never ceasing, carrying us through these uncertain days in to all that is to come.

Elizabeth