Palms

Palms come in all shapes and sizes.

Swaying in the air to the rhythm of songs of praise and welcome outside the gates, palms initiate Holy Week. As a child, the palms signaled something new. Along with the music, which was lighter and brighter, there was a feeling of relief in the air. The dark days of Lent were over, I thought, and I used my palm to tickle my sister’s neck ever so lightly like a mosquito. That is, until my mother's glare reminded me the palms were holy symbols of a sacred day long ago.

Even then, though, I struggled to understand how the story could go from palms one minute, to a cross the next, how “Hosanna” could turn to “Crucify," how welcoming could become killing. Shaking my head as a child at “those people back then,” I now see how similar we all are.

Palms still come in all shapes and sizes.

We’re just as able to get caught up in the excitement, as they were then. We can lift our palms and shout praises as they did, even if only to be like others. We can also change our songs to shouts over night.

Denying it, keeps the week neat, tidy and safe. Admitting it, begins to unlock the deep mystery that makes the week Holy. 

Announcement

In the Christian liturgical calendar, we are approaching what is referred to as “Holy Week.” It is the time we remember the events of Jesus’ last week, beginning with Palm Sunday and ending with Easter. It is, without a doubt, the most theologically rich week of the year, and it invites us all to do more than buy Easter bonnets and make brunch reservations.

In an effort to walk through the week together, I will be sending a Brushstroke a day throughout the week. I do this not to overwhelm or annoy, just to offer a way to stay focused at a time when it is easy to go through the motions.

I hope you don’t mind.

The Miracle Happened Again

“This morning, the miracle happened again,” said the recovering alcoholic. “I woke up without the urge to drink.” It was something he says often, but this morning his perspective on his recovery, on life itself, struck me in a meaningful way.  

For him, each day is a new adventure. For him, each day is an opportunity for a new start. For him, each day is full of miracles happening, as if for the first time.

It's a perspective we all would do well to adopt, even if we don’t struggle with addiction. Today can be a new adventure, a new start, and an opportunity for the miracle to happen again, as if for the first time. Our miracles may vary, but they happen never the less, particularly if we have eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts to receive. 

Like the man in the meeting, we, too, can joyfully say: “Today, the miracle happened again . . .

We heard a child’s steps in her room upstairs.

We were able to walk.

We had a job.

We were forgiven.

We forgave.

We were able to see.

We were able to hear.

We loved.

We were loved.

We learned something.

We read something.

We took a walk in nature.

We had food to eat.

We slept in our own bed.

We were able to breathe.

We laughed.

We were touched, inspired, and/or surprised.

We noticed clouds.

We got to do something we loved.

We were able to pay our bills.

We called our parent.

We heard birds sing.

We were able to remember.

We created something new.

We felt someone’s hand in ours.”

Not a bad way to spend a day!