When he came near the place where the road goes down the Mount of Olives, the whole crowd of disciples began joyfully to praise God in loud voices for all the miracles they had seen: “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!”
Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Jesus, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples!”
“I tell you,” he replied, “if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.”
The children filed into our sanctuary today, holding their palms stiffly in front of them, the ‘tweens leading, self-conscious and uncomfortable. They wore the practiced bored looks of young people who want to look grown, and who don’t want to be stared at.
The littlest kids, the tiny tots, lagged behind in a herd, shepherded and cajoled by two kind churchwomen, one of whom finally scooped up my two-year-old, whose wandering eye and noncommittal pace was holding them back.
And between the two groups of kids, not a big girl and not a toddler, was JellyBean, my four-year-old. She was bouncing, dancing, waving her palm frond high in the air. The organ played the entry march and she smiled, she spun, she rejoiced, her “Hosanna!” sparkling in every muscle.
The kids finished weaving their way through the sanctuary and they sat in the pews to the left of the pulpit. All of them except my jubilant girl. The organ was still playing, so she kept dancing and bouncing, smiling and marching, watching her palm frond nod, dancing her way past the pulpit, across the empty space in front of the sanctuary, certain - absolutely certain - that this is what Sunday morning worship was meant to be.
I smiled, seated in my pew, and Az the Husband stood up to catch her and guide her to a seat next to us, where she would sit for a moment until leaving for the nursery. I sat there, a silent and heavy stone, wondering if seeing my Redeemer will make me dance like that.
Come quickly, Lord Jesus.
I am so sad we missed Palm Sunday today (sick). I think it was the first time, ever, since we’ve had children. The sight of all the kiddos waving palm branches makes my throat catch. It’s truly beautiful.
I remember Palm Sunday with great fondness. I wonder if it touched my parents the way it obviously touches you. I should ask them.
Oddly enough, I have more fond memories of Palm Sunday than I do of Easter or Christmas. I miss being able to wave my own palm frond.
Beautiful.
Amen!
Oh so beautiful.
Since I have a newborn in church with me right now, I’m allowed to stand in the back and “dance” with her during the singing. I love that she gives me a little extra freedom.
Amen. Come quickly Lord Jesus.
Blessings to you during Holy Week.
Amen, amen and amen!
Oh, if we could all dance like that in worship without worry about the thoughts and judgments of others! Children are just so free. This was a beautiful story. I like to think that my late Papa was dancing on Sunday in worship in Heaven.
Isn’t that how it should be? How we should be? Lovely post!
That beautiful lack of self-consciousness is what I think is most signified when we are told to have a child-like faith.
I am totally breaking my Lenten fasts today. No excuse. But anyway, that is why this comment is late. At our church the ADULTS get palm fronds. YEAH! We get to wave and dance about. Just before the liturgical reading of the Passion (which I think they do in case people don’t get to a Good Friday service).
I love it that your four-year-old is able to just rejoice, without wondering whether people are watching and judging. Would that we could all retain that innocence.
I love this story, and that freedom. I think we will dance like that. Come quickly, indeed.