Palm Sunday

When Dan and I lived in the Washington DC area, we attended a church that was very large. By Chicago standards, it wasn't a mega-church like Willow Creek Community Church, but certainly larger than the churches Dan and I were accustomed to as children.

The church was a beautiful building. It was all brick and had stately columns, impressive architecture and glorious stained glass windows. You might call it "traditional" and the people who attended there tended to be traditional as well. Hymns were sung. Rarely, if ever, were contemporary songs played. The pastor wore a dark robe and had a certain aura about him that demanded respect. Children loved him. 

My favorite time to attend this church was, hands down, Palm Sunday. 

Dan and I were Sunday School teachers for a group of first graders. The church was so big that the classes of first and second graders must have been 50 children. Maybe more. 

On Palm Sunday, someone would come by each class room and deliver the Palm leaves to the teachers. It was pure hysteria. 

We lined the children up and gave them each one palm leaf. The leaves were so large that they were roughly half the size of the children. The little boys immediately transformed their Palms into weapons and flew them wildly in the air. The little girls were equally delighted. The air was full of excitement. As teachers, we tried to keep the children from wildly ripping the Palms (or each other) to shreds, but the novelty of the situation was louder than us. 

We led the children to the back of the sanctuary doors. The children pawed like horses behind the starting gate. When the signal was given, the two large doors to the sanctuary were opened. Hundreds of children poured through the remaining crevices of the sanctuary.

They were expected to have some type of decorum.

They were expected to be quiet-ish.

They were not.

The room echoed with their thundering little footsteps.

The first to enter the room were little boys who sounded as though they were commanded to charge the pulpit. There was running and laughter and wildly waving leaves which hid equally wild children. The aisles were instantly transformed into a jungle.

It took a little while for the pastor to get the children a little more quiet in order for him to speak. He was a wise man and understood that the overwhelming joy and chaos that filled the room was not unlike the actual day when Jesus rode the streets. 

Any pretenses disappeared as the joy of the children filled the room and hearts of the people in it. 

__________________________

I'll try to remember this story as I work today. It's my job as a mother to keep clean clothes on my family's back and food on the table. And there's even an element of organization which makes my heart go pitter-patter. But the moment that I forget that the PEOPLE in the building are more important than the APPEARANCE of the building... then I've lost perspective. 

Prayer: God, give me the strength today to let joy reign in this house. Even at the expense of organization. Let great volumes of joy meet with happy, happy hearts.