Palm Sunday

A strange observance, this Palm Sunday.

If on Ash Wednesday we observe our own finiteness, on Palm Sunday we go on to observe our own fickleness.

On this day, we throw our cloaks to him. A week later, we strip his cloak off him.
On this day, branches of palm trees in adoration. A week later, branches of thorny brambles in mockery.

"Hosanna!" we cry. "Lord, save us!"
But the quick turn of events allows us to read between the lines, exposing our real motives: Save us! Not in your way and wisdom, but in our own! Save us today, now, on this earth! Give us what we want, what we think we need! A temporary salvation is all we ask! Happiness! Comfort! Our best lives now!

Like impatient and shortsighted children, we want the trivialities here and now, ignorant of the bigger picture.

And all of a sudden, we realize he's not what we thought he was. He's not what we're looking for at all. We despise him, reject him, we esteem him not.

Showing us that when we were esteeming him on Palm Sunday, we were actually esteeming ourselves, esteeming the King we had created in our own image.

"Again I saw angels.
Their wings were held high over my burden,
the weary man if light sitting on my back,
staring at the shadow of a cross.
We were covered in darkness.
People tossed palm branches before us.
'Go,' the angels said. 'Go.'
They were not like the other angels.
Their wings drooped, though they tried
to hold them high. 'Go,' the angels said,
'into the darkness.'
'Go,' the angels said,
'through the darkness into the light.'
And we did go."

-"The Donkey" Madeleine L'Engle