There’s nothing quite like a good parade! At Disney World when Helen was 2, the parades were one of her favorites. And boy, did we make sure we had a front of the crowd position on Main Street the day we had the kids without their parents.
So, this Palm Sunday—the beginning of Holy Week—my mind’s eye carries me back to a world far different from the dizzying Disney we live in.
The town Jerusalem was hardly an urban center, but it always swelled this time of year as the Jews prepared for Passover.
The beggars—and the thieves too—were probably hoping for a generous haul. Families made accommodations and merchants checked and rechecked their wares. Children caught the excitement of adult anticipation, as the abundance of laughter, frustration, and stress all pressed in with the throngs.
Yet, this year—there was another rumor on the air—Jesus. Surely Jesus would be there. What would he do? Would they see him? And those people from Bethany, the man that everyone said had been dead and buried for days—what of them?
And then it happened. It happened impromptu. It happened without fanfare and without religious approval—a parade.
And before the donkey on which Jesus rode, people threw down their cloaks and spread palm branches on the street ahead of him. The emotions were electrifying, like the sound of a million trumpets approaching. Everyone wanted a front of the crowd position. Did they wave? Did they fall on their knees?
Palm Sunday can seem like just another picture in a children’s coloring book, but I want it to be different this year. I want to open my heart and let Jesus parade across every inch of my soul.
There’s nothing like a good parade. And, this one was the best ever!
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