My First Palm Sunday Since 1970

A Fine Start

It’s a guesstimate, 1970. I just know it was two or three years prior to 1972, when we started going to the new church. The new church, Worldwide Church of God, did not observe Palm Sunday. In fact, it didn’t observe any Sundays unless they were Pentecost or a Jewish holy day which might happen to fall on a Sunday in a given year. We had become Sabbath-keepers on what I still consider defensible ground, that Jesus was a Sabbath-keeper, among other reasons.

To my brethren from the years in Worldwide and its offshoots, I’m not going to denigrate that part of the body of Christ or use the experience in a way that harms for the sake of pretending I have a superior view or position relative to the truth of God. That isn’t what this newsletter is interested in. If it was, I’d be grifting in pure hypocrisy. No thanks. God is where sincere hearts of faith are, even (and perhaps especially) where there are few theological resources by which to measure or govern for “correctness.” Besides, there was a lot in that experience that equipped me to be in relationship to Christ, to study the scripture, and to establish roots in lifelong relationships of love and respect. For those, in spite of any gripes or disagreement, I am grateful and praise God. Amen.

Palm Sunday, 2022: I attended a service and held a blade of palm frond, prayed, sang, and heard a message from the scripture which was enriching because it placed me, in imagination, at the scene of Jesus’ coming into Jerusalem. It invited me to reflect on what player I would have been in the narrative; a fan or a foe, of what the instrument of salvation looks like when on its way to give me liberty. How do I look upon the Christ? Do I believe or do I see a threat? It would almost seem laughable that a guy on a donkey’s colt could be seen as a threat, and yet, the religious elite of the city saw a threat. If you pay attention a certain way these days, it’s almost axiomatic that if the elite hate something, it’s something you might consider good for you (or at least, bad for them).

One of the things I need to do as I reflect on what to call a belief is resist falling too readily into the comfort of the story out of a desire for rescue (who of us doesn’t feel that desire, at least some of the time?) - and then start grasping all of the literal certainty as if that’s all there is to it. “He was, He did, He was, He is, therefore I am (fill in the blank).” There is a string of underlying premises Christianity has been using and repeating for a couple thousand years that wasn’t a string of consensus in the earliest decades, even centuries, after the Jesus events. To claim the passage of time and consolidation of institutional control was more confirming than possibly more conflating seems optimistic and possibly fatally naive.

A question the curious and working mind of any human with access to history cannot help but ask is exactly how historical - how true - how accurate - is the account of Jesus? In my present view, equal to that question is the one of whether the answer to those questions really needs to be “totally” or “most” or even “some” or even “a little.” If the answer is “not at all,” there may be a sad reality to consider but, even then, would it strip the narrative of its real power and message of promise for what we all seem to keep striving to call down for ourselves, for the world; namely, salvation from suffering and death? I think not. To me, the knowing expectation of a needed salvation is deeply authentic and eventual. For the record, a contingent of the early Church Fathers did not work with all Scripture as if it all being literal was crucial. The rule of the canon and claims of infallibility have accrued some challenging problems for the beneficiaries of Christianity with which we are still (and should be) negotiating. How to define and think about “salvation” is another post.

For now, though, I fully embrace the Christ that is expressed in the Gospels’ account of Jesus humbly but triumphantly approaching the archetypal Holy City, the image of approaching salvation, welcomed with “Hosanna” by children and the common people, and resisted by those who place themselves, imposters, in the role of mediators of life. All the years I have kept Him outside while He knocked, for some reason He never abandoned. I want it all to be true but if it is, only the one who is Christ is going to be able to convince me. Priests won’t do. Priests thumping the beautiful scripture, making claims won’t do. Guilt and shame are not honest escorts to genuine belief. I acknowledge, however, that it may be Christ will be mainly encountered only through other humans, finally, when I have eyes to see that way. I’m open to that, but a bit guarded, still. You can pray for me in that regard, if you pray in faith. And bless you if you do. And bless you if you can’t.

As I joined with others today in welcoming Christ (Hosanna!), I did so not out of certain belief (God help my unbelief) but as an embodiment of my opening the door, walking out to the road and saying “come, I am here and want what is freely given.” After this long, I think that’s a fine start.