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YESTERDAY WAS PALM Sunday. We walked around my parish of St. John’s once carrying our little slivers of palms mostly in silence – except for the occasional snarky remark or wondering what the Baptists were thinking across the street. Upon returning to our obnoxiously beautiful nave (I’m not biased, I swear!), I had the privilege of being one of the lectors for the Gospel reading: reading Pontius Pilate, a Priest and the Centurion. All around, it was a great service.
I SPENT SOMETIME this afternoon trying to fold my little palm sliver into a cross, but could not. Yes, I looked up directions. Yes, I tried three other directions, too. No, I still could not do it. So, I simply slipped my Palm sliver behind a cross on my door. By this evening, my little sliver has shriveled up and no longer lies flat on the door, but reaches out its gangly arms towards you.
TO ME, IT’S kind of indicative of the Holy Week. What starts out as a sign of celebration deforms into a deluge of murderous rage. What starts out as a sign of praise deforms into a curse -- a rejected sign of Lordship. And there, hanging on my door are my little shriveled slivers of Palm leaves, a dried-up sign of something former.
I REMEMBER THAT someone in the little Lutheran Church where I was pianist told me that she had never had a good Ash Wednesday. Her Ash Wednesdays, apparently, were always terrible, gloomy days where nothing ever seemed to go right. I can certainly sympathize with that lately. I’ve had a weekend full of glorious moments, but since Friday, it seems as if the entire universe has turned to me and said in unison, “You suck!” Its never fun to suffer in that in-between stage of life when you’re waiting for one thing to finish while the next begins. The fact that I suck at self-denial never helps, but only adds to the guilt.
PERHAPS, IN SOME great way, my life shares in the Holy Week of Christ. Now hear me clearly here, I’m not comparing my obnoxiously comfortable life with the sufferings that Our Lord bore on the cross – they are nowhere close. Nor is my poverty of spirit anywhere close to what Our Lady felt as she followed her son to his most holy death. My little inconveniencies and sufferings are “coffee spoons” compared to the ocean of the suffering of Our Lord.
BUT, WHAT I have experienced are sufferings, nevertheless. I’ve been moping much of today as the clouds hang heavy with threats of snow in early April. I’ve wanted to do nothing but sulk. I went to the practice room this evening to work out some frustrations, but only ended up in more frustration at the fact that I do suck, in fact. Then, I realized that I needed to do laundry (one of the most therapeutic things for me) and so I’m in the middle of drying my clothes.
IN BAPTISM, WE give up rights to our life. I mean that, our Baptismal Covenant means that it is no longer for us to be selfish or stingy or only are about us. I realized that all my little moping today was just me being selfish with my suffering. Perhaps, I thought, I should take a page from my Roman friends and “offer it up.” Even though I have these little sufferings, they are not mine; they belong to the Church.
SO, I “OFFERED ‘em up.” I offered them up from my a few friends that are facing extraordinary problems. For a few of my judgmental Christian friends who have yet to see a faith beyond Evangelical piety -- for a variety of other people and situations. The collected burden of these little sufferings was almost immediately alleviated. My little suffering had a purpose; it had a little resurrection.
GOD’S WAYS ARE almost exactly the opposite of our own ways. We take something of grace and beauty and deform it into something ugly and harmful through our overindulgence (or under-indulgence, which ever the case may be). God does something different: he takes those malformed and deformed parts of the heart and transforms it into something beautiful.
PERHAPS MY LITTLE shriveled slivers of Palm leaves will one day transform into a sign of praise, a sign of celebration, a sign of thanksgiving like they were on Sunday. I know that they will. For in a few short months, they will be burnt and become ashes to mark the foreheads of the faithful. For in truth: weakness is power; loosing is gaining; suffering is peace; and death is resurrection.
I SPENT SOMETIME this afternoon trying to fold my little palm sliver into a cross, but could not. Yes, I looked up directions. Yes, I tried three other directions, too. No, I still could not do it. So, I simply slipped my Palm sliver behind a cross on my door. By this evening, my little sliver has shriveled up and no longer lies flat on the door, but reaches out its gangly arms towards you.
TO ME, IT’S kind of indicative of the Holy Week. What starts out as a sign of celebration deforms into a deluge of murderous rage. What starts out as a sign of praise deforms into a curse -- a rejected sign of Lordship. And there, hanging on my door are my little shriveled slivers of Palm leaves, a dried-up sign of something former.
I REMEMBER THAT someone in the little Lutheran Church where I was pianist told me that she had never had a good Ash Wednesday. Her Ash Wednesdays, apparently, were always terrible, gloomy days where nothing ever seemed to go right. I can certainly sympathize with that lately. I’ve had a weekend full of glorious moments, but since Friday, it seems as if the entire universe has turned to me and said in unison, “You suck!” Its never fun to suffer in that in-between stage of life when you’re waiting for one thing to finish while the next begins. The fact that I suck at self-denial never helps, but only adds to the guilt.
PERHAPS, IN SOME great way, my life shares in the Holy Week of Christ. Now hear me clearly here, I’m not comparing my obnoxiously comfortable life with the sufferings that Our Lord bore on the cross – they are nowhere close. Nor is my poverty of spirit anywhere close to what Our Lady felt as she followed her son to his most holy death. My little inconveniencies and sufferings are “coffee spoons” compared to the ocean of the suffering of Our Lord.
BUT, WHAT I have experienced are sufferings, nevertheless. I’ve been moping much of today as the clouds hang heavy with threats of snow in early April. I’ve wanted to do nothing but sulk. I went to the practice room this evening to work out some frustrations, but only ended up in more frustration at the fact that I do suck, in fact. Then, I realized that I needed to do laundry (one of the most therapeutic things for me) and so I’m in the middle of drying my clothes.
IN BAPTISM, WE give up rights to our life. I mean that, our Baptismal Covenant means that it is no longer for us to be selfish or stingy or only are about us. I realized that all my little moping today was just me being selfish with my suffering. Perhaps, I thought, I should take a page from my Roman friends and “offer it up.” Even though I have these little sufferings, they are not mine; they belong to the Church.
SO, I “OFFERED ‘em up.” I offered them up from my a few friends that are facing extraordinary problems. For a few of my judgmental Christian friends who have yet to see a faith beyond Evangelical piety -- for a variety of other people and situations. The collected burden of these little sufferings was almost immediately alleviated. My little suffering had a purpose; it had a little resurrection.
GOD’S WAYS ARE almost exactly the opposite of our own ways. We take something of grace and beauty and deform it into something ugly and harmful through our overindulgence (or under-indulgence, which ever the case may be). God does something different: he takes those malformed and deformed parts of the heart and transforms it into something beautiful.
PERHAPS MY LITTLE shriveled slivers of Palm leaves will one day transform into a sign of praise, a sign of celebration, a sign of thanksgiving like they were on Sunday. I know that they will. For in a few short months, they will be burnt and become ashes to mark the foreheads of the faithful. For in truth: weakness is power; loosing is gaining; suffering is peace; and death is resurrection.
