“And the ones ahead and behind were crying out, “Save us. Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Holy One” (Mark 11.9).
When’s the last time you were really excited about something, I mean like little kid excited?
I ask this because, Palm Sunday is perhaps the most grown-up of days, at least in how it’s traditionally treated. Jesus sets off from Bethany and people start cheering and singing and tossing branches on the ground. It’s all happy and loud, but we temper it with the fact that it’s all about to turn bad. Liturgically, we dampen that excitement and singing by looking ahead to the end of the week, when everything will go dark.
It’s a grown-up day; because, that’s how we adults deal with life, isn’t it? We’re wise and mature enough to know that bad things happen. That disasters lurk around the corner, and that things fall apart. Good Fridays, we know, always follow Palm Sundays.
So we temper our excitement. At least, I know that I do. Don’t get too excited about something, I tell myself, because it might not happen. It could rain. The car might not start. No one may show up. And, even if everything goes as hoped there’s still that meeting a couple of days after or the deadline I’ve got to meet the following week.
It’s something, at least for me, I was taught as I grew up. Temper your anticipation. Cushion yourself against disappointment. The higher you go, the farther the fall. Because being a grown-up is all about protecting yourself from pain. And there’s no pain like the when you feel so good about something and then face the crush of disappointment.
This crowd of people were just so happy, so overjoyed. They thought this was the start of something amazing. This was the moment when everything was going to change and they were going to get to be a part of it. Woo-hoo! Hosanna and hooray!
Then, Friday morning, it all came crashing down. And Scripture leaves us this blank space in which to imagine the disappointment, the heartbreak, and the sorrow these people felt. Feelings, we know, were all the worse because of the high they’d ridden just days before. Oh, if only they’d tempered those feelings; it would hurt just a little less.
But you know like I do what that means, don’t you? It’s what I’m trying to unlearn in my life. It’s the habit of swallowing some of my joy and anticipation in case tragedy comes instead. It’s this false belief that if I can suppress one end of the emotional spectrum I can dull the razor-like edges at the opposite end.
What if, on this day, I dared to act as excited and childlike as the people outside the gates to Jerusalem? What if instead of looking at the outskirts of the city, I focused on the entrance? What if I dared believe, as those people did, that something amazing was about to happen? I suppose Friday would hurt more than it did before. I’d have farther to fall in disappointment.
But, I’d dared to believe what’s possible.
Jesus, help me give over to joy even if tomorrow may bring sorrow. Help me, even for a moment, celebrate what can be.