PHOTO: Mary van Balen I slipped into the pew a little late and noticed the lovely palm branches. Some people held them in their hands, some had laid them on the seat behind them. A few secured them with the hat clips on the pew backs, relics of days when hats were ordinary attire for men. They were not the long slender palm buds that my father had woven into crosses or interesting cone shapes when I was a child. These were the dark green leaves of the Emerald Palm and this was first time I had seen them.
As the familiar passion story was proclaimed, my mind wandered. When the story told of Jesus standing before the high priest, I thought of people today, standing in a court room, perhaps with families and supporters attending; perhaps the accused were alone. What dread fills their hearts? Remorse for the guilty ones? Anger for those wrongly accused? What fear for those who love them?
I thought of the emotions of those gathered in support of Travon Martin’s parents in Miami. Thousands gathered. I wondered about the family and friends of George Zimmerman in the face of a growing movement and escalating tensions across the country. I thought of all those in our prison system. I thought of the obscurity of most of their cases. And I thought of Jesus.
Who could have imagined, in his day, that this drama played out in a garden, a courtyard, a place of execution, would become what I imagine is the most told story in human history? A first century preacher, betrayed by friends, given over to authorities motivated in part by fear, ambition, and ignorance is an unlikely hero.
I listened as the story continued. I thought of those fighting other battles, suffering other indignities and injustices. “Everyone struggles with something that can strangle the spirit if not the body. Most of them I will never know. Most stories do not extend beyond family and intimates.”
So, what comfort the passion story? Jesus has walked in our shoes or sandals. His bare feet were cut and bruised by life and death. God knows our plight. God shared it then. God shares it now. The comfort? We have a companion on our journey who understands how pain and suffering transform as much as love and joy. Perhaps more. We haver a companion who has walked the path and knows it ends, not it death, but in life. When we see only darkness, our Companion reminds of that light will come. Has come. Sometimes, Jesus even lends us his eyes to see. What counts is the journey and what happens to us along the way.
I slip out of the pew early to drive to work as so many do, even on this holy day. On my way out of church, I take a palm leaf from the basket by the main aisle. I will be busy today with people walking their journeys. My prayer is to reflect our Companion’s hope and compassion. To be green with life, like the palm in my hand.
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