Because I worked on Palm Sunday, I drove to a church that wasn’t my own to attend an early service before going into the hospital. I wouldn’t usually drive to work, or to a church that’s only a few blocks away from my house. But when carrying the on-call pager, I’m liable to get called in at any time, and need to be able to get to campus quickly.

I use my car less and less these days, so the high price of gas has been strong enough of a deterrent to refilling. I rolled into church with an empty tank.

Walking into the narthex, I spotted a music stand holding neatly stacked bulletins near a side door to the sanctuary. I grabbed one and slipped into the back row, at the very end of the pew.

The service was surprisingly packed. For an 8:40 am service, I certainly didn’t expect such a big crowd. Nor did I expect (though I should’ve) that all the young families would sit at the back of the sanctuary, too (presumably so they could take their young children out of the service in case they started fussing).

With my ear tuned to hear the vibration of my pager, sitting amongst these families feeling (as my friend described it) that “single-person-in-church feeling,” I felt more like a spectator than a participant. Which is disappointing. Palm Sunday is a time to embrace the power of our collective voice, joyfully proclaim Jesus’s name, and shout “Hosanna!”

The biblical word “Hosanna” is tricky because it comes from a Greek transliteration of Hebrew. So when we then try to translate its meaning into English, we’re kind of playing a game of linguistic “telephone.” But generally, it could be translated as something like, “deliver us!”, “I beg you to save!”, or “rescue us, please!”

And as I sat in church acting a little withdrawn, I was struck with the thought that, although we say “Hosanna” with one voice, each person may have their own “something” for which they ask Christ, “please, deliver me from this.” That we all have our own inward expectations of that from which Christ will deliver us.

For the crowd that was there when Jesus rode into Jerusalem, this expectation may have been for a political revolution against Rome. Or prosperity for the Jews in Palestine. Or a Mosaic demand to Pontius Pilate, “Let my people go!”

But Jesus brought none of these things.

And as for the people in the crowd who shouted “Hosanna” only to have their hopes dashed? Maybe they were confused. And maybe their confusion turned into disappointment, and their disappointment into anger. And maybe they found themselves in the crowd on Friday yelling, “Crucify him!”

On Sunday, as I worshipped with a congregation—a crowd—that wasn’t my own, I was reminded of how Palm Sunday both vindicates and condemns us. Because it’s a celebration of our hope in God, but also a guarantee that among the faces in the crowd on Good Friday will be yours and mine. As a song I like goes, “We’ve all got wood and nails.”

As I slipped out after the benediction, I felt grateful that I’d been worshipping a living God. That I was singing “Hosanna” not to the Christ of my own petty expectations but to a living Christ who upsets what I think I need with something far more deep and mysterious. But this also means that, once again this year, I’ll find myself in the crowd on Good Friday.

Maybe I’ll see you there.

2 Comments

  1. Juliana Knot

    Beautiful reflection, Klaas. Thank you

    Reply
  2. Alex Johnson

    Thought about this post on Good Friday as I sat in church yesterday. I’ve always struggled with how the people went from palm branches to crosses in a week, but your perspective helped.

    Reply

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