A Snowy Palm Sunday

 

The streets are lined with snow rather than palms this morning.  Yet, all creation still shouts out, "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord."  Worship may have been cancelled.  We may miss waving the palm branches high.  We may miss the noise and fun and laughter with the parading and processing.  We may miss shouting, "Hosanna in the highest!"  We may miss the delicious cake in the shape of a cross.  We may miss turning our palm branches into crosses.  We may miss the music.     

Yet, all creation still shouts out, "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord."  

Today is Palm Sunday.  Believe it or not.  

Today is the day Jesus' marched into Jerusalem on a donkey.  

  Today is the day the palms were waved.  

     Today is the day the cloaks were scattered on the road.  

Today is the day we confront our cheers and know that in the next few days they will turn to tears.  

Today is the day we remember in a few short days we will yell, "Crucify Him."  

                   Today is the day we remember our willingness to turn away from the cross.  

Today is Palm Sunday.  Believe it or not.  

Believe it or not, perhaps we needed this reminder on Palm Sunday.  Perhaps we needed to be reminded that creation will indeed continue to shout, "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord."  God's love for the world doesn't depend on us; don't get me wrong, we do need worship.  But God will continue to be God and continue to do what God does with or without our palms waving this morning.

For God is a God of resurrection.  

Holy week will still come.  Jesus will continue his walk to the cross.  We will continue with him.  

The world is hopeful.  We are hopeful.  Creation shouts, "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord."   

And so do we.    

The Smell of Grace

"Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus' feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume."   
 -John 12:3

 

The emergency room, as always, greeted me with a smell of staleness.  Something between life and death, hope and despair, renewal and pain.  The ever-present antibacterial liquid smell met me at the door. 

Irene and her family also met me at the door. 

Wrapped in warm blankets, surrounded by muted walls and the rush of doctors and nurses Irene sat in her wheelchair.  During this last year, she hadn't left her home except for the occasional doctor's appointment or a car ride to the family farm by the lake.  Her life consisted of days where she seemed to grow stronger and days where she seemed to regress.

Today Irene found herself outside the comfort of her home where her care came from her husband and nieces and nephews.  The emergency room was full.  A code blue signaled on the overhead radio.  Worried families sat waiting.  Patients in pain.  The flu season still holding a grip over the community.

Mary had been on my mind in preparation for Sunday's sermon.  With the fifth week of Lent upon us, Mary drifted in and out of my thoughts.  I wondered about her gift and how she could afford such extravagant perfume.  I wondered if she worried about her acts.  I wondered if she knew the importance of anointing Jesus.  I wondered what it takes to humble oneself so completely.   

I continued to trudge through the tiredness of cold and snow.  This Lent the community embraced the depth of pain and loss felt by our brothers and sisters, the frustrations of being unable to control the effects of growing old, and then this week Mary challenged us with her extravagant gift.  Her abundant love for Jesus.   

"Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus' feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume."

I always carry my container of oil with me.  I never pass up the opportunity to offer a blessing. 

Mary inspired me with her gift of perfume. 

So there in the emergency room, we gathered for a prayer.  We placed our hands on Irene and we prayed.  We prayed for healing.  We prayed for strength for whatever may come.  We prayed for the hands and hearts who care for so many in the community.  We prayed in words and in our silence. 

I then made the sign of the cross on Irene's forehead with oil. 
                                                       The scent of frankincense and myrrh. 
                                                                        The scent of Mary's perfume so long ago. 

We remember Mary together.  We know what is to come for Jesus after the anointing.  But even in death, we have the lingering fragrance of an extravagant love that takes hold of everyone.   

Mary's gift of anointing Jesus and the fragrance of her abundant love, of Jesus' abundant love for us, still remain in our reach.  Sometimes the smell is so powerful that we can hardly stand on our two feet.  We get a waft of the fragrance of healing precisely in the midst of death.  We get a waft of the fragrance of hope precisely when our lives are no longer in our control.  We get a waft of the fragrance of God's love in the most unlikely of places.