Good morning, everyone!
Always grateful to find myself awake to a new day, to be able to say hello to you and to write a little in my public journal. This week being Holy Week in the the life of the church, my thoughts focus on Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem and all that faces him there. Palm Sunday, just passed, refers, of course, to Jesus’ deliberately-planned parade through the crowded streets as his fellow Jews gathered in their capital city to celebrate Passover. This got me thinking about a parade I was in almost 70 years ago now ( as any older person will tell you, 70 years is nothing. When your memory’s good, it seems like only yesterday. It WAS only yesterday). It was the 1950 Rose Bowl parade through the streets of Pasadena, the longest, most beautiful parade you could ever hope to see, float upon float of fresh flowers mixed with fresh-faced young men and women depicting scenes from the present and past mixed with one marching band after the other. As the head cheerleader, I ran along side Ohio State’s high-stepping band most of the way, taking it all in, including the fresh oranges (“California snowballs’) I was pelted with as I entered the stadium. With my white pants and red sweater with the gray letter O on my chest, I was an easy target.
By comparison, Jesus’ parade, as depicted in the gospels, at first seems paltry, too small, too bland and colorless, to amount to anything until you begin to think of it symbolically. The disciples and the straggling contingent of followers, waving and laying down their palms and cloaks ahead of Jesus’ approach, an exuberant act of devotion. And, then, the picture of Jesus, the leader, the king, the messiah, mounted on a donkey, a beast of burden, conjures up a whole, other way of thinking about power and authority. In the world Jesus envisioned, the King shall be servant to all, a non-violent world where power is measured in terms of service to others and where authority is shared among equals, men and women alike, leading with justice and peace at the forefront of their consciousness. When thought of this way, when looked at symbolically, that obscure little parade in Jerusalem was indeed “triumphant”, thrilling, even, fresher and more beautiful, than the Rose Bowl parade could ever be. In my imaginative state right now (this is another thing 91 year olds do a lot of- imagine) I think I hear music, A marching band, marching all of us, followers or not, right through the horror and suffering of holy week, to the music of the new age, to a resurrection fraught now with new possibilities, new hope, where love might still flourish, the very love Jesus found and we find when we dig beneath the surface of our lives.
Peace be with you, dear friends. Don’t let my madness throw you off. This is just one of those things you have to put up when you read a private journal gone public.
Love always, Bob
