Palm Sunday Jubilations

Today (Palm Sunday) was a blessed day for me in Jerusalem. It began early, with me meeting Elliot and Leigh at 8:30 am for my weekly Sunday morning walk to St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church in southern Jerusalem. The weather was a balmy 70 degrees, and bushes of fragrant flowers seemed to line our path to church. If Heaven has a smell, I'm nearly certain it is of the sweetest flowering bushes I get to enjoy here in the Holy Land.

After the church service, we left for Bethpage with a group of Scots. The first part of our pilgrimage took us around the southern side of Mt. Zion and down into the Kidron Valley. We took a short rest at the Grotto of Gethsemane before hiking up the Mt. of Olives (which, by the time we reached the top, seemed like a very real mount to us! I might add that, since we live in Jerusalem, we often do things the difficult way to make them seem more like the treacherous pilgrimages of yore).

Upon reaching the top, we followed the road along the Mount of Olives ridge that leads to the Pater Noster Church, and then turned left down the east side of the mount towards Bethpage. After a short walk we reached the Church of Mary and Martha, where a group had already begun to assemble for the procession. There were all sorts of believers congregating -- Koreans, Germans, Africans, Latinos, Italians, Arabs, Frenchmen, Brits, and countless others. There was an anticipatory and festive feeling in the air. The group, though composed of many nationalities and denominations, was there to honor Christ as our Lord and King in the procession to Jerusalem.

The Palm Sunday procession began with “regiments” of Arab youth marching in Christian uniform. These groups, similar to the Boy and Girl Scouts, wore colorful attire, carried even brighter flags, and were a fine-looking display of Arab Christian youth organizations. Once the children brigades had passed through, those of us watching joined in the procession. Many waved palm fronds, while others carried olive-tree branches plucked from unsuspecting trees. I belonged to the latter group, proudly waving my small bough in honor of the Messiah-King. (I was at first worried that I wasn’t following the tradition properly because I lacked the name-sake Palm Sunday palm branch. Later, though, I read that Matthew and Mark record the crowd as waving “branches from the trees” and “leafy branches,” so I was relieved to realize my participation was thoroughly biblical. Be that as it may, it was a bad day to be an olive or palm tree in Jerusalem.)

We marched again to the top of the Mount of Olives then continued down the western side of the hill towards Jerusalem. The crowd was so excited. People sang praises to God in countless languages, but the resounding “Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna” allowed everyone to sing in unity during the choruses. Some groups worshipped with bongos, guitars, and accordions, others sang ancient hymns in Latin, while still more praised with flutes and waving-flags. It was a bright scene, with emblems of the Jerusalem cross and other Christian characters fluttering in the wind. “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord,” we remembered and sang while re-tracing the Savior’s path. The mountain itself seemed to resonate with the excited praises and joyful dances of the crowd. The Palm Sunday procession today was the sweetest foretaste of Heaven described in Revelation 7:9-10 that I’ve ever experienced. “After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying our with a loud voice, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!”

Somehow, everyone in the procession made it to the Lion’s Gate of the Old City. The path we took led past the Church of Dominus Flevit, a building resembling a tear drop where Christ’s weeping over Jerusalem is remembered, and the Garden of Gethsemane, where Christ submitted to the Father’s will on the night of his betrayal. While we were all rejoicing in our Lord and Savior, there was still the solemn reminder that in a few days we would be remembering his passion and death. While today was a day of great joy, celebration, and praise, I couldn’t forget that our Lord was welcomed into Jerusalem only days before he was crucified there. It seemed a strange juxtaposition to me. The Christian Holy Week, marking the suffering, death, and resurrection of God himself, begins with a day of great celebration and triumph. I’m still trying to grapple with how this can fit together so beautifully.