I was an incredibly shy and serious little girl. Take a look at my second-grade picture. My mouth is clamped shut tight. I am staring straight at the camera and I look like I am personally responsible for world peace and failing the task. (It doesn’t help that my bangs are super short. That’s another story.) I didn’t talk in school. I went by my official name “Cynthia” because I was afraid that if I went by “Cindy” no one would know who I was. There was no reason for all this anxiety. I grew up in a loving home. I lived in a peaceful community. My teachers were good people. It was just me living in my fortress of shyness.
My family attended the Presbyterian Church, sometimes. And sometimes we didn’t attend at all. My grandmother was very involved in the church and it was her influence that got us there, sometimes. Our church was a solemn place. The faithful Presbyterians sat quietly in the pews absorbing their religion passively. It was all pretty boring, but for a shy little girl like me who wanted to walk through life unnoticed, that was ok. Maybe the reserved nature of my church even reinforced my fears. The people sat so quietly, so obediently, maybe there was something to fear. Maybe silence was the way to get through this scary life.
And then that all changed. Palm Sunday arrived. Lucky for me Palm Sunday was one of the sometimes we attended church. Every person entering the church was given a palm branch. The pastor in his dark robe had a palm branch. The grim man who sat behind us and nodded off during church was given a palm branch. The choir, in green robes, were all handed palm branches. Grandma was given a palm branch. Even the children, like me, were handed a palm branch.
We stood and the organist began to play and all heaven broke loose. Up went the palm branches, waving back and forth. The children paraded around the sanctuary and all those solemn Presbyterians began to smile and then laugh. Honestly, it was the first time I had ever seen them move in any joyous way. They were happy. Me too. It was like those palm branches were a magic wand that set us free. I didn’t know then that “Hosanna,” the word we sang over and over that morning, meant “save us.” I just knew it was ok to smile, to laugh, that there was something in us all that wanted to be set free. For this one morning, these good-hearted Presbyterians were free to stand and smile and parade around with joy.
The following Sunday was Easter. I liked the smell of the lilies and we sang with more gusto than most days, but in my little girl mind, nothing could compare to Palm Sunday.
This Sunday is Palm Sunday. My favorite Sunday. I can’t wait.
Every blessing,
Pastor Cindy
Pastor Cindy Hickman
West Des Moines United Methodist Church
720 Grand Avenue, West Des Moines, IA 50265
515-279-0826
We worship at 8:30 and 11 on Sunday and we would love to worship with you.
This week at West Des Moines United Methodist Church
Tonight! Wednesday Night Live will be serving up a Baked Potato Bar supper at 5:30. The cost is a free will offering and the proceeds will be used to feed hungry children next summer.
The Praise Band is in launch mode. They are looking for a drummer and someone who plays the bass—but every musician is invited. They practice at 6:15 in the Friendship Room.
And youth group and confirmation and the traditional choir and bible study and more, it’s all happening tonight. And you are invited.
No comments:
Post a Comment