The Significance of Palms for Each of Us
The palms we receive this coming Sunday are, of course, the hallmark and memorable sign of the solemn festival which marks the beginning of Holy Week. They help us anchor the day in our hearts and minds. Even little children quickly grasp their obvious meaning and connection to the unfolding story of Jesus in scripture, particularly his “triumphal entry” into Jerusalem with crowds waving palms and strewing cloaks in his path.
Waving, in fact, is a universal, hard-wired gesture of the global community. It serves both as joyous greeting and poignant farewell. I remember watching on many German train station platforms folks waving to a family member or friend just arriving or as part of their often tearful goodbyes. Folks stand waving handkerchiefs at a departing train, travelers leaning out of the cars offering their own farewells as the train begins its sad journey away from those we love and will miss. Those farewells are not simply a dismissive gesture; people will continue to wave long after the familiar face can no longer be seen, even until the train disappears from view. We also know the wisdom of keeping watch for the traveler, or the Bridegroom of Jesus’ parable. Friends and family deserve no less. Remember, the prodigal’s father was on the road searching for him long before the wayward son was actually seen on his long journey home.
Social anthropologists tell us that waving, a gesture shared by practically all cultures, peoples, races, and groups, is a fundamental way of acknowledging important relationships, giving evidence that the waver is engaged in the moment and willing publicly to acknowledge whatever relationship has prompted the act. Biblical theologians also remind us that a Wave Offering is frequently mentioned in scripture, primarily in Exodus and Leviticus. It signifies sacrificial offering to God, costly to the giver, because to offer something that is insignificant or useless is an afront to the Lord of glory. As an old hymn states, “Give of your best to the Master…” It can even mean an offering of one’s whole self. Such offerings are indeed related to the presentation of our own offerings each Sunday, the plates lifted before the altar, as well as bread and the cup of wine lifted up during the Great Thanksgiving prayer at the table. As one Offertory Prayer states: “…we offer with joy and thanksgiving what you have first given us – our selves, our time, and our possessions, signs of your gracious love…” Thus, when a downtrodden but hopeful crowd gathers to wave palms as the Lord passes by on a colt, it is not just a “Hey, Jesus! Wassup?” It is the unabashed sign, public and striking, of people’s hopes and aspirations wrapped up in the wild, attention-demanding palm fronds waving before him. This puzzling rabbi Jesus of Nazareth has cured the sick, fed the hungry, and spoken words of comfort, healing, and welcome to the forgotten, the outcast, the sinner, and the curious stranger alike. He has become a magnet for the needy and yearning folks of this world, one who understands and welcomes them.
Think twice before just moving your palm in a few perfunctory flicks this Sunday, because you reveal to others, and maybe hopefully even to yourself, that you either are engaged and have real, palpable, burning hope in this Lord of glory, or are content just to go through the ritual motions yet again, then getting on with whatever else might distract you for a bit. Real engagement moves your attention from just being bothered about appearance and what “others” might see. It is not only knowing that you are fundamentally in need, but also a sincere appeal to this blessed Savior who welcomes all the weary and heavy laden.
It is fortunate that palms have become the working image of our celebration of Christ’s entry into our lives. For us Southerners, palms are all over the place; they’re the stuff of our environment. As a transplanted Hoosier, I was bowled over early on by palmetto palms growing wild along Interstate 26 and in the swamp-bordered byways of the Midlands and Lowcountry. Palms are God’s way of giving us something which holds together the joys of our life – everyone loves a good parade with banners waving – along side our fragility and mortality. An ancient Palm Sunday hymn last spotted in the green Lutheran Book of Worship, The Royal Banners Forward Go [LBW 125], is an eloquent statement of the central place of Christ’s cross in the unfolding mystery of God’s salvific work. The banners which go in solemn procession before the cross of Christ shining “…forth in mystic glow” are not the seasonal banners purchased from church supply catalogues or made by regional craftspeople. The banners mentioned by Venantius Honorius Fortunatus [530-609 CE – now that’s ancient!] are nothing less than the palms those folks found at hand one morning in Jerusalem, a festive way to greet the one who gathered their hopes and dreams.
For several years in the LTSS seminary chapel for the Palm Sunday Solemn Vespers, acolytes would scatter palms in the center aisle as the Entry Procession was sung into the chapel. There they remained throughout Holy Week, withering quickly and drying, turning to dust and broken branches under our feet during daily prayer much as those ancient palms did in Jerusalem. Palms gather into one fragile, disintegrating sign an image of our lives, truthfully and bluntly told.
On Ash Wednesday we heard in no uncertain terms: “Remember, you are dust and to dust you will return,” words as easily addressed to the state of those palms in Christ Chapel’s center aisle as to the people who receive an ashen cross on their foreheads on Ash Wednesday. Because of this, you are encouraged this 2025th Year of the Grace to SAVE YOUR PALMS. Traditionally, you might tuck them behind a cross hanging on your bedroom wall, a picture of Jesus, or somewhere near the little corner of your world where daily devotions or scripture is read and reflected upon. There they most certainly will wither, dry, and become fragile. SO DO WE! Bring them back on Transfiguration Sunday [the Sunday before Ash Wednesday] as an offering, so that your own hopes, joys, and failings, a symbol of your whole being, can become part of that communal bowl of ash from which God brings forth eternally new life. Thanks be to God for those fragile banners we wave this coming Sunday!