I handed Miles a pair of garden loppers and together we clipped every branch off the small palm that grows near the sidewalk in front of our house. The branches were thick and Miles wasn't quite strong enough to do it alone so I held one side and he pushed with his whole weight. After we clipped the branches and pulled them onto the sidewalk, I told Eddie to load them into the back of the van while I put socks and shoes on Zander.
Eventually, we were dressed and loaded into the van.
There was a large army green tarp laid out at the entrance of the sanctuary. It was loaded with palm branches of different types and sizes. Scissors, garden sheers and thumb tacks littered the ground. The boys knew what to do and started right away grabbing branches and placing them around the sanctuary.
We are entering holy week.
After 15 minutes the sanctuary was transformed for palm Sunday service. I was transported to a dusty road in ancient Jerusalem dropped into a story as familiar as a favorite pair of jeans. I could hear the words, the sounds and see the sanctuary transform in my mind from bright palms to plain foot washing basins to a stripped alter and black fabric.
I didn't realize that decorating the sanctuary was a ritual. But it has become one. A simple act of worship. Preparation for holy week. I was surprised by the demeanor of the boys. They were certainly running around the sanctuary but they were also serious with the palms. They knew what we were doing and what was coming.
The work was quick and we moved on and into our day. But it was a moment of worship and preparation. Holy week is here.
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