#35 Lenten Reflections
When the children were younger, we longed to be that family for one hour per week at church. You’ve seen them. The family with the brood of children who sit with their missals in their laps, following along the readings and pointing to the words with their fingers. During the sermon, the same kids answer the priest’s questions with “Genesis!” or “Luke – Chapter 12!” Then they flawlessly sing all the high notes of”How Great Thou Art”.
During the mass, these “model children” are referenced by onlooking parents who tell their own children “See they’re sitting” or “That boy doesn’t have his brother in a headlock”. Finally, upon their exit, they receive oodles of acclaim from elderly folks grateful for parents raising the next generation with respect and goodness in God’s House.
Unfortunately, even after putting our kids through practice/training type masses during the week when they were young (not recommended although it seemed brilliant at the time), Sunday mornings remained drenched with whines, untouched missals, Matchbox Cars stashed in pockets, and little eyes staring up at us asking to be held. To this day, my husband and I sway involuntarily from side to side like palm trees in church, poised to hold any toddler needing a better view.
Enter Palm Sunday.
Knowing Palm Sunday is on deck to kick off Holy Week, brings me great solace. You see, even though our kids are older, there is still restlessness during mass for all of us. As we enter the church we are greeted by our warmhearted Monsignor who bellows out in his Irish lilt, “The Cahills are here! Must be time to start mass!”. On that uplifting note, we make our way in, avoiding the usher so we are not scooted up to the front row. Pre-college, when we would sit as mass began, there was a lot of blaming, loud singing, correcting, and “not touching” that went on in the pew, followed by my shushing, and my daughter’s re-shushing.
But Palm Sunday brought little gifts for everyone. Palms. Pliable, soft, fresh, green reeds begging to be manipulated into works of art. This is the Sunday for a long homily when Father can freely cover the highlights of the New Testament and even throw in a few biographies of some saints. Everyone is busy forming their humble cross tied in the middle with palm strings, accompanied by a calm throughout the church as we exit.
One Sunday when the kids were little, I vowed not to get too many palms because growing up, Mom and Dad taught us to take special care of them like you would a prayer card or rosary. So in that spirit, I placed our unused palms on the table in the narthex for the next fidgety parishioners.
As we climbed in the car, my youngest son said, “Mama, look what I found on a pew on the way out!” He passed me a handful of palms. “Oh great” I lied, “Let’s google how to make a basket when we get home.”
God, Thank you for keeping Palm Sunday nice and calm.
Have a Blessed Holy Week.
❤️Lucretia
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