Palm Sunday—Long Beach
My indoctrination into the church at an early age was beautiful. Before we went to India, my father was the minister of the First Congregational Church, in Concord, New Hampshire. As I have never been one to be trapped, I would regularly escape from the church nursery and stream up the church aisle screaming ‘Daddy!” and sit perched in the pulpit with him while he preached.
My first Palm Sunday memory was wondrous….palm leaves being ushered in though massive carved doors, while filtered light from stained glass window reflected all ‘round…and then the leaves blanketed the church aisles while children gathered them and waved them happily. And my father’s sparkling warm laughing eyes.
Decades ago, in Charleston, South Carolina, as a single mother to two daughters, theater became our grounding connective home. There was not one moment during those years that one of us was not involved in a production, on and off stage, and more often than not, all three of us at once. What a gift…..what a launchpad in a multitude of ways…and friendships that remain solid and heartfelt forever.
Somehwhere in the mix “Jesus Christ Superstar” happened. I cannot remember which one of us was actually on stage, but I do know that we were involved in every single rehearsal…hence the music is in my bones.
Hosanna
Hey Sanna Sanna Sanna Hosanna
Hey Sanna Hosanna
Hey JC, JC won’t you smile at me?
Sanna Hosanna
Hey Superstar.
“Won’t you smile at me?”
And now, here on our planet, which is moment by moment unrecognizable in ways, Holy Week…and Passover…..and the promise of spring….we must each hold on tight to every shred of wonder and beauty and hope that we can…it is alive..and will deliver…Believe.