On the day after Palm Sunday, I
made some palm leaf crosses similar to the ones pictured here (I
got the pic from Sermon on the Sidewalk blog). I went online and found a great
YouTube guide for making them, as I had done last year. In the past, I found it to be a good remembrance of Holy Week and its message, as I kept the cross in the car throughout the year. This year, I made the crosses because I had to do something with my hands to calm the emotions I was feeling and to put my thoughts into perspective.
You
see, the Palm Sunday service did an unexpected number on me. I don’t know why I
say “unexpected” because Palm Sunday usually has a profound effect on me in
some way. This year, though, I thought it would be different because I have not
been especially attuned to the season until this week. Sometimes the beauty of
church liturgy, whatever the season, is that it is there when you want to truly engage, but if you are
not up for deep engagement, you can still take part in the rhythm of the service
in a lighter, more peripheral manner. I thought this year would be one of those
peripheral participations.
The Liturgy Drew Me In
So
we processed into the church with palm branches, participated in a liturgical
reading of the passion narrative from the Gospel of Matthew, heard a brief homily, celebrated the
Eucharist, and it was all very nice. I didn’t get all emotionally caught up in
the rejoicing stage or in the “crucify him!” moment. It was all nice and pat.
Then came the closing hymn, “Were You There?”
“Were
You There?” has long been a powerful and moving song for me. It is one of those
Negro Spirituals that has made its into many hymnals, Catholic and Protestant
alike. It was not the first time I have had mixed emotions about Negro
Spirituals, often noting their simple beauty that arose from such hardship.
During Sunday's service, however, I glanced down at the bottom of the page and read the source
of the song which was listed as from “Old Plantation Hymns.” The loaded term, plantation, was just too much to keep me
on the periphery. I could not help thinking of the hardship inflicted upon the
slaves by the plantation owners. I could not help thinking that when the slaves
sang, “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” they actually were there. They were there in a way
that neither the plantation owners then – nor nice church people now – could
realize.
The institution of slavery was oppressing and “crucifying” people, not for our salvation, but so that they could have a bowl of sugar on their table, abundant crops in the field, and money in their coffers. How often does our society still oppress or take advantage of workers just so we can have goods in the market and food on the table? “Sometimes, it causes me to tremble…”
During Sunday's service, however, I glanced down at the bottom of the page and read the source
of the song which was listed as from “Old Plantation Hymns.” The loaded term, plantation, was just too much to keep me
on the periphery. I could not help thinking of the hardship inflicted upon the
slaves by the plantation owners. I could not help thinking that when the slaves
sang, “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” they actually were there. They were there in a way
that neither the plantation owners then – nor nice church people now – could
realize. The institution of slavery was oppressing and “crucifying” people, not for our salvation, but so that they could have a bowl of sugar on their table, abundant crops in the field, and money in their coffers. How often does our society still oppress or take advantage of workers just so we can have goods in the market and food on the table? “Sometimes, it causes me to tremble…”
Craft Time
I had to get still and quiet Sunday night after the service. I couldn’t just shake it off; I had to dwell with
it for a while. Then with a new day come Monday, I needed another routine to put me into a
productive rhythm. I knew if I let the morning be “craft time” the use of my
hands to make things would get me grounded again.
The other thing that helped
my perspective was having just seen the BBC documentary, “How Art Made theWorld.” In one episode, it was pointed out how cultures around the world had
used art to come to terms with people’s awareness that we will all face death.
Many cultures have incorporated religious art that acknowledges death. One of the things
that art can do is to find an object that acknowledges death and at the same
time provides comfort and hope. The Christian cross was given as an example of
such a symbol.
So
I busied my hands, steadied myself, and practiced an age-old art form whereby I
could come to terms with death and celebrate life at the same time. There was
also the factor that this was a fun thing to do, like so many projects we did
as children. There is still the reality
of suffering and death, but a little bit of art can give us courage to live. A
day of crafts can give us a steady hand to work for change in the future.
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