A pot of green ivy, a red rose, a rosary, a rooster, and some palms were arranged on the communion table by several volunteers.  A member of the church drew the bulletin cover.

The service opened with children waving palms and playing recorders. During the time with the children, I told them that there is room for ALL of us in the story of Jesus–room for the old, young, smart, those who are good friends, and those who are not always good friends.

The choir sang.   I preached.

These days, I find myself impatient.  Am I doing enough?  How should we be the church in 2015 when much (most?) the population doesn’t know the meaning of Palm Sunday?

Jesus took the risk while I hang out in a small church in rural Maine–a church where mistakes and missed opportunities abound, a church where the to do list is out of hand.

At the close of worship I sat in the back row and listened to the postlude.  I bowed my head.  I looked up and saw other heads bowed.  I saw eyes being wiped with kleenex.   When the music ended, we simply sat.  No applause.  No rush for the door.  Slowly and carefully we began to make eye contact with one another.  Was it my imagination or were the conversations slow, deep, and reflective?  Were we talking with each other about the hard stuff in our lives?

Did I just witness a community at prayer ready to reach out to one another and carry the cross together?  Did Jesus just show up and do something remarkable?