I kept my palm leaf from Palm Sunday services yesterday. I was going to say something wise about the folly of expectation. I was going to get all wordy about the pain of dashed hopes when we wave our palm branches for a savior of our own definition.
But my words started to sound like a sermon that I am not qualified to give, so I deleted them. Seems like all I know is my own little world lately. Nothing I write sounds very wise to me. Maybe it’s just as well. It’s not about words after all, is it?
But I have experienced as a father the ways in which I kill my kids’ spirit by trampling over them with my own agenda. I’ve experienced many ways in which expectations have killed my own spirit, when I try to force my agenda on God. I assume that similar expectations on Palm Sunday led eventually to Jesus’ death.
And so the palm branch from church yesterday speaks to me as a reminder. It seems fitting to me that the palms we carry on Palm Sunday become the ashes that symbolize our mortality on Ash Wednesday.