The ghost of life: Hosanna

Today is Palm Sunday, the day Christians in the West remember the entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem. Ordinarily churches would be handing out palm fronds for congregants to wave in emulation of the palms that were laid before the Christ. In Roman and Anglican Catholic parishes, they take the triumphal entry story all the way to the crucifixion, with the congregation acting the part of Jews screaming “Crucify him!”

(I think that these days, the order of service refers to the screamers as “the People”; the Roman Church only stopped calling Jews Christ-killers after Vatican II, and a lot of people are still begrudging that.)

It’s kind of weird to think of churches—except for the evangelical nutjobs across the former Confederacy—not enacting the procession, singing “All Glory, Laud and Honor”, weaving palm spikes into crosses and preparing for Holy Week. But here we are.

Well, anyway, today’s entry for National Poetry Month is from someone I’ve never heard of, Lloyd C. Taylor, Jr., a resident of North Carolina. I was trawling an archive of seasonal poems and stopped at this one, because we should all be asking its question. We should be asking it every year, but this one in particular.

Sadly—very few will.

“What Have We Learned?”

They shouted with praises, reaching the sky,

Pushing and shoving to see Jesus pass by.

Crying, 'Hosanna, hosanna, glory to the King!

He comes to us today, great joy He doth bring.'

They threw down palm leaves, covering the way,

Clearing the way for His entrance that day.

Raising joyful voices, as praises filled the air,

The day had come, God answered their prayer!

But, in a short time they changed their chant,

From joyful noise, to a mob's hate-filled rant.

From Hosanna, hosanna, as when He was praised;

To crucify Him! Crucify Him, as their anger blazed!

In disbelief we might question why they turned?

But maybe the question is, 'What have we learned? '