On this Western Palm Sunday let this whole big multi-faceted Hope Diamond of a Church ask itself if we aren’t living in a 2,009-year long Palm Sunday together.
red rug runners unwrapping,
dressy faces beaming,
no one dying
to be going through that hair-narrow gate all alone.
The party with no pain
is only plastic glory
about to melt
when we reach the twirling flaming swords
that surround the cherubim-guarded tree of life.
May your wooden week be holier than