{During Lent 2021, I’ve been perusing my photo files, choosing pics of church sanctuaries, and writing random reflections prompted by the images, while drinking fair trade coffee. OK, that last phrase was irrelevant. The main thing is that the pandemic has kept many of us away from the sanctuaries that welcomed us as people of faith, and this blog is one way to reconnect with those special places.}

Pictured here is the sanctuary of First Presbyterian Church, Champaign, IL. I took the photo, but have never been in the room. Throughout the global pandemic, we have worshipped with many congregations via video streaming, and this church is one of our favorites. (So, my camera was aimed at the TV screen.) On this day before Palm Sunday I thought this image might be appropriate. See the guy in the back there? He’s waving a palm branch. All by his lonesome.

That’s one of my best friends, the Rev. Matt Matthews. He’s the “Senior Pastor,” something difficult for me to grasp since I’ve known him since his college days, just a couple of years ago. Or three decades? Anyway, he’s the head of staff there, and you’d think he could have found some underling to wave that branch, but there he is. Hosanna, and all that.

The scene pictured here was from a year ago when churches were beginning ro realize that things would be different for some time to come. As Lent 2020 was nearing an end (an end that really didn’t seem to arrive), Palm Sunday insisted on happening. (Church calendars don’t pay attention to mere human events or circumstances…wars, pandemics, whatever…Christmas and Easter persist on their quirky schedules.) The usual procedure for many churches of all kinds of stripes is to buy palms of some sort (unless they happen to grow nearby, and here in Upstate New York they don’t), hand them out to parishioners and force even the introverts to leave their pews and march around the sanctuary singing “All Glory, Laud, and Honor.” Some shouting of Hosanna! is also encouraged. Did I say “around the sanctuary?” Yes, it says so just above this query. Many churches take the parade a bit further; they parade around the block, or around the periphery of the church exterior, a public display of affection for Jesus.

Matt’s parade last year was kind of abbreviated. He was by himself. He didn’t march. He just stood there and waved. And smiled. Because he has a warm sense of humor and an endearing connection to his church folk. He was inviting us, the worshipping congregation at home in recliners, drinking coffee or tea, maybe still in PJs, but nonetheless eager for the story of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem to be re-told — he was inviting us to virtually gather around the Word, listen for new understanding, and say our prayers. The church’s cantor sang the hymn, a puppet asked the questions the church’s youngsters might have asked about the palms, Matt sat casually in the front pew and spoke with us what he had discerned about the celebration from his study of the Book. (He didn’t actually preach. “Preaching” assumes a group to whom a sermon is projected, loudly enough to reach the back of the room and the wandering mind. Matt as much as conversed with us, though that verb infers an exchange of words between two parties. Still, as he informally shared his thoughts, we did nod, hum an affirmation, maybe even mutter an amen.)

Hosanna in the highest heaven! Hosanna is one of those words reserved for church. It’s not part of normal speech or common vocabulary. I have yet to hear someone shout the word upon seeing the new Corvette or Lady Gaga video. (Though “Halleluia” is far more common, and though I’m not allowed to utter it during Lent, I didn’t; I typed it. Gee, I hope you’re not reading this aloud.) But on Palm Sunday, virtual or not, the hosannas echo through the centuries, and the joyous acclamation shouted and sung at Jesus’ arrival in the holy city is repeated by the global community of faith. If Jesus were coming to town today, we might wave our lighted cellphones, or giant foam pointy fingers (“You’re number one!) or pom poms. There’d be some entrepreneurs selling light sticks and glow rings, too. But back then, the custom was plucking palm branches from trees and laying them before the entering dignitary or waving them overhead.

Hosanna in the highest heaven! The highest heaven! The gospel writers see Jesus as the one who joins earth and heaven, the lowest earth (the meek, the poor, the hungry, the humblest child) and the highest heaven (that would be Godself). Hurrah! Hooray! How soon, within days, the shouts would be, “Crucify him!” Like the turn of a card.

Before I end here, a note about that empty (except for Matt) sanctuary. It doesn’t indicate at all that Matt’s church is empty. Its mission continues, and it is ambitious under the guidance of Matt’s beloved, The Rev. Rachel Matthews, the church’s Mission Coordinator. A praise band often joins the organist and cantor in leading music for streamed worship. The multicultural congregation hears the scriptures read in French as well as English each week, and that Word is proclaimed orally and actively, with FPC Champaign’s church life continuing to reflect a living and breathing faith through these challenging times. Social justice, the arts, campus ministry — those are part of the outreach of a vital church. Matt even sends a daily email to each church member and friend, offering news, pastoral concerns, mission invitations, prayers and poetry, and just awful humor. (Insert smiley face here! Or one that grimmaces.)

Hosanna, then, to the Jesus who is alive and well in that congregation! If I had a palm, I’d wave it!