The Real Lessons of Palm Sunday

Palm Sunday is a day of the year that never ceases to bring laughs to our household; when I was six or seven, we were sitting in Mass when our priest invited anyone who didn’t have a palm branch to come up and grab one. “Jake,” my mom nudged me. “Do you want to go get us one?”

“No,” I replied. “I don’t want to go up there.”

“Don’t you want a palm branch?” My six-year old eyes scanned the church and I weighed my options. One, I could stay in my seat and not get a cool palm branch, or two, I could risk embarrassment for a few short moments, yet be entertained for the entire length of the Mass. It was worth it. I stood and began the trek to the altar where I could claim my prize. Reaching inside the big vase, I tugged at a branch. The stupid thing wouldn’t come out, so I gave it a solid yank and heaved it out of the vase. Walking back to our seat, I raised my head with pride and triumphantly lifted the branch for my mom to see. I was a bit surprised by her reaction: she was chuckling and covering her mouth.

“Mom, I got one,” I told her.

She nodded and laughed another moment before leaning down to my six-year old ear and whispering, “I think Father was talking about the palms on that table.” She pointed to the other side of the church where some people were picking up their branches. “You got one from the altar decorations.”

A nice lady behind us offered me her branch, stifling laughs. I shook my head. This one’s way better. “Honey, you need to bring it back,” Mom told me.

“I can’t,” I said. “That’s too embarrassing, plus this one’s a real palm branch.”

“I know, but they need that one for decorations.”

“Father said I could have it.”

“Here, just give it to me, and I’ll give it back to Fr. Auve after Mass, okay?”

“Fine.” I handed over my prized possession and accepted the little twig from the woman behind us.

This story regurgitates every year at Palm Sunday. I still remember it vividly and laugh about it with Mom. The innocence of a six-year old gets us every time, and I imagine myself now if some cute kid were to do that in Mass. I would chuckle and probably offer him my twig. 

There’s a few lessons I will never forget from that day: If we’re going to worship the Lord, you might as well go all out. Second, don’t let your six-year old interpret directions without explaining them extremely clearly. Third and most importantly, remember that if it doesn’t take some muscle to lift, you’ve got the wrong palm branch.

Love people.

-Jacob