Palm Sunday

Today, many churches celebrate Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem.

Palm branches covered the path for the “King of Jews.”

You can hear about it and read about it every Easter, in every rural town and big city.

In the Episcopal churches I attended, it was usually a very celebratory service with all the bells and smells and a top tier choir.

Typically, when I was away from my regular church, I’d visit another.

In 2011, however, I found myself standing alone on Palm Sunday, on a quiet North Carolina beach.

I recall seeing only one person nearby–a fisherman.

I had only my camera and my thoughts.

Sorry Lord, I missed church today.

I prayed– no, I talked to God.

You believers know.

That talking through the heart stuff that makes the world call us delusional.

Well, I heard a lovely answer, a reminder– that ye yourselves are the temple of the holy spirit.

And then I noticed a horizontal shadow intersect with my own shadow.

A cross in the sand.

And once again, I pressed forward with my faith and love for nature.

With hope to live and return.

AMEN.