It is the annual Palm Sunday Parade, and we have come to see
the sights. We’ve come early to secure the best spot, in the grass, in the
shade. We’ve brought our collapsible chairs, our umbrellas, opera glasses, and
a cooler of beverages. It’s a great day for a parade. The sun is up. The wind is down. It’s not too
cold – winter has only recently lost its grip on the land, and it’s not too
warm, the sun has not yet reached its summer intensity. It is a great day for the annual Palm Sunday
Parade.
And here they come – the rope-bearers, the knotters who lead the procession with ropes. Their brothers will follow, as we know, at the end of the parade as well, to tie the whole thing together. And yes, it’s official.We can hear the blowing of the horns of the altar. The parade has begun!
There’s Herold, the herald, ringing a bell, followed by the Daughters of Zion throwing candy.
Now come the Freemasons, wearing caps with two-headed eagles, and splendid aprons with golden embroidery. They are throwing, not candy, but small stones. These are unwanted, rejected stones. Don’t confuse them with the bonbons thrown by the Daughters of Zion. You’ll break your teeth.
Next in line is the All Star Bethany High School Marching Band, playing a selection of songs by Andrew Lloyd Webber. The Bethany High School Marching Band is a crowd favorite. What they lack in precision and skill, they make up in volume.
And here is a strange entry: four creatures walking, or flying as it were, side by side. There is a golden, shimmering Man dressed all in white, and beside him a Lion as large as a truck. Next to the Lion is great Ox with six-foot long horns. Flying next to the Ox, is an Eagle. It shrieks. We are forced to cover our ears. Its cry drowns out even the marching band.
Here comes my favorite. The Laborer’s Local Union 353. They’re holding a banner that reads “MONEY CHANGERS and BANKERS BEWARE!”
Behind them are the bagpipers. There are always bagpipers in a parade. Always.
Now come the Lord’s Prayers. They step in time reciting the prayer that our Lord taught us.
Here are the infants and nursing babes – with their prepared praise. It’s difficult to understand what they are saying, what with their mothers’ breasts still in their mouths, and all. But we cheer for them, nonetheless.
We’re almost at the end now. The little children come next, shouting “Hosanna!” But they’re confused. They are mixed up. Why are they wearing last year’s Christmas pageant costumes? They’re wearing angel robes and gold tinsel halos. “Hosanna in the Highest!” Have we got our holiday’s confused? And what is this? What is this next strange sight? A group of men holding palm branches and lemons. Lemons? The palm branches I understand, but … Lemons?
After the citrons have passed, there is a solitary figure. He’s wearing a tattered sweater and bow tie. He’s holding a pen. I don’t know what he’s doing here.
And now, of course, the man himself riding on a colt and on the foal of a colt, a bareback trick rider extraordinaire.
Our neighbors here on the parade grounds are starting to grumble about all of this. The candy and the chaos in the streets. But before their complaints can get too loud, they are drowned out by a strange shouting coming from those scattered, discarded stones that the Freemasons tossed.
And that seems to be it. The parade has passed by. The final Knotters have bound the whole thing up. The parade is over and the crowd turns to leave. They pack up their chairs and round up their screaming children with bags of candy. It’s time to go. But wait. Wait. Like a Marvel movie post-credit sequence, here comes one more entry in the parade. Blind beggars and lurching cripples, who look like they’ve crawled up out of dank ditches, struggle on in the wake of the great parade. They may be late, but they know they will catch up with the Parade Marshal at the end.
And here they come – the rope-bearers, the knotters who lead the procession with ropes. Their brothers will follow, as we know, at the end of the parade as well, to tie the whole thing together. And yes, it’s official.We can hear the blowing of the horns of the altar. The parade has begun!
There’s Herold, the herald, ringing a bell, followed by the Daughters of Zion throwing candy.
Now come the Freemasons, wearing caps with two-headed eagles, and splendid aprons with golden embroidery. They are throwing, not candy, but small stones. These are unwanted, rejected stones. Don’t confuse them with the bonbons thrown by the Daughters of Zion. You’ll break your teeth.
Next in line is the All Star Bethany High School Marching Band, playing a selection of songs by Andrew Lloyd Webber. The Bethany High School Marching Band is a crowd favorite. What they lack in precision and skill, they make up in volume.
And here is a strange entry: four creatures walking, or flying as it were, side by side. There is a golden, shimmering Man dressed all in white, and beside him a Lion as large as a truck. Next to the Lion is great Ox with six-foot long horns. Flying next to the Ox, is an Eagle. It shrieks. We are forced to cover our ears. Its cry drowns out even the marching band.
Here comes my favorite. The Laborer’s Local Union 353. They’re holding a banner that reads “MONEY CHANGERS and BANKERS BEWARE!”
Behind them are the bagpipers. There are always bagpipers in a parade. Always.
Now come the Lord’s Prayers. They step in time reciting the prayer that our Lord taught us.
Here are the infants and nursing babes – with their prepared praise. It’s difficult to understand what they are saying, what with their mothers’ breasts still in their mouths, and all. But we cheer for them, nonetheless.
We’re almost at the end now. The little children come next, shouting “Hosanna!” But they’re confused. They are mixed up. Why are they wearing last year’s Christmas pageant costumes? They’re wearing angel robes and gold tinsel halos. “Hosanna in the Highest!” Have we got our holiday’s confused? And what is this? What is this next strange sight? A group of men holding palm branches and lemons. Lemons? The palm branches I understand, but … Lemons?
After the citrons have passed, there is a solitary figure. He’s wearing a tattered sweater and bow tie. He’s holding a pen. I don’t know what he’s doing here.
And now, of course, the man himself riding on a colt and on the foal of a colt, a bareback trick rider extraordinaire.
Our neighbors here on the parade grounds are starting to grumble about all of this. The candy and the chaos in the streets. But before their complaints can get too loud, they are drowned out by a strange shouting coming from those scattered, discarded stones that the Freemasons tossed.
And that seems to be it. The parade has passed by. The final Knotters have bound the whole thing up. The parade is over and the crowd turns to leave. They pack up their chairs and round up their screaming children with bags of candy. It’s time to go. But wait. Wait. Like a Marvel movie post-credit sequence, here comes one more entry in the parade. Blind beggars and lurching cripples, who look like they’ve crawled up out of dank ditches, struggle on in the wake of the great parade. They may be late, but they know they will catch up with the Parade Marshal at the end.
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