Palm Sunday Prayer

"Hosanna," the crowds sang and shouted while waving branches.
"Hosannas," that echoed off the stone walls of the gate into Jerusalem.
"Hosanna," as people stomped passionately into the dusty ground.
"Hosanna," which means, "Save us."

Where do you need saving this day?

It is a difficult question for a culture that idolizes the rugged individual.
The John Waynes of the world.
The self-made person - as if that was biologically ~ socially ~ spiritually possible.
A culture that has adopted Burger King's motto, "Have it your way" as our deepest truth.

Me?  Need saving?  Nope.  I am just fine.

Only I am not.
I see my wounds and wants reflected in the mirror each morning.
I see the pain unprocessed passed along in comments that hurt, harm others.
I feel the dis-ease within me, even as I sweep it under the rug of my soul.

Me?  Need saving?  Nope (whispered uncertainly).

I'll just stand here and wave my palm thinking, acting like everything is fine.
I'll cling to that branch as I cling to controlling my life.
I'll sing sweetly to surf over the pain that awaits in the coming days.

Me?  Need saving?

Okay, maybe.  Maybe I do need help.
I'll admit my anxiety over the last few weeks.
I'll confess that the meditations I do may not be settling my soul.
I'll accept that gnawing call to look a little deeper.

Me?

Maybe the crowd that Palm Sunday didn't shout or sing.
Maybe the "Hosanna," save me, was more like the prayers we've uttered as we've watched the news

Save us, O God, from a spreading illness.
Save us, O God, from a broken, polarized political system that widens.
Save us, O God, from the ways we race around so we feel needed and necessary.
Save us, O God, from ourselves.

"Hosanna," said in the solitude of our homes.
"Hosannas," that echoed off honestly off the walls of our souls.
"Hosanna," as my heart breaks open to the God's presence..
"Hosanna," O God.  "Hosanna."

Amen.