Lent Day 35: Palm Monday and The Outsider

For several reasons, yesterday's Palm Sunday service reminded me greatly of the five years I attended mass/worship before I was baptized.

The kids were wiped out from our weekend trip (to participate in/see the Color Guard/Drum Line championships), and Denise spent the morning retrieving our dog from his first time ever being kenneled, which exhausted everyone.  I went to church to lead the youth group discussion, and then settled in for late service without anyone else from my family.

The Sunday of The Passion (Palm Sunday) begins with a procession of the pastors, choir and members from one end of the building to the sanctuary (church building proper).  We recall the story of Jesus riding into Jerusalem, with cheers from people waving palm leaves.  (I still can't figure out what today's equivalent would be:  a ticker tape parade?)  Usually the procession is from the back of the church and includes only those who lead the service (preside, assist, sing); the members are usually in the pews.  But with everyone in the processional, it's a free-for-all regarding seats.  By the time I had gotten seated I felt out of sorts.  As much as I knew the people around me, I was out of my usual pattern.

The service itself is also unusual, but in a good way.  The music is much more ornate, and there are many more readings.  In fact, the entire Passion -- from Jesus' triumphant march into Jerusalem through his dying on the Cross -- is read aloud, with different folks reading the parts of Jesus, the disciples, Pilate, the thieves on the crosses alongside Jesus, and so on.  And with so much being read aloud, there is no sermon.

Perhaps it was my being out of pattern or my fatigue (I had driven 600 miles in two days) or perhaps it's my Lenten discipline of minimizing audio noise -- everything about the service struck me deeper than in recent years.  I listened, not just heard, all the words very carefully.  I sang all the hymns much more intensely.  And for all 'choreography' in the service -- the Cross that lead the procession, the Words of Institution spoken in preparing the bread and wine for Communion, all the movement that takes place in a service -- I locked in, almost like watching the action for the first time.

I've been asked why it took me five years to decide to get baptized, and I've never had a really good answer.  It just didn't seem like I was ready until it was time, and yet I went almost weekly to some form of Christian worship.  For the first two years I attended Catholic Mass, and indeed was almost baptized there.  I studied the different parts of the worship liturgy, marveling at how everyone knew what to say or do at certain times during Mass.  In taking one of the adult Christian education classes I had been preparing to baptized on Easter Vigil, the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.

For the following three years I attended a Lutheran church, the very one I still attend today.  I attended worship, intellectually observing the differences between a Protestant service and a Catholic Mass.  I took the Lutheran adult Christian education class and for whatever reason felt more comfortable there.  I don't why I felt that way, but I think I felt more comfortable or emboldened to ask questions.  And I asked many questions about why pastors and worshipers say and do the things they say and do during the service.  I asked the questions that an outsider would ask, one who felt confident enough to ask without being laughed at.

As much as I marveled at the rituals, I needed to understand why everyone performed them.  Without knowing the underlying reasons, the gestures would be mere superstitions.  I asked many questions and still remember most if not all of the answers.  I tend to internally reinforce those lessons during worship service -- to always remember why I do the things I do, like during the Exchange of Peace, or how I respond while receiving Communion.

I don't know why I'm so obsessed about remembering "the why" underlying the rituals; perhaps it's the ultra-rational side of me that never wants to be accused of being superstitious.  But there's part of me that always feels The Outsider, the person looking in where others are already accepted, forgiven and loved.  Like part of me doesn't deserve to be there and share in the gifts of the church.  Perhaps that's why I waited five long years to finally become baptized.

Maybe it took me that long to figure out that no one actually deserves these things, and that's why people go to church:  to get something (good/Good) that they don't deserve.  And that in the big picture we're all Outsiders, who are made Insiders by the very story that we'll hear throughout this Holy Week.


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