Palm Sunday reflection

Reflection for Palm Sunday
“They brought the colt…. and set Jesus on it…. The whole multitude….. began to praise God joyfully….. saying, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!”From today’s Gospel, Luke 19:28-40. 
 “Our musicians wear body armour – instead of tuxedos they sing to the wounded. In hospitals. Even to those who can’t hear them. But the music will break through anyway. President Zelensky at the Grammys.Today’s reflection is the work of Rev’d Christopher (Kit) Carter, whose ashes were interred yesterday in Llangadwaladr Churchyard which was one of the places where he served. Kit had many gifts, not least as a poet, and this is one of poems he wrote for Passiontide and Easter. Today, Palm Sunday, with the war in Ukraine still raging and peace talks as yet unsuccessful, his words are appropriate as the city is entered and the Via Dolorosa draws near. Firstly, there must be this way of suffering and death but it will eventually lead on to resurrection hope and life restored. As Kit writes of Jesus:….naked high upon a cross,You shared our sorrow, pain and loss. We for whom you gave everything Still cry, “Hosanna to the King!”
Despite all he and his people are suffering, if President Zelensky can speak at the Grammys of the music breaking through anyway, then we too can sing “Hosanna” as a sign of trust. As Holy Week begins, may it bring its blessings, despite the Via Dolorosa and the grave of which Kit speaks, because of the later empty tomb. That enables us, despite it all, to trust that hope will eventually break through so that, in the end, “All’s well! Hosanna to the King!”
With my prayers, pob bendith,Christine, Guardian.

A Prayer for Passiontide and Easter

Lord Jesus, when in state you rode

No snorting warhorse you bestrode

But jolted down the stony track

Upon a humble donkey’s back.

Yet like the children then we sing

And cry, “Hosanna to the King.”
When once within the city gate

You were not robed in royal state

But seized and bound by cruel foes.

Your naked back was black with blows.

We for whom you endured the sting

Yet cry, “Hosanna to the King“
When you paraded through the town,

You did not wear a golden crown.

They plaited sprigs of cruel thorn

To crown you with in spiteful scorn.

To shame the mindless taunts they fling

We cry, “Hosanna to the King!”
Not raised upon a lofty throne

In splendid majesty alone

But naked high upon a cross

You shared our sorrow, pain and loss.

We for whom you gave everything

Still cry, “Hosanna to the King!”
After you’d struggled and won through

No stately palace welcomed you

Only the grave we all must share.

But like a sown seed sleeping there

You sprang up and brought back the Spring. 

All’s well! Hosanna to the King!

Rev’d Kit Carter. Rest in peace, Kit.