Palm Sunday, 2010

On Palm Sunday, as is our custom,we began the service outdoors. Clutching our palm crosses, we marched around the block in symbolic emulation of Jesus' entrance into Jerusalem two thousand years ago. I could see some new families glancing at each other in puzzlement: do they do this every week? No, just once a year. And this isn't your grandmother's Episcopal Church where you stand, sit, and kneel, eyes fixed front, and don't utter a word that's not in the prayer book or hymnal.

During Holy Week Christians remember the fleeting exultation of Palm Sunday, His betrayal, abandonment, and rigged execution, and astonishing triumph over death itself. From the highs to the lows to the ultimate high, it's a story that's hard to believe in an age where science rules more strongly than ever.

The fact that scientists have been shown to be fallible as other human beings and have changed their minds--even reversed their positions completely--should give pause to those who place their faith in science's direction. To believe or not is a choice, a gift that is nearly as great as life itself. In a world filled with portent and promise, choose wisely.