On Palm Sunday each year I teach one large class of young children. It’s a Godly Play style of lesson which means the children and I sit on the floor in a circle, and I tell a story with pictures and simple props.
Years ago my church had a rector who said, “If you go from the hosannas of Palm Sunday straight to the Alleluias of Easter Sunday, you’ve missed the most important part of the story!”
So my Palm Sunday story encompasses the Holy Week happenings starting with Jesus entering the gates of Jerusalem on a borrowed donkey. I tell them of the Scribes and Pharisees plotting to kill Jesus because of their jealousy and fear of Him; of their payment of thirty pieces of silver to Judas as the price of betrayal. They hear of Pilate trying to induce the crowd by having Jesus beaten instead of being crucified, but in the end, giving in and “washing his hands” of the blood when he gave the order to have Jesus killed. They see the wrenching picture of Jesus on his knees, head bowed to the ground, crown of thorns tearing into His head, bleeding stripes on His back, the cross beam leaning heavy against His broken body.
They look at the three crosses against a darkened sky, and then Jesus’ body being carefully laid into the arms of His waiting mother. Finally, there is the empty tomb waiting to receive its honored guest, the large stone off to the side. It’s a lot to take in, and the children listen respectfully. It’s at this point that I tell the children, “This is where our story ends today, with Jesus dead and alone in a tomb sealed with a stone. That’s why to me a stone represents great sadness. (I let them think about that for a moment.) But next week, we learn that the stone is rolled away and that Jesus is alive again. So a stone also represents great joy!”
During last year’s lesson at this point a little boy called out, “So it DOES have a happy ending!” And I replied, “Yes it does! For Jesus and for all of us!” And all the children broke into spontaneous, joyful clapping. It was a moment I will never forget.
The first time I shared this story with a friend, I admitted that I felt shame because it had been too long since I had shown that much unrestrained joy over the fact that my Redeemer lives. Why is it when we grow up we feel the need to surrender the opportunity to display that kind of honest emotion?
May you have a joyous and blessed Easter!
To my readers: Tell us about your favorite Easter memory.
