I grew up in a small town on the eastern slope of the Rockies in Montana. Although now most of the working ranches are owned by people who have multiple homes and have built mansions in the center of what used to be various working ranches, in my childhood days, we were a community of sheepherders, ranchers, small farmers, and people who provided services to the agricultural community. We were also a community of relatively recent immigrants. Some folks still spoke Norwegian and ate the foods from the old country. Others spoke German, though not in public in those post-World War II days. Others had migrated from other places in the US or countries in Europe. A few Indigenous folks remained, but not many after the area around our town was removed from the reservation and the agency was moved 100 miles east.

The folk in our town were practical folk, and the sight of a convertible was rare. However, somehow, convertibles were found for parades. Some were driven down from the city 80 miles to the east. When we had a parade, there would always be a convertible for the Parade Marshall. In the Rodeo parade, there would be another for the Rodeo Queen. Other parades might feature dignitaries such as a US Senator, a member of the House of Representatives, or the Governor. Local politicians also appeared in parades, often riding horses or just walking. On Memorial Day, Veterans led the parade in an honor guard with flags and guns. Others followed in their uniforms or wore American Legion caps with collected pins. A few of the oldest veterans, the World War I guys, rode on a flatbed trailer pulled by a pickup truck or a tractor.

As we watched the parades, our parents pointed out the dignitaries and reminded us why they were in them. On television, we watched ticker tape parades for astronauts, politicians, and others honored for their feats.

Years have passed, and I live in another small town. I take our grandchildren to the parades in our town; their experience is quite a bit different. Our grandchildren will bring a bag with them when they go to a parade. They expect participants in the parade to throw candy and small gifts, and they run into the street between floats to pick up the scattered goodies. Last July 4, they collected a haul of candy that rivaled their Halloween takings. They tend to stockpile candy at our house because the amount of candy consumed at their house is more strictly regulated. We dole it out little by little when they come for visits.

I don’t think our grandchildren could name any dignitaries in any parades they have seen. Perhaps our 14-year-old grandson will recognize State Representative Alicia Rule in the next parade he sees. She sponsored him as a Page in the State Legislature this year, and he has a photo of himself in his tie and Page blazer with her on the House Floor.

When we stage a Palm Parade at our church, people my age think of the event differently than the children. We naturally look to the person playing the part of Jesus. We need to have a dignitary for our parade and understand Jesus's presence as sufficient for a significant procession. Our grandchildren are wondering why there is such a fuss over an indoor event with a few fronds from the florist and no candy. They are more interested in the candy they will harvest from the church Easter Egg hunt or the baskets they will receive the following Sunday.

The reality, however, is that most of us, whatever our age, have an inaccurate picture of what Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem was like. It bore little resemblance to the Memorial Day parade in my hometown or the July 4 parade where we now live. It bore little resemblance to what comes to mind regarding parades and processions. A better image of Jesus coming to Jerusalem would be last week’s Hands Off protests, the largest one-day, nationwide display of public resistance against the second administration of the current US President.

Jesus’ entry was seen as an act of political dissidence by the Roman authorities that oversaw Jerusalem in his day. It was seen as an incident that might bring down increased oppression by the religious leaders of his time. There was an effort to suppress the crowds' enthusiasm for the makeshift procession of gathered branches and coats scattered on the street. When the crowds became boisterous, some Pharisees asked him to calm them. Jesus responded, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.” (Luke 19:40)

Jesus’ palm procession into Jerusalem, celebrated worldwide today, was not an event featuring prominent politicians. It probably wasn’t impressive by Jerusalem standards, where Romans staged parades with matched white stallions, armored soldiers with their weapons, and chariots. The makeshift gathering was a bit too close to a riot for the comfort of political and religious leaders of the day. The tumultuous week that followed ended with Jesus’ crucifixion on charges of insurrection against the government.

As a working preacher, I threw myself into Holy Week, fasting, praying, and leading worship daily. I also moved furniture, reset rooms, and wrote services all week long, in addition to keeping up with other duties such as visitation, funerals, and the like. Our church was usually a hub of community activities, with meetings, concerts, and other events, but during Holy Week, we reserved the building for ourselves and our activities. We ate together, celebrated communion together, and prayed together. I would arrive at the church early in the morning and be the last to leave late in the evening. At the end of the week, I would be exhausted.

Now that I am retired, I’ll probably attend only one extra worship service this week and will likely see no parades beyond the procession. However, I will try to remember Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem as accurately as possible. As I watch the events of our communities unfold this season, I will look for signs of the message he carried and its meaning to the gathered crowds.