Dear Saints in Santa Fe, and other far-off places:

Greetings in the name and spirit of Jesus Christ!

I thought I heard alleluias.

I really did, every Palm Sunday, year after year, this parade of joy and celebration and waving palms, this recognition finally that Jesus is the man, the one that inexplicably defeats Empire for this one shining day on a donkey.

It’s like Easter without the eggs, without the cross, without the crucifixion. Less messy and more fun. Who doesn’t like a parade?

Yes, it’s time to sing our alleluias!

Except that’s not what the crowd yelled. Alleluia is rejoicing and praising and worshipping. They weren’t doing that. Far from it.

The crowd was yelling Hosanna. Hebrew for save us.

Save us, Jesus, from Rome and empires who trample its citizens with casual disregard and cruelty. As Jesus approached Jerusalem from the east the Roman battalion was approaching from the west, horses, chariots, weapons, power, all. They were on a collision course.

Save us from lives of desperation, a result of a sick and oppressive system, seen in all the lame, blind, deaf, and demon possessed chronicled in the gospels. Need was everywhere.

Save us from futile lives that mean little.

Save us from lives that are too small.

Save us, Jesus, from thinking that we alone can heal the world, and save us from thinking that we can’t.

There will be some tough days ahead, the gospels tell us, and we will be singing alleluias soon, hopefully in a week or so.

But right now let us hear our Hosannas, ten thousand times, maybe more.

Grace and peace,

Harry