Every Palm Sunday, I am transported back to the memory of my seven year old fidgety self and one heck of a hullabaloo I caused on this Sunday many years ago. I kept this story to myself until now, when I am safely in my thirties and secure in the fact that I won't be grounded for a good week from the wrath of my parents, who took church behavior pretty seriously in those days. While I felt very loved within this church community when I was very young and learned all about Jesus there, it was the type of situation among my parents and grandparents that if you got caught chewing gum in church, you had the feeling you might be struck dead, or something dramatic like that. The church I go to now lets people drink coffee during worship, and I still sometimes cringe that a bolt from somewhere out of the ceiling is going to come down and smite the snacks. However I shared this story with my grandpa this morning and he got a good chuckle out of it, so since he approved I feel I am now ready to share it with the world.
It was Palm Sunday. All of us children were lined up in the fellowship area with our palm branches, waiting to walk up the aisle and perform the song we had rehearsed for the day. The service had already started, and man it was taking a classic Lutheran long time. I am a fidgeter and daydreamer by nature. I connect with the kids in my classroom who doodle, rip up pieces of paper and chew on their pencils. I was really in some sort of daydreamers trance that day because I absent-mindedly started taking my palm branch and popping holes through the bottoms of all the Styrofoam cups that were set out on the tables (upside down in stacks) for coffee and fellowship after church. In and out. In and out. Then, before I knew it, the Sunday school teacher was guiding me along to walk up the aisle.
The service ended and it was on to my favorite part; having snacks with my friends while my parents visited. We had just all sat down when there was some shouting and I remember jumping. I looked over and about two tables full of people were standing and running around to get paper towels and dish towels. Women were rushing off to the bathroom and men were brushing at their laps. It was a moment of sheer realization. My face started to burn and my heart was just thudding. I remember trying to act "natural" while nibbling on that generic store bought creme filled cookie while chaos ensued two tables over. Coffee was everywhere. It was running off the tables onto the dark blue church carpet that I can still remember so well.
My friend's dad, Ted, whose presence literally put "the fear of God into me" at times, walked over to our table and said in his deep I-was-once-in-the-Navy kinda voice, "Would any of you know anything about the "holey" cups we had at our table?" . I remember pretending to look wildly around with my most innocent face shrugging my shoulders. However my smart alec friend (who happened to be Ted's daughter, and I guess was not feeling any fear that day) said hilariously back, "well of COURSE they are HOLY, they are church cups!" to which she laughed hysterically at her own joke. Looking back, my red, not smiling face must have said it all, because I am pretty sure Ted gave me a good long stare before he walked away.
So it was me who punched the holes in the cups that Palm Sunday. I am sorry for the ruined clothes, burned laps and overall mess. Thank goodness for the grace of the cross we are given through the remembrance of Easter. I need it way more now then I did when I was sabotaging cups in church. Happy Easter week to you friends. May you enjoy good fellowship and secure coffee cups.
Labels: Stories to Laugh at
