By his wounds we are healed

And what is meant by the experience of physical pain in the hands at the mention of Christ hanging on the cross?

Is it a shared sympathy, a feeling that can compound the huge sacrifice laid down on that rugged tree? Is it an acknowledgement of the wounds that we share , that we are following the journey, the call that Christ calls us to, that we are ultimately crucified with Christ.

A vision of rough and sturdy hands forcing the arms apart, the body bucking and thrashing as each nail is driven into the palm. One by one, sharpness, sheer pain, followed by the never ending aches, throbbing from the palm, to the elbow, to the shoulder, to the neck.

An ache a yearning to escape from this suffering. God weeps as we writhe and thrash away from the cross, because His son willingly took the burden of humanity and poured out His blood and water to feed the ground in which we grow. Each of us a sacred seed, grown and made in the likeness of God Himself.

Feeling that ache in the hands, an echo of the shared suffering, the wounds we share, our secret knowledge that only God can know. And when I look down and see the colour changing in my palms, the purple flag that flies as death draws close, the paling of life that foreshadows the dying of sin, I see the victory over death. And in that pain I am shown that there is no way around the cross in ministry.

Christ can be seen through us so in turn we feel Christ dwelling in us. Not just the joy of re-birth, of resurrection, but of skin breaking on cold iron, on sharp thorns, on rough wood, and the welt from carrying the cross.

And from those aching palms blessings are poured out through the wounds made and healed through Christ.

We doubt that recovering from these wounds could be possible, yet quietly Christ approaches – ‘touch my hands and see my side’ and we fall down and declare in the realisation of such a sacrifice – my Lord and my God!

Look, your king is coming to you

I vividly remember my first Palm Sunday in church.

It was a Sunday evening in what was called “family church.”

The light was just moving into its evening glow and the hall was filled with the smelt of palm leaves that we were folding into crosses. I was pretty hopeless at folding the palm leaf. So I made a large paper palm leaf from green craft paper. It had that familiar texture to it that reminded me of primary school craft and choir practice.

We moved into church and stood in a circle and sang a hymn. Some started to wave their branches, some their crosses. I was stood a little motionless not sure what to do. I glanced over to my children and they were waving away. I thought I’d better make some effort and I started to sing and wave my paper palm leaf.

It was that moment when the sun broke through the stained glass, and I was overwhelmed by a sense that God loved me.

I questioned this feeling in mind, “really Lord, you love me?” the reply was a firm yes and hot tears ran down my face.

One of my favourite hymns captured this moment for me “amazing love, how could it be that thou my God shouldst die for me?” It was on that first Palm Sunday that Jesus rode into my heart and I welcomed Him with a paper palm leaf and tears of joy and thankfulness.

Today Palm Sunday is once again a new feeling. It’s a Palm Sunday that is happening with locked church doors, with no public worship, yet Jesus still rides onwards towards us.

Look your king is coming to you.

He is coming through the locked doors, through our isolation, through our sadness and grief and fear.

Look your king is coming to you.

He is coming in the breaking of the sun from behind the clouds, from the birdsong that cuts through the silence, in the breath of the wind that flows through the open window.

Look your king is coming to you.

He is coming in the text messages from your loved ones, in the FaceTiming of family, in the phone calls from friends, in the live streaming from The Church.

Look your king is coming to you,

May this Palm Sunday be one of confidence in the Lord’s love for us, let us welcome Him into our hearts afresh.

Amen.