Palm Sunday Dance
Mar 28, 2026Palm Sunday Dance
A poem by Chuck Wester, WTC Student
I am passed by
the procession
of God.
I stand alone
lost in the narrow
the winding
the streets of
ancient Jerusalem.
And press my ear
to the old stones
that I might
catch an echo
a fading whisperer
of the dance
that yet continues.
There—
just over there
tucked away among
the crumbling
the ancient parchments,
conspirators gather.
They are—
the concerned
the serious
the religiously mindful.
their prayer shawls.
and phylacteries
reminders
of eternal requirements
vigilance
before a holy God.
Their god has
never danced
they only know a
holy god.
Holy god
inaccessible god
god of wrath
and judgment
Father brutal
whipping children
less they stray
Powerful God
controlling God
setting forth every option
as law
manipulative god
absent-minded god
director of destiny.
While the simple
and free dance
with palms and
garments strewn
these desiccated
conspirators
gather—
locked away
locked away from sight
locked away from life
locked away.
They gather—
and in the unspoken name
design
the dancing God’s death.
Majestic in simplicity
the dancing God
is charged with
divine madness
and proved to be
a threat to all.
To all—
that is stable
menace to society’s
expectations
rebel who invites
the people to
dream and dance
to quest and fancy
to hope and tomorrow
to irresponsible believing
and irrepressible faith.
He threatens—this dancing God
the kingdoms—
the kingdom of
acknowledged powers
and familiar expectations
the kingdom of
responsibility and obedience
the kingdom of
coin and position.
And then—
as the final stroke
is set to plan and destiny
an echo is
heard
a whisper is
acknowledged
and conspirators grim
rise as one
and move
to a window.
Where there
—there in the distance
winding the way
to temple gates
the dance goes on.
With eyes strained
and hands trembling
they search the mystery
for a moment
they press the veil.
And behold
the dancing God
of palms and Children
of laughter and song
of mountains and living water
of blue sky and light eternal.
they behold
the king of glory
whose loud hosannas
make the stones cry out
the deaf to hear
the blind to see.
They behold
and remember
a moment
long ago
when the world
was young
and clear was the truth
that rested easily in a
child’s heart.
They remembered—
early morning stillness
and stars that littered
the heavens with story.
They remembered—
nonsense and song
laughter and sweet friends.
They remembered—
life—
without explanation
or requirement
expectation
or reward.
They remembered—
the moment
of simplicity,
birthing,
fullness,
of childhood presence.
And perhaps
—Perhaps for a moment
a moment of fleeting
promise and
fulfillment
perhaps
they remembered
the dancing God.
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