In this Issue:

Sauls Nominated for Presiding Bishop

St. Martha's and Martha's Place: A commitment to service

Internationally known author and teacher Newell to be in Lexington

A conversation with the Bishop on his nomination for Presiding Bishop

Commentaries:

Reflection: Miss Della and the Palm Crosses

X-ercizing: Undone

From the Bishop: Anticipation of Easter

Diocesan Calendar

Past Issues

Reflection: Miss. Della and the Palm Crosses

By Kay Collier-McLaughlin

The Saturday before Palm Sunday. In the basement scout room, folding chairs are pulled up to a long table. To arrive early is to see the dark burlap bundles opened so that the bunches of tall yellow-green palm soak in deep galvanized pails. One by one the ladies arrive, each carrying a pair of scissors. Miss Della demonstrates again — and again. Her facile fingers slow to a pace which allow replication, and then fly again, as she creates cross after cross.

Cut the palm. Cross the ends at angle; fold; fold again. Circle and lock. Now, form the arms; the body. Again. Again. The fresh palm is cool and damp against my skin. The scent is faint and unfamiliar. Miss Della looks up to welcome a newcomer into the circle, and patiently demonstrates once more.

The conversation weaves around the table as fingers weave the palm. Ordinary Saturday morning talk. Who had to be taken where and what time they have to be picked up again. Schedules. Other weekend plans. Church talk. The Holy Week schedule. Easter plans. Spring flowers. Who is sick. Who is dying. Who is having a rough time with their son or daughter or husband or wife. Occasionally Miss Della says “Bless their hearts!” Or someone adds, “God help them” or “Lord give me strength.” The youngest by far at 14, I sense that I blend into the circle around the table in a pleasant invisibility, undemanding; safe.

It all came back in a rush as I took a palm from the pitcher on Sunday morning and tried to follow the diagrammed instructions on how to make a palm cross. The fresh palm frond was cool and damp against my skin; the scent faint and familiar. For a second I was back in the scout room, and could hear Miss Della’s voice: “That’s right! That’s right! Now fold again, and lock — you’ll have it in no time — bless your heart!” Across the parish hall, I am aware that hands are weaving the palms in a way that is more familiar than this sheet of instructions. My fingers follow, sometimes rushing ahead as they remember.

This holy habit that had framed my Holy Week for many years was a part of the ritual of my Easter season — and in a larger sense, part my understanding of who I am, whose I am and where I belong. On those Saturday mornings, I had been immersed in story — that ritual of what people do when they gather. There were the little stories of day-to-day stuff. And there were the greater stories – about life. As I listened, I gathered clues about how other people celebrated and grieved; laughed and cried – and how my own story was the same, and different. I heard stories about people’s heroes — family heroes, local heroes — and about their demons. I began to sense how it all fit with the crosses we were weaving, and the church where we gathered. We were on a journey together, the other weavers and I, that was about much more than the task at hand. It was okay to be 14 and quiet and learning just as it was okay to be Miss Della, with a major mission to lead every single year on this Saturday before Palm Sunday.

It all led me to think about holy habits, those things I was taught do as an (Episcopalian) follower of Jesus. So proud of the smudge ashes on my forehead when I walked into school after going to early church on Ash Wednesday. Bowing my head as the cross went by. Being in Church on Maundy Thursday, no matter where I might be in the world. Bringing back the Alleluias! on Easter morning. Like habits, sometimes the repetition is all there is. But because there is repetition, how often I am taken beyond the outward and visible sign to be the recipient of real grace. Like scales to the pianist; footwork the ball player — beyond automatic.

On this Easter morning, sanctuaries will be full to overflowing with those who are moved by some pull or tug of nostalgia, or habit or yearning of the heart to acknowledge the resurrection of our Lord. May each be touched in some mysterious way by their own Miss Della, their own company of faithful followers who help form them and continue to journey with them, and their own experience of holy habits to remind them of who they are and whose they are.

Alleluia! Alleluia!

Advocate Online Staff:

© 2005 The Episcopal Diocese of Lexington

The Advocate is mailed free to all Episcopalians in the Diocese of Lexington. The Advocate is published 10 times a year (monthly Sept.-Mid-Summer, bi-monthly Mid-Summer-June, July-Aug.) by the Diocese of Lexington, a non-profit organization.

Additional subscriptions: $10 per year and address changes should be sent to: The Advocate, P.O. Box 610, Lexington, Ky. 40588-0610.
The deadline for submitting articles, photographs, announcements, and letters is the last Friday of the month prior to publication. These should be sent to:
The Advocate, Kay Collier McLaughlin, Ph.D., Editor, P.O. Box 610, Lexington, Ky.
40588-0610 (Kcollierm@diolex.org).

Member: Episcopal Communicators; Associated Church Press Office: The Episcopal Church in the Diocese of Lexington, Mission House, 203 East Fourth Street, Lexington, Ky. 40508-1515. For information call (859) 252-6527.

All rights reserved. The Advocate reserves the right to refuse publication and to edit all contributions. Permission required for reprinting.