Light cool breezes, a chill in the air, the sun bright and warm, chickadees bouncing about from balcony to branch and back, greens and browns abounding, all interact making the morning comfortable and beautiful.

I am busy already, starting this as a break rather than as a start of the day. My mind back to where it has been, my thoughts dancing over the centuries, considering the manners of a sanctified imagination, ancient and modern mingling about in my head.

There is little introspection, to be honest, little consideration. I’m thoroughly enjoying looking outward, engaged in the Text, loving my more focused return home.

A friend mentioned, upon returning from the oft discussed Emerging Church conference (which always surprises me by how many people return with a “It was good and all, but…” kinds of comments). She said that she wished for the Acts 2 kind of church. That isn’t a surprising comment, nor is it unusual, many people have that wish and dream.

So what is it? That’s the question really. Rather than being an unapproachable goal, which it has in a way become, sharing and learning in some sort of intimate community is not that difficult. Like with our sins, however, the only real barrier is ourselves. We want, but do not want, we seek, but look elsewhere when we find.

The Acts 2 community gathered together daily. They prayed, some taught, they ate. Mostly they met in each other’s homes, or in the Temple grounds. The Lord brought more and more to join each day.

Pray, teach, read, eat. That is the liturgy of the Acts 2 community. They had all things in common, (but for their wives as Tertullian puts it), and the Spirit moved mightily in and through them. Those who were learned would teach, those who were practical would arrange, those who heard words from the Spirit would speak these words, men and women, young and old. The young saw visions, the old dreamed dreams. Every one used their gifts, and while there was structure, the power always resided in the Spirit.

Pray, teach, read, eat, discuss, and, most importantly, gather. Daily. In the absence, in the rejection of these things, we substitute programs, ‘ministries’, activities meant to interject the results of the easy tasks by means of more complicated, expensive means.

It costs too much to be a Christian in this society, in my mind, much too much. Conferences, Christian schools, books, teachings, tapes, camps, etc. all which cost, all which force us out of our daily mode, because our daily mode is not itself sanctified. We pay to avoid doing that which is simple, but end up losing everything. Why?

Because we do not believe. Had we really an eternal perspective, trusting in the things of heaven more than the ways of this world, we would insist on being the Acts 2 community. We don’t, not really, our words betrayed by our actions. We taste of heaven and find that is enough, unwilling to really commit as they did in the first century, because it is not as real to us now as it was then. So, we bask in our complaints, consoling each other that all is not how it should be, and content to wander for years in the same wilderness of want.

In a moment all this could change. Gather, teach, learn, pray, eat, serve. The daily liturgy of the early Church. Not that hard, but in today’s society seemingly impossible. I don’t know why. If you read this, and want to give it a go, let me know. I’m open for anything.

The sun is out, full and bright, birds dance along the branches, birds I have seen, one I haven’t — which is apparently a brand new species since I can’t find it in my books. That, or I’m just not looking right. People are busy this morning, dogs are barking, reminding me that not all find this to be a holy day. For a Palm Sunday, however, it is perfect weather, not a cloud in the sky, rain anointed flora decked in the most brilliant greens, life abundant celebrating, worshiping, in its own way.

I awoke this morning with thoughts of Palm Sunday. Not an odd thing, one might think, being today is that day. Odd for me, however, as I am firmly within what could be called the ‘low’ church tradition, meaning the liturgical year is something which the unbelievers take part in. I kid about that, certainly, though it is the unconscious perception. So, I sat in my bed looking out at the lush colors of the forest outside, watching the birds, considering the day.

It’s an unusual celebration, that is for sure. We celebrate on this day the arrival of Jesus into Jerusalem, welcomed by excited crowds, fulfilling prophecy, the entering of the triumphant King to his city of rule.

And yet… this isn’t it at all. The end of the story, well at least the end of this part, tells us a different tale. He was welcomed in word, not in deed. Palm Sunday is, if anything, a celebration of the hypocrite. We rejoice in those who spoke loud words on Christ’s behalf, then a mere week later gave him up to death. Yes, I know, you can say that these were different people, that’s likely true. However, the point still remains.

I heard it said once that this was really the day history turned. If one is open to God being able to have multiple paths dependent on the choice of people then one can see this day as the day of real choice. Jesus entered Jerusalem and went to the temple. There he could have been met by priests and pharisees, sharing with the people the praise and welcoming of the coming messiah. They did not meet him, he was not welcomed, and indeed he seemed a little mad at the fact, deciding instead to overturn tables, make whips, and beat the merchants trying to make a living.

His entrance, on Palm Sunday, was in fact rejected. So, to the cross he went. Rather than restoring the Kingdom as God intended (maybe) he had to bring salvation the other perfect way. Israel was destroyed, the nations were welcomed into the people of God, and here we sit today celebrating what was both a terrible and wonderful day.

It is the way things are supposed to be because it is the way that it was. Maybe, though, it was not the way it was supposed to happen. Like all people the leaders of the day had a choice, to lay down their pride and arrogance or to fight with all their being against what God was in fact doing.

The people who rejoiced are the people who stood back later, or changed their own minds.

Palm Sunday, the day of hypocrites. I’ve never thought of it that way before. Not sure I should, though it does make an interesting insight as I daily choose the path I shall take.

In other news, not because it’s connected, but because I found it interesting. Last night I was dreaming. I’m not aware of my dreams very often, so when I am it is curious to me. There was a point in the storyline in which I was opening different doors or, I can’t remember the details very well, clicking through in some sort of internet virtual reality that would open different scenes. I was moving along and I opened or clicked on this one scene, it was a religious dream, connected with my meditations on the cross, and I suddenly felt a burst of the strongest evil, like I had opened a secret door, and the forces within were furious. Suddenly, the dream shut down like a malfunctioning program and I sat up wide awake. I did not just stir, I was forcefully thrown out of my own dream.

That’s never happened, and I don’t know how to interpret it.

So, today I go forth, celebrating this holy day, realizing also in my mind the warning it contains. Waving palm branches is not the sign of true devotion, worshiping with exuberance is not the indicator of a holy life. They are separated from the reality of the heart, and tell us little. For the reality of the Gospel is not in our praise, it is our willingness to stand through trial and tribulation. We celebrate the coming of the king today, knowing that daily we too reject as the people did, and because of our rejection on this day and every other, we must celebrate also Good Friday later in the week.