Pipes! Drums! The King of Glory! Pipes!
I was as giddy as a schoolgirl during the Palm Sunday procession this morning. The congregation had been promised something special. It was to be not donkey nor unicorn nor panda, not fireworks nor explosions nor the borrowing of the great thurible from Santiago de Compostella (I confess to being somewhat disappointed at the latter), but instead the wonderful wonderful lads from Clanadonia piping and drumming the holy rabble in procession.
This video of the procession was taken by the Provost. I am the one right behind the pipers, going, “AMAZING! AMAZING! THIS IS JUST LIKE MAGIC!”
For the fact of Holy Week is not long-ago legend or glorious myth, but living history and living our story.
As the Lord rode into Jerusalem on his donkey two thousand years ago so did he today enter in glory into all places in all corners of the earth, and in this place, in our city, how else would a holy rabble in Glasgow greet their Messiah but with our music and our joy?
The same rabble that on Thursday…
We aren’t there yet.
The thing about this week is that one doesn’t ever know quite what will happen. Just like the disciples, we aren’t sure what’s coming. There will be joy, of course, and feasting, oh, yes, for Passover is coming, and then, well, something big, people are uneasy and there are rumblings, but, really, anything might happen. For who is that man and what has he come here to do? A promise is made at St Mary’s Cathedral every year to those who keep the Triduum with us, those who live the experiences of Thursday and Friday and Saturday and Sunday. A promise is made that if you do that, you will never be the same again. I was told that the first year I kept it and truer words have never been spoken.
This is our story. This is our song.
Hosanna to the Son of David.
And now something’s coming.
And whatever that something is, we will never be the same again.