PALM SUNDAY -- HOMECOMING
As the son of American missionaries in the 1960s, who went to Christian boarding school, I grew up with devotions, church, Bible study, youth groups as a big part of my family and social life. I had a hard time with Bible studies because I a) I never really liked being told what to I had to believe and b) I was the type who could point out possible different interpretations and possibilities of logic and drive the study leader crazy. (Being polite I rarely did this).
Lately, I've been trying something different. I'm a storyteller—don't necessarily want to be, but that's what I am—so I'm thinking through issues of faith through the lens of this gift, or curse. It's the Easter season, and I'm writing a cycle of four stories. These aren't fully fleshed and polished stories, but more like sketches, driving to get down quickly what it is I'm getting a sense of. Here is story two, based on Palm Sunday, the account Jesus's triumphal entry into Jerusalem. The others will follow in other posts.
FOUR EASTER STORIES
PALM SUNDAY – HOMECOMING
After months of captivity, he was heading home. A police escort. Banners draped across the gate, friends crowded and cheering, a heavy sprinkling blossoms. His best friend Andy, as close as a brother, hugged him. But he wanted his family. His son and daughter squeezed out from among the crowd. He gathered them up in his arms, holding them tight. Not once out there did he cry, but now he did. The tears fell away from him as home soaked into his bones. The healing was beginning.
"Where's your mother?" he asked his son.
"You know Mom, she's inside, making sure everything is ready."
He put his daughter on his shoulders and carried her down the driveway. Laughing friends followed, with Andy right behind.
As he entered the living room, his wife stepped out of the kitchen, her hand brushing hair off her forehead. How beautiful she looked! His heart sang praises. Oh, the joys of homecoming!
"I'm making your favorite meal," she said.
He lowered his daughter and opened his arms to his wife. "I could eat oatmeal, to be honest. All I want is just to be with you and the kids."
She stepped into his arms. But as she did so, he caught her flicking a glance to the side. At Andy. An unreadable expression on her face, one that Andy returned. Then she smiled at her husband, and her eyes misted.
"Oh, honey," she said. "You're home."
But he knew then. He knew with awful and terrible clarity that he was back in the place that had once been home, but home was no longer there.
Get more on Richard Lewis at SimonandSchuster.com
Lately, I've been trying something different. I'm a storyteller—don't necessarily want to be, but that's what I am—so I'm thinking through issues of faith through the lens of this gift, or curse. It's the Easter season, and I'm writing a cycle of four stories. These aren't fully fleshed and polished stories, but more like sketches, driving to get down quickly what it is I'm getting a sense of. Here is story two, based on Palm Sunday, the account Jesus's triumphal entry into Jerusalem. The others will follow in other posts.
FOUR EASTER STORIES
PALM SUNDAY – HOMECOMING
After months of captivity, he was heading home. A police escort. Banners draped across the gate, friends crowded and cheering, a heavy sprinkling blossoms. His best friend Andy, as close as a brother, hugged him. But he wanted his family. His son and daughter squeezed out from among the crowd. He gathered them up in his arms, holding them tight. Not once out there did he cry, but now he did. The tears fell away from him as home soaked into his bones. The healing was beginning.
"Where's your mother?" he asked his son.
"You know Mom, she's inside, making sure everything is ready."
He put his daughter on his shoulders and carried her down the driveway. Laughing friends followed, with Andy right behind.
As he entered the living room, his wife stepped out of the kitchen, her hand brushing hair off her forehead. How beautiful she looked! His heart sang praises. Oh, the joys of homecoming!
"I'm making your favorite meal," she said.
He lowered his daughter and opened his arms to his wife. "I could eat oatmeal, to be honest. All I want is just to be with you and the kids."
She stepped into his arms. But as she did so, he caught her flicking a glance to the side. At Andy. An unreadable expression on her face, one that Andy returned. Then she smiled at her husband, and her eyes misted.
"Oh, honey," she said. "You're home."
But he knew then. He knew with awful and terrible clarity that he was back in the place that had once been home, but home was no longer there.
Get more on Richard Lewis at SimonandSchuster.com
No comments have been added yet.
