Palm Sunday has always been one of my favorite moments in the liturgical year, but 2026 was special. My day began at a beautiful service at Saint James in Saline, where the children waved palms and heard the Holy Week story and the choir sang the Palm, and from there I headed back to Lansing for the Palm Sunday Path. It was a peaceful gathering of Christians, lifting up the call of Jesus on how to live justly: feeding the hungry, healing the sick and welcoming the stranger. It was a powerful event, where the relatively small United Church of Christ denomination played an outsized role in terms of planning and leadership, as well as general attendance at the ecumenical event. 

The call to care for people in these basic ways should not be a subject for political debate, but in these strange times, it is. On the Saturday before Palm Sunday, the news was dominated by large crowds across the country holding No Kings Day rallies, where the signs were funny (“Things are so bad that even an introvert is here!”), provocative (“History! - Don’t me make me repeat myself”), and openly religious (“No King but Jesus,” a sign that then became a preaching theme the next day). The mood at No Kings in Grand Rapids felt upbeat, with children playing and dogs mostly behaving, like a town fair or village festival, where the hustle and bustle made the speakers words indecipherable as people greeted one another instead. 

At the Palm Sunday Path by contrast, the mood at the capital steps of Lansing was reverent as we heard from Lutheran, Episcopal and United Church of Christ leaders and sang with the remarkable volunteer choir made up of many more denominations. As one of the speakers, I was toward the front of the one mile march to the capital and from that vantage point, when I turned around, I could not even see the end of the line, it was so long. It looked and felt like the Biblical procession, ordinary people waving palms in the middle of the city, shouting “Hosanna” which, two thousand years later, always needs translating into its original meaning, which is “Save Us.” “Hosanna” does not mean “Hoorah.” “Hoorah” is a cheer, but “Hosanna” is a cry for help from people who are in pain. Right now, humanity is in pain, from civilians being bombed around the world, to the exhausted and unpaid TSA workers at the airports, flanked by paid ICE agents who appear to have nothing to do, to the weary travellers just trying to get home, to the workers worried if the cost of gas will keep them from getting to a job that could be replaced by AI tomorrow. We need saving, not cheering. 

This Good Friday, I will be joining six other UCC preachers at Plymouth Congregational in Detroit for the seven last words of Christ. My section is the one where Jesus, looking on them from the cross, tells his mother and the apostle John, "Woman, behold your son. Son, behold your mother" (John 19:26–27) because after his death, they will be each other’s chosen family. I think Jesus was speaking both personally and publicly that day. As a human being in pain of death himself, he was worried about the people closest to him, but he was also speaking to the rest of us. As followers of Christ, we are now expected to be each other’s parents and love each other’s children. A drone injury to a stranger should pierce our hearts like an injury to our own grandbaby or beloved great grandma. Even from the cross, Jesus preached extravagant love for all people, from family to friends to the stranger hanging next to him, who his society considered unforgivable. 

As Easter approaches, I pray that you may know the beautiful hope amidst the pain. New life is always either already within us or right within reach. I felt that new life this Palm Sunday, but I will feel it all the more at Easter. Every Holy Week, I pray that the attendance at our Maundy Thursday and Good Friday services will equal that of Easter Sunday. It may sound naive, but I believe it could happen, if those of you who know the value of those somber services would seriously spread the word. It is the dark valleys that make the mountaintop views more spectacular. 

May God be with you on the Palm Sunday Path to Easter, and may you make every somber stop in Holy Week along the way, so that your Easter joy may be multiplied and most importantly, shared.

Peace and Blessings,

Lillian Daniel

Michigan Conference Minister,

United Church of Christ