In 2011 I was commissioned by a church to write a story about Palm Sunday for them to read at their service. I thought I’d share it with everyone here.

A Short Palm Sunday Story- by Tyler Schwartz

In retrospect, I don’t know why anyone was around at all. Pilate was entering town from the west, a very big deal: trumpets, war horses, everyone had their outfit or uniform picked out for weeks. Everyone went to Pilate’s arrival to see and to be seen. If you weren’t there, something was wrong with you. Something had to keep you from going to Pilate’s procession.

Of course, I wasn’t one of those inferior people, I had the proud honor of a public title, and at that moment, I was looking at my suit of armor laid out in the shape of a man. I couldn’t wait to slowly put it on, and feel the cold weight of her on my shoulders.

My hand dropped like a dead leaf and my fingers grazed the heavy steel. I imagined what people would think when they saw me in it, I closed my eyes and savored the thought.

It was at this very private moment, when I heard it, a sloppy chant.

It couldn’t be Pilate’s arrival. The chanting wasn’t synchronized, and Pilate was coming from the westside, and I lived on the east. I craned my neck out my door and saw a mob of people waving leaves.

Mildly curious, I ran back to my room, looked at my armor, took a deep breath, and quickly put it on. Next thing you knew, I was running down the street. I wish you could’ve heard the sound of my armor running, like the rhythm of a war drum.

I arrived at the mob and tried to wedge myself in to see what was inspiring such unrehearsed chanting. But, I couldn’t make any progress. The crowd was like one giant organism, shoulders grafted with shoulders, arms slowly waving tree branches. Suddenly, I felt cumbersome in my armor.

Then the shouts and chants confluenced into, “Hosanna, Hosanna.”

My curiosity was now so inflamed that I started looking for creative ways to see what was going on! Maybe Pilate was making a secret entrance.

Next to me stood a naked tree. Its branches had been stripped by the crowd. I tried to climb it, but my armor prevented me from reaching my hands above my shoulders.

“Hosanna, Hosanna.”

I wanted so badly to see what was going on! But, I wanted to see it in my armor, without it I would be just like everyone else here. Perhaps if I removed my armor, for just a moment to climb the tree, Pilate would see my ambition and look on me with favor.

I quickly took off my armor, ceremoniously stacked it near the base of the tree, then got to climbing. Before long, I reached the tree’s pinnacle.

I was looking for a warhorse, a symbol to inspire fear, honor, and respect.

Then I just started laughing! Pointing and laughing. At the middle of this spectacle, the inspiration drawing all these nobodies was a man on a donkey. You could only tell it was a donkey by its ears, it looked more like a large house cat. The donkey was so small, the feet of the pathetic man riding it dragged in the dust, caking his feet in a shameful red clay.

Between my laughing and the chanting, there was no way for me to hear the tree branch supporting me slowly crack, and give way, sending me suddenly plummeting towards the ground.

Ironically, I landed on my armor, and my whole back broke like a promise.

Red flowers of pain blossomed over my whole body.

I’m not sure if I was humiliated by my paralysis, or if I was paralyzed by my humiliation.

Now there were 2 feet and 4 hooves standing over me. That stupid excuse for a donkey and his dusty rider.

The rider, who they called Hosanna, bent over me and looked in my eyes.

His eyes were stubborn.

Stubborn like spring.