The next day the great crowd that had come for the festival heard that Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem. The took palm branches and went out to meet him, shouting,
“Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the king of Israel!
~John 12:12-13
As Palm Sunday approaches I recall once again the holidays I celebrated as a child within the traditional context. Palm Sunday was a special holiday where I grew up; a memorable event that began at church and extended throughout the day with family. At Saint Peter's Episcopal Church, every worshiper received a few strands of palm, the long thin variety from the fan of the palm tree. As we waved the palm branches we sang, All Glory, Laud, and Honor and then during Sunday School we would fashion the palms into crosses to be shared with family and friends later in the day.
After church, we would head to my great-grandmother's house. She actually lived within walking distance of our home. On occasion, my sister and I would drop by after school to visit. Although, christened Almirinda Proscino as a child everyone now called her nonni. Born in the US she went to Italy as a young girl with her parents. She didn't return to the States until many years later, after she was married to my great grandfather, Ciro Fiondella.
Hers was an interesting home. My Auntie Carrie and Uncle Cap (short for Cappucci) lived with her downstairs and my Auntie Ann and Uncle Sal lived upstairs. Her two-story home included a basement, two small bedrooms, a kitchen, a den and a narrow staircase leading to the upstairs apartment. A trellis of grapes adorned the back door and a huge garden in the back yard blossomed with tomatoes, eggplants, zucchini and anything else you can imagine. And on Palm Sunday her five children, their spouses, her grand-children and her great-grandchildren filled the place to capacity.
Nonni was a pleasant, loving woman. She always wore an apron (so it seemed) and her hair swept up in the back. She smiled and laughed and when she spoke to me I smiled and nodded because half the time I didn't understand her strong Italian accent. But no one could mistake her warm embrace and hospitality.
After greeting the family, exchanging palms and settling in, nonni offered you coffee, tea or soda. On the table and throughout the kitchen was an array of delectable treats to accompany your beverage: pignoli, angel wings, ricotta pie, anginetti, cannoli and other Italian delights. Even as a child, the food, the laughter and the conversation occupied my attention for hours. It seemed no one wanted to leave nonni's house.
As I look back, I can't help but to look forward as well. One day, we will have a reunion with our loved ones. A place where we can gather around the table, share stories of the past, enjoy a good meal, and yet never have to say good-bye again. The sweetness that is the promise of heaven.
I treasure the memories of my childhood, although at times I am saddened that those days, as well as those traditions are gone. Nonni died when I was a teen-ager and now all her children are gone too. It has been many Palm Sundays since my childhood. In all the states and countries that I have lived in and in all the churches that I have attended I don't think they have ever quite honored Palm Sunday as I think it deserves. Regardless, every year before Passion Week, I reminisce of nonni, recall the palm branch crosses, and delight in All Glory Laud and Honor even if I am just singing to myself.
All glory, laud and honor, To Thee, Redeemer, King, To Whom the lips of children Made sweet hosannas ring. Thou art the King of Israel, Thou David’s royal Son, Who in the Lord’s Name comest, The King and Blessèd One.
To listen: http://www.hymnsite.com/lyrics/umh280.sht
