It’s Sunday morning and the faithful have gathered. A little earlier this morning when I picked up my coffee from the drive-thru, I overhead the barista asking his coworker if today was some sort of religious holiday.

On Palm Sunday 18 years ago I was a world away from Hometown Friends Church. I was in Jerusalem with a Mercy Corp trip that gave some editors and publishers a close look at the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. Several of us got a ride out to Bethpage and joined the symbolic march into Jerusalem. It wasn’t a spiritual experience. It was a photo op and a “Wow, I’m really here!”

I have a lot of uncertainty about how religious holidays should be celebrated. I’m thankful we won’t have to color and decorate boiled eggs on Saturday—all our children are old enough for that tradition to become a nonessential.