Palm Sunday...

...and a great gathering of a large parish, quantities and quantities of families with small and larger children, at Balham in South London, palm fronds held aloft and the choir singing as the procession moved off from the school playground through to the church and the beginning of Holy Week.

As the prayers unfolded, I had the sighing thought that I seem to have every year:"Oh dear, I do wish I'd made a better Lent..."

And it's a sign of getting older that the gaps between each Lent become smaller, the memories of many Holy Weeks and many Easters begin to crowd in: a sudden memory of standing as a child to listen to the long reading of the Passion, with sturdy pride in not being tired or feeling any need to sit down, and then of Palm Sundays down the years in different churches and cathedrals, in London, in Berlin, and elsewhere...

Then the ordinariness of things: after Mass, people milled about in bright sunshine. Teenagers in the parish were selling cakes and books to raise funds to help them get to World Youth Day in Spain this summer, and were doing a good trade. And I bought some goodies and went on to Mother, to chat and relax and arrange domestic Easter plans...for the first time this year, the Easter Sunday family gathering is to be hosted by the next generation, a recently-married grandson and his bride...