Susan: Memories of Palm Sunday, Good Friday & Easter

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Susan (in striped dress) with her mother and siblings, Easter, 1956.

By Susan Shanklin

When I was growing up as a child in Levittown, Pennsylvania, Easter was my very favorite holiday.

It would all start on Palm Sunday, or the Hosanna parade to me. It was in Sunday school that I learned about Jesus’ triumphant ride into Jerusalem where children waved palms to the coming King. What came next was my highlight of Sunday morning, where I would receive these amazing folded palms made into a cross. I was mesmerized by these crosses that were made by nuns at a local convent. How did they do that? I would sit in my blonde maple pew in the Methodist church and carefully unfold it, thinking I could refashion it back to the shape of a cross. No way could I do it … and I left church with only a bent reed. But I would save it anyway to remind me of that great “parade” for Jesus.

The next Friday was not my favorite holiday. My mom was very strict about the hours from noon to three when Jesus hung on the cross. We were to be quiet, no running around or playing with other kids. We were to be quiet and remember the suffering Jesus on the cross. I was miserable.

I was miserable because I couldn’t play with friends, but also miserable because of what Jesus went through for me. I didn’t really understand the magnitude of it all, but Jesus was just left there hanging and bleeding and suffering for three hours.

I had to wait and wait and wait till it was the time for Jesus to be taken down and put in a tomb—dead, dead, dead.

“O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Life for us starts with a victor’s parade. Happiness and joy for a Savior who loves us.

Betrayed by friends and crucified. Suffering a cruel and barbaric death, nailed to a cross, bleeding from every pore, and crying out to His Father, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

But Jesus didn’t forsake me! It only took three days for my loving Father to breathe life into that bloody body, make it new with only holes in His hands and side to remind us of the amazing sacrifice.

Yippee! Happy Resurrection Day comes next for Susan!

“No new Easter outfits,” Mother would say. “That’s not what it’s about.” But there were Easter baskets to mark the happy occasion!

As I get older, Christ dying on the cross is so, so much more than a folded palm cross, not playing for three hours, or baskets of candy and ham. It’s the sacrifice of God’s Son. His blood was shed for Susan to eradicate her many past sins and all the ones so far at this writing.

Let this joy of Easter, Resurrection Sunday, permeate your soul. With uplifted eyes and arms rejoice for what Jesus did for you. He is risen. He is with you. He is your life-giving source!

Happy Resurrection Day!

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