Sunbury Marching Band: Palm Sunday

It’s hard to believe Jesus’ disciples can praise him as God’s Messiah, shouting, “Holy, Holy, Holy. Hosanna to the Son of David” on Palm Sunday and then abandon him on Thursday night. It seems impossible that the crowd can cry, “Bless is he who comes in the name of the Lord” on Palm Sunday and then “Crucify him” on Friday.

I have come to understand this by remembering my experiences in the Sunbury High School Marching Band. Sunbury was right on the edge of the Coal Region. We were tough and poor and proud. We demonstrated this by battling our traditional rivals. The greatest was Northumberland, a smaller town, across the Susquehanna River. Between us lay The Island, a no man’s land.

The rivalry was most apparent on Thanksgiving Day, the setting for the annual Sunbury- Northumberland football game. Each Thanksgiving we showed thanks for living in Sunbury by destroying Norry.

Once a year we laid down our sticks and stones for a brief time Each October we got on buses and headed for the Northumberland Halloween Parade. On the way we’d tell of our latest exploits and share dirty jokes. We’d make fun of Kenny Richards, throwing his hat around the bus as he whimpered. We’d laugh at Eddie Rosenblum’s haircut. Eddie was the only Jew I knew. He would regularly get a Mohawk haircut to prove he was one of us, even though his family had a lot of money. We’d pull up Dennie Fetzer’s shirt to give him a pink belly as he begged for mercy. Some gathered around the majorettes, picked for their physical beauty rather than any ability, trying to say clever things as we ogled. Stanley Shaffer rolled up the sleeves of his Captain Marvel T-shirt so we could see his biceps. Nobody gave Stanley pink bellies.

It was not a long trip and pretty soon we’d pull into the Northumberland High School parking lot. Everyone would pile out. The majorettes would pull off their baggy slacks to reveal long, shapely legs. Stanley would put on his jacket, hiding his biceps. Eddie would cover his Mohawk with the uniform hat allowing him to look like the rest of us. Dennie would button up his coat and nobody could guess he was the victim of a pink belly. We unfurled the flags, uncased the instruments, and lined up.

Our director, Charles Coleman, a legend in his own time, would call us to attention. “Okay ladies and gentlemen. Pull yourselves together. Look sharp. Straighten your hats. Tuck in your shirts. You might have been slobs a minute ago, but now you are a band, a super band. We represent the people of Sunbury, a great responsibility. Let’s look the part.” We dressed our lines and tucked our instruments under our arms. The drums rolled, and we marched off, the Sunbury High School Marching Band.

Norry would go first. It was their parade. Then all sorts of people in false face: clowns hiding behind masks, trying to be funny: men dressed as women and women as men; shy people pretending to be drunk; little kids dressed as ghouls and ghosties, and witches, falling over their costumes while their mothers beamed. It was never clear if whether they were revealing or hiding their true selves.

We brought up the rear, flags flying, majorettes strutting, trombones blasting “The Washington Post March”. We were all in blue, perfectly clean uniforms. A broad white stripe went down our pants leg to accent our perfect step. We all wore white buck shoes, our trademark. Our legs swung back and forth in cadence. The hypnotic music forced all 65 of us to breath as one person. We were a disciplined super marching band.

As we moved through the crowded streets, the people from Sunbury would scream, “Hurrah. Those are our kids. Hurrah for Sunbury. Good show.” We knew our parents and grandparents, our aunts and uncles were in the crowd. We represented them. We had to do well.

The Northumberland Halloween parade really did not go anywhere. We ended up right where we started. Back in the parking lot, we furled our flags, recased our horns, and climbed back on the buses. Eddie Rosenblum uncovered his Mohawk haircut again, Stanley Shaffer his biceps. The majorettes did not cover their shapely legs as some lucky guys necked with them in the darkened back of the bus. We’d start picking on Dennie again, give Kennie another pink belly. Kids from Norry would stand around calling us names, sometimes throwing stones. Our cruder members would spit on them and even moon them, returning curse for curse. We were back to the real world. No more uniforms, no more false faces. The ghosts and ghoulies and evil spirits were no longer in costume. We were back to normal.

The Palm Sunday parade always reminds me of the Norry parade. Before Palm Sunday, the disciples got everything wrong. They could not understand why Jesus would speak with women, reach out to children, heal foreigners, forgive tax collectors. They attacked him for eating with sinners. It was often hard to tell disciple from enemy.

After the parade they were even worse. They turned their back on Jesus, abandoned him, betrayed him, did nothing as the enemy spat on him, mooned him, ridiculed him, beat him until his whole body was not pink but red with blood. They watched silently as the enemy killed him. It was hard to tell disciple from enemy.

Yet for this brief moment on Palm Sunday, they got it right. They dressed up their lines. They marched as if they represented God. They followed Jesus, singing, “You are the man! You come in the name of the Lord! Hosanna! Save us! Change us!” And for a few brief moments they enjoyed the peace and unity and love that make us truly human.

Not much is changed. We live each week telling dirty jokes, making fun of the vulnerable, abusing the weak, taking advantage of fragile beauty, making race and wealth dividing walls, warring against people on the other side of the ocean.

Then on Sunday we act as if we represent God in this world. We gather with all kinds of people we usually do not meet. We eat with people we would never invite to dinner. We forget who is rich and who is poor, who is powerful and who is weak, who is beautiful and who is ugly. We ask how we can help each other. We act as God’s people are supposed to act. We sing, “Holy, Holy, Holy. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord” And Jesus comes to eat with us. For a few brief moments we experience the joy of living up to our humanity.

Most of the time it seems we end up right where we started. We go right back to acting like everyone else. But things do change. Sunbury and Northumberland no longer battle each other. They now study together in a new joint school district. They cheer for the same football team and march together in the Shikellamy High School Marching Band. In the Easters of our lives we know God will bring the day when we shall walk together in love and the peace of Halloween parades and Palm Sunday processions will be everyday celebrations. Hosanna in the Highest.

Tags: Crowd, Easter, Good Friday, Marching Band, Palm Sunday, Parade, Sermon