On Palm Sunday morning
in Cooperstown, the streets
were cold, windy, and mostly
empty. Then, a miracle. As if
fire alarms had been pulled,
people poured out of four
major churches, marched
through the streets, and converged
into a congregation
of four hundred in the middle
of Elm Street. In two hundred
years, the village had never
seen its like of this.
As a member of a notably
small minority (the Quakers),
I got to march with the
Presbyterians. And during
the worship I got to read the
Gospel _ proclaim it, really
(with the help of good amps),
out over the smiling, shivering
crowd.
That street service was
astounding. Waiting in the
Presbyterians’ chapel to begin
the march, I glanced down toward
St. Mary’s and reported
to Katie Boardman, ``The
Catholics are massing down
the street!’’ Without a second’s
pause, she asked, ``High mass
or low?’’
Again, by the time all had
gathered, we had a crowd of
about four hundred, buzzing
with scores of happy conversations
carried on across
denominational lines. These
were Cooperstown friends
and neighbors, but they sharing
something more: joy in
commemorating Christ’s last
entry into Jerusalem; and foreboding,
too, with the darkness
of Good Friday gathering on
the horizon.
How wonderful! These
varied Christians had put
aside doctrinal clashes and
were melded in their common
beliefs, the really important
ones. And how different from
past times, when Christians
stuck to their own turf or
growled suspiciously at one
another like dogs across common
property lines.
But these people had all
marched out of their churches
to share, and then marched
back with a deepened sense
of their own beliefs. Who says
the Spirit no longer moves
among us?
The disparate Christians
did so at the leading of their
pastors, who’d gathered to
plan the event. I think the
hero of the day was Father
John Rosson of St. Mary’s. For
years he’d lobbied for such a
meeting, not of minds, but of
hearts and spirits. This year
he succeeded, God bless him,
backed by the strong support
of Christ Church’s new rector
Mark Martin and the other
clerics. Father Mark, a grand
addition to Cooperstown, was
the master of logistics, arranging
for chairs to be delivered,
a brass consort to accompany
the hymns, a program to be
distributed. And he got the
willing cooperation of Mayor
and police in closing off Elm
Street.
How stirring was the event’s
hometown pageantry! First,
the marching congregations
merged on Elm Street, right
in front of the McGoldricks’
house. (They kindly powered
Rich Brown’s amps for us.)
Those converging crowds,
said one wag, reminded him
of the film, ``Gangs of New
York,’’ in which rival mobs
meet in the streets to battle
it out. Except that these folks
didn’t converge for battle.
They met to embrace.
The United Methodists had
the longest walk, all the way
from Chestnut and Glen Avenue.
(They’d planned to bring
along a donkey, but it fell sick
at the last minute; they did
bring a Methodist lamb.) The
Episcopalians cleverly slipped
down the alley beside their
church, crossed Fair Street,
and cut through the Presbyterians’
cemetery to Pioneer. The
Presbyterians (with invited
Quakers) just walked out their
own front door and down Elm.
And the Catholics, bless them,
emptied their church right
onto Elm and walked down to
the site behind Father Rosson,
who held a rustic cross made
of birch branches.
The colorful part of the
pageantry was in the clergy’s
vestments. Leading the Christ
Church contingent, Father
Mark, a tall and dignified man
in a scarlet cope, looked like
Cooperstown’s cardinal archbishop.
He was preceded by
a crucifer, candle-bearers and
other robed acolytes carrying
the palms. Hands down, they
took best-in-show.
But Father John came in
second, in his own scarlet
cope and with that eloquent
cross, and with Deacon Randy
Velez to back him up. And
Dr. Miriam Hathaway, whom
Presbyterians have come to
love as their interim pastor,
came in third with her handsome
purple stole; her church
also gets the blue ribbon in
the banner category. Methodist
pastor Sundar Samuel and
yours truly were rather drab
entries; though, in sturdy
overcoats, we were the warmest.
I forgot to say that Father
Mark also had his censer
along; and so the blessing
of palms by all the clergy
took place in clouds of sweet
smoke, with Fathers Mark and
John also flinging holy water
over the big crowd. (I think I
saw some Calvinists flinch.)
Then, after a moving homily
by Bassett chaplain Betsy Jay,
the congregations parted and
marched off with their palms,
back to their own church
services.
And, oh, friends, a perfect
final touch: While palms were
being distributed, a group of
schoolmates, come together
from the different churches,
got hold of some big, leafy
palm fronts. And, lining up
alongside each other, the boys
did a stadium wave. How the
Lord must have loved it!
READ ABOUT Atwell’s book, From Fly
Creek, Celebrating Life in Leatherstocking
Country, at JimAtwell.com.
