The Parable of the Motley Parade

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, why are there no parades on Palm Sunday?”

Josh spoke thus:

A group had decided that their hero should have had a parade, but there had been no consensus on colors.

It was agreed that there should have been music.  The music would have been martial.  The music would have been triumphant.  There could have been high-school bands, there might have been bands from local fraternal organizations, there even might have been children’s bands.  The best thing would have been a gathering of top-forty pop artists, who would have had to lip-synch, of course, with the weather being so cold, and with preparation time being so short.  The music would have flowed from loudspeakers behind the pop stars, and the pop stars would have emoted beautifully.

It was agreed as well that there should have been first responders.  The young boys along the route could have been excited by the noisiness of the fire engines.  The young girls could have been impressed by the steadiness of the women in uniform.  Everyone would have been surprised at the number of police not on duty at any one time to the point where people would have had to have been surprised that so many police could be gathered in one place and marching, without a total collapse of civil order.  

And first responders would have been avatars for the hero.  “You may not be a hero deserving of a parade,” the first responders would have indicated to the populace, “But you are not so far removed from heroes that they do not walk among you as firemen, ambulance drivers, policemen and traffic wardens.”

No doubt, also, the hero would have inspired some among the audience to volunteer to be responders themselves.  There was no harm in a little recruitment.

Also recruiting would have been the local national guard, among whom were other heroes of the recent conflict, additional heroes among neighbors.  The hero would have drawn attention to the local citizen soldiers.

Veterans of past conflicts would have paraded as well.  Their dated uniforms altered to fit, or left tight, or allowed to hang loose, they could have sat in open-topped cars and waived.  Some might have marched proudly, their legs once again strong with pride of service.

A route would had been chosen, and a stand erected for giving speeches.  There was nothing better for speeches than a stand erected expressly for a hero.  And there was no better way to hear a speech than among admirers of heroes, looking up, as if into the heavens themselves, to hear the praises of heroism.

But the color palate could not be decided. 

The hero’s children stood in a mottled bunch, then, at the bus station.  They bent against the railing as the hero approached.  The hero’s spouse jumped the railing despite the security staff’s admonitions.  

“They said you should have a parade,” the hero’s spouse said to the hero.

The hero watched as the motley threesome marched and hummed a welcome to their returning parent.

A handful of passers-by smiled as they rushed to catch their busses or to meet other arrivals.

The hero acknowledged, “No hero ever had a finer parade.”