DURING THE PAST SEVERAL DAYS, I’ve thought a lot about how to craft an Easter message about living my Christian faith against the backdrop of what’s happening in our country today. It’s tough, really tough, to feel positive and joyful. But I must believe that things will get better. Eventually.
Rather than dwell on the totality of everything negative, I decided to focus on messages I heard during a Palm Sunday worship service at my eldest daughter’s Lakeville church. Randy and I were there for a pancake breakfast fundraiser and then to listen to our grandchildren sing. We—kids and adults alike—sang the traditional processional hymn, “All Glory, Laud and Honor,” as we waved palm branches. It was an uplifting, praise-filled, reverent experience, reminding me of Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem among a joyful crowd waving palm branches and shouting, “Hosanna!” Jesus rode in on a donkey, symbolic of his humility and humanity. Days later, the people would turn on Jesus and he would die an agonizing death upon a cross.
That journey to the cross, followed by the resurrection of Jesus on Easter morning, started on Palm Sunday, the beginning of Holy Week and a time of reflection. The service at St. John’s started with a blessing of the palms. That blessing set the tone for worship, at least for me. The palm branches we held represented celebration, justice and comfort. These are the words that most resonated with me: Bless these protest palms, O God of Justice…may they make us bold and brave to stand up against injustice.
So, as I stood at the back of the church, I waved my palm frond high like a protest sign, thoughts of injustices racing through my mind. I’ve done some protesting lately with my words. I felt encouraged and empowered to stand bold and brave against injustices. Jesus did. He called people out. He got mad. He chastised. He advocated for and helped those who suffered the most. The outcasts. The lonely. The poor and hungry. He showed compassion and love. He provided. He forgave.
Remember the once popular WWJD/What Would Jesus Do slogan? I think Jesus would be more than a little ticked off about the injustices today, how people are treating one another, how those in positions of leadership are abusing their power. Jesus did, after all, overturn the tables in the temple when it became a noisy marketplace for greedy vendors focused on making money rather than allowing people easy access inside for spiritual reasons.
I’d like to think that Jesus wants every single one of us to be bold and brave in our words and actions. It’s easy enough to sit quietly and do nothing. Just pretend all is well with everyone when, in reality, it’s not. People are struggling. In relationships. With unexpected and unnecessary job loss. Financially. Mentally. In ways I would never have thought possible in this country—suppression, oppression, ongoing discrimination, intimidation, imprisonment… Injustices run rampant.
We each have the power to do something about those injustices. Volunteer. Encourage. Donate money to charitable organizations or to individuals in and outside your circle who may need a little extra help right now. Smile. Be respectful. Extend small acts of kindness. Simply be a kind, decent, compassionate and loving person.
But also don’t hesitate to be bold and brave to stand up against injustice, to wave your protest palm branch high, then higher still.
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
In which I protest, grieve & reflect June 19, 2025
Tags: America, assassination, commentary, government, grief, June 14, Minnesota, mural, news, NO KINGS protest, Northfield, protest, protest signs, reflections, Rep. Melissa Hortman, Sen. John Hoffman, thoughts, United States
I LEANED MY HEAD against Randy’s shoulder, my left hand gripping the rod of a protest sign and a small American flag. I felt such profound sadness in that moment. The moment when a pastor asked for a period of silence in honor of Minnesota State Representative/House Speaker Emerita Melissa Hortman and her husband, Mark, assassinated in their home during the early morning hours of June 14.
Flag Day. Nationwide NO KINGS protest day. A day of gathering turned tragic here in Minnesota.
I alternated between leaning into my husband and leaning my bowed head against the bottom of my NO MORE KINGS protest poster held high, the sign with the cursive words, “I value freedom,” scrawled on the back side. The wind blew, swept my hair across my face like a veil covering sadness. The heaviness felt palpable here, in Ames Park in Northfield, along the banks of the Cannon River. But so did the energy.
We were a group of hundreds—maybe even a thousand (I’m not good at estimating crowd size)—gathered to publicly express our concerns about leadership in this country, about decisions being made that negatively affect all of us, about the state of and future of our democracy… It was my first protest. Ever. I wanted, needed, to be here. To remain silent seems complicit.
I’d already arrived when a friend texted that Minnesotans had been advised by state law enforcement not to attend NO KINGS protests. That warning linked to the suspect in the shootings of the Hortmans and of State Senator John Hoffman and his wife, Yvette. We would later learn that NO KINGS fliers were found in the vehicle of Vance Boelter, now accused in the double murders and attempted murders.
That explained why, on the way to the riverside protest, I overheard a woman telling a couple that her police officer son had advised her not to participate in the rally. She was going home. I was not. Nor were any of the others converging on Ames Park at noon. I wasn’t scared. Vested safety people, trained in conflict resolution and de-escalation, were in place. I felt safe in the masses, which, I suppose, is an unrealistic perspective. But I refuse to be silenced by fear, by the words and actions of those who attempt to suppress voices. And intimidate.
And there were those, including the drivers of a white pickup truck and of motorcycles which repeatedly roared past the rally site, spewing their opposition in noise and in political flags bannering messages I won’t repeat. But they, too, have a right to protest. Peacefully. Just as I do. And I wrote that on the back of a second sign: FREE to PROTEST. But, mostly, passing vehicles honked in strong support.
At this rally of people opposing the current administration and its policies and actions, I felt a unity of purpose and a deep, cohesive concern for the future of our country. I felt uplifted, embraced, empowered. Speakers spoke (although I couldn’t hear most). The pastor led us in prayer. We sang—”The Star Spangled Banner” and “We shall overcome.” We cheered. We chanted. We waved our posters and flags. And a group held an over-sized American flag, which I couldn’t see from my vantage point deep in the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd.
We were mostly an older group. Baby Boomers. Grandparents. Even octogenarians. Perhaps some protested during the Vietnam War. Or served this country. We’ve lived a few years, enough decades to understand that we need to rise up against authoritarianism. Enough to understand what’s at stake. But there were some young people, too, like the dad behind me with his preschool daughter playing in the grass. He clearly cares, if not for himself, but then for his child.
The morning after the NO KINGS protest, I left for Madison, Wisconsin, to spend time with my 5-month-old grandson (and his parents). As I snuggled Everett, I thought, he (and my other two grandchildren) are part of the reason I chose to protest. Their lives stretch before them. I want them to live in a country where they are free. Free. I want them to live under a government based on a three-pronged system of checks and balances, not one ruled by a king or some version of a king or dictator. I want them to live in a kind, caring and compassionate country. Not a selfish, uncaring, divisive nation filled with hatred.
I returned to Minnesota yesterday and am catching up on laundry and writing. And, along with my fellow Minnesotans, I’m collectively grieving the assassination of an elected official and her husband. And I’m thinking, this is what it’s come to in Amercia…
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling