Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion

Lectionary Readings

When he was in Bethany reclining at table in the house of Simon the leper, a woman came with an alabaster jar of perfumed oil,
costly genuine spikenard. She broke the alabaster jar and poured it on his head.

The Liturgies of Holy Week and Easter with their songs, symbols, rites, and readings intentionally overwhelm the mind that seeks answers. They're there, but they're beyond words. They humble, astound, and silence the mind. 

They're not simply enormous and loud. Fireworks are enormous and loud but they don't change us. We go home from such displays saying, "That was fun!" or "That was amazing!" We might wonder, "How do they do that?" but we won't ask, "What difference has it made in my head, heart, or life?" We're not likely to muse with W.B. Yeats about Easter, 1916, 

"All changed, changed utterly. A terrible beauty is born."  

We don't merely watch Palm Sunday, Holy Thursday, or Good Friday. The rites invite us to act certain parts and read important words. Some people will hold out, of course: the young, uncertain, and skeptical. But we trust these gestures as we participate. If we don't know what they mean in so many words, they're important and they make a difference. We don't ask if we're worthy to be here. We've got more important things to ponder, like, "What wondrous love is this, O my soul?" 

One year ago, we found the Churches locked and barred by the Covid 19 pandemic. We saw the Holy Father, Pope Francis, presiding over an empty Saint Peter's Piazza. We had to watch the rites and ceremonies through a cold, indifferent camera; and often despite the inept blundering of those who tried to make these awkward technologies work. "It's not the same thing!" we said and hoped it would end soon.

This year, we pray that most of our people, those who survived the scourge, will return to worship. Beyond the fear and the deaths, it was a year of political upheaval, angry rioting, and senseless killings. These, too, are beyond our comprehension. We wonder if we too have failed in some way to represent God's mercy amid this tension, injustice, and violence. We must get back to our places in Church to worship with the Spirit who gathers us!

I have sometimes reminded people that, "We have never missed a Sunday Mass since the evening Jesus broke bread with his disciples in Emmaus!" But we came close to it this year as we were afraid to stand close together, to touch the same utensils, or breathe the same air. So this year we don our masks and head for the church, to escort the Lord into the Holy City, and to witness his love for us.