Palm Sunday_Passion Sunday I love ‘ensemble stories’ – you know books, plays, films where we see a number of different characters reacting within a story. When we look at the Passion Narratives, especially Mark’s, we miss the point if we focus solely on Jesus’ suffering and death. In fact, the Narratives make little of Jesus’ physical suffering. More emphasis is placed on how people react to Jesus. This is an especial feature of Mark’s account. His Passion account proper begins with the unnamed woman, lavishly pouring costly ointment over Jesus’ head. Somehow, she has recognized what all the other disciples have missed: Jesus is going to his death. She gives a most precious gift in response to his most precious gift. At the end of Mark’s account stands the Centurion, also unnamed, who is the ultimate witness to Jesus in the Gospel of Mark. This man of violence, who probably supervised the scourging, the ridicule, as well as the crucifixion proper sees ‘the Son of God’ in the ignominious failure and death. These two people stand as models of discipleship: one the faithful follower who risks ridicule to show love to Jesus; the other, a hard person transformed, converted to believer. [Living Liturgy 2015] In between these two figures of faith, we have all sorts of other characters: scheming self-serving priests, a weak politician, frightened disciples, a cocksure Peter shamed at the crow of a cock. These people are written into the story that we might see us there. We know our weakness and failures of character. As we see ourselves echoed in the Passion Narrative, we can remind ourselves that Jesus loved these, all these, and us, to the end. Adapted from Renew International Year B
Palm/Passion Sunday This Lent has been like no other. On Ash Wednesday, we began with a plan for prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. But less than three weeks into Lent, life turned upside down because of COVID-19 and the precautions we were asked to take in order to prevent its spread. As life’s normal rhythms were interrupted, so were our Lenten plans. And we entered a Lenten desert we did not expect to experience. Our prayers shifted direction. Fasting suddenly included not attending Sunday Mass and enduring a new hunger for Jesus. We got creative with almsgiving, focusing on those within our home or how we could serve at a social distance. Now, as Lent draws to a close, we anticipate the holiest week of the year. And we settle into the reality that we will spend it at home, too. The good news is that, even under these unusual circumstances, Holy Week can still be one of the most prayerful weeks of the year. Our reflections today are from Diane Bergant: We see on TV the many times a soldier returns home to surprise his family. It is thrilling, despite the fact that this hero comes home possibly broken. I wonder what the people of Bethphage and Bethany thought as Jesus processed toward Jerusalem. It seems that their enthusiasm would quickly turn to disdain when he was captured, tried and put to death. Hero worship does not seem to enjoy a long shelf life. We don’t usually think of Jesus as a hero, but hero he is. He is our savior; the one who handed himself over for our sake; the one who was abandoned so that we might belong. Today when the excitement of the parade is over and the waving of the palms ceases, we should spend some time reflecting on the character of our hero. On this first day of Holy Week, we should try to understand why a week of betrayal and denial, of mockery and bloodshed is called holy. Today’s readings paint pictures of terror and viciousness. Isaiah speaks of a beating and derision; the psalmist staggers under the burden of abandonment and assault; the Gospel describes each excruciating episode of Jesus’ passion. How can such horrors be endured? But they are endured. In fact, for some incomprehensible reason, they appear to be embraced. Traditionally during Holy Week we focus on the sufferings of Jesus. But it is not suffering, not even the suffering of Jesus, that makes this week holy. Rather, it is holy because of the inexplicable and immeasurable love that prompted that suffering. Genuine love often empowers, even transforms, us. We know that love of family can engender unselfishness, and love of country can inspire heroism. This week we see that driven by love for all, Jesus willingly accepted the consequences of his messianic role. This week is holy because of love, but it is love misunderstood. Jesus is a hero, but not in the traditional pattern of heroism. He actually looks more like a victim. He is not triumphant as we understand triumph. Instead he appears to be a failure. Judging by one set of standards—standards not unlike those of many people of his day— he has not met our expectations. But according to another standard—the standard of unconditional love—he has far surpassed our expectations. We will make it holy if we can begin to realize the depth of God’s magnanimous love. We will make it holy if we can bring unconditional love into the lives of those around us. We will make it holy if we live according to the paradoxical standards of Jesus who, though disgraced, is still our hero. Adapted from Living Liturgy 2012 Worship At Home
Passion Sunday We cry this day, “Hosanna!”, but unlike the people of the city of Jerusalem of long ago, we need not ask, “who is this?” This is Jesus, the one who models for us the mystery of life: dying to self so that we may be exalted, raised to new life. This week we celebrate in pointed liturgies the meaning of our whole Christian living: dying to self so that God can raise us up too. This dying can be as simple as setting aside time to participate in all the Triduum liturgies or as demanding as to recognize what in our lives we still need to abandon to be exalted as daughters and sons of God living new life. Perhaps what we need to abandon is a habit of thinking of ourselves and our own needs first, ahead of others. Perhaps it means not making ourselves the center of attention. Perhaps what we need to abandon is a lot of clutter we’ve accumulated that can tend to take our minds off what is really important. Perhaps we need to abandon the frenetic pace of our lives and cut some things out so we can concentrate on our loved one more or help those in need. In all, what we give up, what we abandon, leads to a new lease on life. Most important, it leads to new and deeper relationships and richer experiences. With Jesus, we pray, “into your hands….”
Jerusalem, My Destiny We cry this day, “Hosanna!”, but unlike the people of the city of Jerusalem of long ago, we need not ask, “who is this?” This is Jesus, the one who models for us the mystery of life: dying to self so that we may be exalted, raised to new life. This week we celebrate in pointed liturgies the meaning of our whole Christian living: dying to self so that God can raise us up too. This dying can be as simple as setting aside time to participate in all the Triduum liturgies or as demanding as to recognize what in our lives we still need to abandon to be exalted as daughters and sons of God living new life. Perhaps what we need to abandon is a habit of thinking of ourselves and our own needs first, ahead of others. Perhaps it means not making ourselves the center of attention. Perhaps what we need to abandon is a lot of clutter we’ve accumulated that can tend to take our minds off what is really important. Perhaps we need to abandon the frenetic pace of our lives and cut some things out so we can concentrate on our loved one more or help those in need. In all, what we give up, what we abandon, leads to a new lease on life. Most important, it leads to new and deeper relationships and richer experiences. With Jesus, we pray, “into your hands….” Adapted from Renew International
Jerusalem, Behold Your King Comes For most of us, Holy Week unfolds like many other weeks: work, school, preparing meals, doing laundry. Palm Sunday begins an unusual week – a week – concentrated in a few days on the ultimate meaning of our lives. We are invited this week to reflect on these questions: Why are we here? What have we been called to do? What are we willing to die for? We have journeyed from Ash Wednesday to this day. This week, we will experience the last hours of the life of Jesus. We must slow down and make choices so that this week does not go by without our taking time to enter into its meaning. In our Gospel today, even in the midst of great suffering, Jesus extends his compassion to others, so total, that he willingly empties himself to the point of death. As we enter this week, let us pray that our self-emptying for the good of others will be so total. We celebrate in the liturgies of this week what we live every day – all the dying to self that characterizes our faithful discipleship. The triumph of this week is in doing our tasks with joy, being kind to those around us [even those cranky folks], meeting setbacks as paths to learning. Then, with Jesus, we can commend ourselves into God’s hands. Jerusalem, My Destiny by Gary Daigle, Rory Cooney & Theresa Donohoo