Palm Sunday of the Lord's Passion: Enter In Humility

The Passion Narrative we just read serves as a preview version of what awaits us in this week. In the coming days, we will enter the living and unfolding of events of the Paschal Mystery, in a sense, serving as other figures in the narrative we just proclaimed.

But for now I want to talk about the Gospel we didn’t hear. As you know, usually on Palm Sunday we begin either outside the church or at least at the entrance of the church, the more familiar introduction to this feast. The faithful, with palms in hand, stand and listen as a first Gospel is proclaimed, describing Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey, as the people lined the sides of the road, like spectators of a parade, declaring their glad Hosannas.

Perhaps it’s that event—Jesus’ Triumphal Entry, as we call it—and its meaning, that we do well to consider. Yes, we regard it as a moment in which Jesus is properly acknowledged as a king, Son of the great king, David. By that association, he entered his city, greeted by his people, his subjects. Yes, it all seems like a moment of glory, but closer examination reveals this event another way. As one commentator of this narrative stated, “Look at who and what is not present at this triumphal procession”i:

Among the crowds that greet Jesus, there is no welcoming court representing King Herod. There are no members of the Sanhedrin, no honor guard. No one who is anyone is there.

When an emperor, for example, entered a city, he would do so riding a white stallion, yet Jesus is on a lowly donkey.

Usually, the streets would be decked with garlands and flower pedals, yet for Jesus, the people are holding branches from the commonest of trees—the Middle East palm.

Usually, city officials and captains of finance would be there to throw down their cloaks—a gesture of respect and gratitude—but here, the poor greeting Jesus, have only their homespun cloaks to throw under the donkey’s unshod feet.ii

With all this, what we tend to regard as Jesus’ exalted and triumphal entry, begins to look instead, like a display of humility. It’s just one more way in which Jesus gradually empties himself, as he will do most powerfully from the cross on Friday. When I think about this humble act, it makes me think of where we are as people, and even where the Church is.

I’m a son of the Church, and I love her for many reasons. I think of the contrasting elements of the Church: She is comprised of elements, both earthly and divine. She has Jesus as her head, but then also, all of us fallen creatures who make up the rest of the Body. She sometimes reflects absolute greatness in human achievement: in the realm of academia, the arts, musical composition and architecture—all of which can seem as though they are human expressions which soar in the realm of the heavens.

Yes, the Church can be great, but she also can be lowly and as we know, she can be humbled—at times, for good reason. But I look at our Church now, considering all that’s happened over the past month. All over the world, our churches are virtually empty, and the ways in which we organize to worship, evangelize, and serve the poor—it’s all a bit fragmented and disjointed. In the ways that the Church functions as an instrument for building the Kingdom of God, it sure feels like we’re weakened.

And each of us are similarly humbled, in our loss of the autonomy we’re used to enjoying; in having to accept the uncertainty when what we regard and expect as normal, will resume—even wondering if it entirely will. We’re humbled by a health crisis, for which there is currently no answer, other than to stay away—far away—from everyone else, including those we love. We’re humbled by the fears of how it’s affecting our financial future. We’ve been humbled by having to let go of much-anticipated plans we had for a wedding, a vacation, and so much else.

We’ve been humbled, but perhaps that’s the way we’re supposed to enter this week: dressed in weakness, and with a willingness to surrender, perhaps mostly to our prideful and perhaps deluded notions that we are in control. As Jesus knew, despite his unease, that his Father had not abandoned him, and thus placed his trust in what lay ahead, we will do well to do the same in our walking with him. As Jesus is vulnerable in the unfolding events of the days ahead, so are we. But again, maybe that’s the best way to enter this Holy Week.

i Fr. Joseph Pollard, Fresh Light: Homilies on the Gospels of Year A