The Greatest Love Story

Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord

    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen].  As a kid I disliked today’s Gospel and the Gospel we’ll hear on Good Friday, both of which are Passion Narratives (today’s from St. Matthew and Friday’s from St. John).  I disliked them because they are so long, and I already knew what happened.  The Lord celebrates the Last Supper, goes to the Garden of Gethsemane, gets arrested, goes through a sham trial, is turned over to the Roman Governor, Pontius Pilate, carries His cross to Golgotha, and dies.  

    As an adult, the Passion Narratives are still long.  And I still know the story.  But it’s the story of how God showed His love for us.  It’s like “The Princess Bride” or “Band of Brothers.”  I know what happens; I can probably quote a fair amount of lines.  But I return to them because they speak about the deepest meanings of life: love and sacrifice.  But as much as “The Princess Bride” and “Band of Brothers” talk about love and sacrifice, the Passion Narratives tell us about the greatest love and the greatest sacrifice.  The greatest love because God’s love for us is infinite; the greatest sacrifice because God, the source of all life, experienced death so that we, who deserved death, could return to the source of life and enjoy eternal life in heaven.
    In “Band of Brothers,” the early focus, and a theme throughout, is “Currahee,” a Cherokee word which means “we stand alone together.”  In Christ’s Passion, He stands alone.  And yet, we stand with Him now.  We stand alone together as Christ suffers for us and pays the price for sin, death, though He had no sin.  Life contends with death, as we will hear on Easter Sunday in the sequence Victimae Paschali Laudes: Mors et vita duello.  But we know that life will win.  As Westley says in “The Princess Bride”: “Death cannot stop true love.  All it can do is delay it for a while.”  Nowhere is that phrase more true than in Christ, whose heart stopped beating after He died on the cross, but whose love never stopped and will never stop for us.
    We know the story.  We know what happens.  But we need to hear it again, however long it takes, because all time comes back to this one week when the Son of David and Lord of David entered into His city with shouts of joy, and was led out of His city by a foreign government, which was cajoled to act by His own religious leaders and people, and He backed up the words He spoke at the Last Supper with action: “Greater love has no man than this: to lay down his life for his friends.”  This is the greatest love story, the greatest sacrifice story of all time, greater even than “The Princess Bride” and “Band of Brothers.”  But it’s not just a story; it’s the truth.  And the truth has set us free from sin and death.  [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.]

Entering into the Events which Saved Us

Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion

    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.]  A beautiful spiritual practice is to put ourselves in the Gospel accounts.  One can imagine him or herself as a particular person, like Peter or Mary or one of the other disciples, or one can put oneself into the story as a new bystander, observing what happens and noting one’s own physical and emotional response.
    I think that anyone who takes the Bible seriously would eventually ask, “What would I do if I were there?”  Especially given the Gospel before the Mass about the entrance into Jerusalem, as well as the long Passion narrative, it shouldn’t take much more to insert oneself into the profound stories we know so well of our Lord’s last week in His earthly ministry.  Would I have welcomed Christ like the crowd?  Or would I have been like a Pharisee, criticizing this display?  Would I have scattered in the Garden of Gethsemane, or what I would have remained with our Lord just a few steps behind the soldiers?  Would I have clamored for Barabbas, or would my cries to release the true Son of the Father have been drowned out by the mob asking for crucifixion of the Lord of Glory?
    But we don’t only have to imagine ourselves in the major events of our salvation.  This week, especially during the Sacred Triduum of Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday, we participate in our salvation, in the events that gained for us eteral life.  In the Mass, we enter into those events, not just remember them.  While they are present sacramentally, they are also present truly, such that the fabric of time gets folded into itself, and we enter into the eternal present of God, in our own limited way.  
    So, the question is not, ‘what do I imagine myself doing at the Last Supper, the Garden of Gethsemane, Calvary, or the tomb?’, but will I be present at those events that saved me?  Will I come to the liturgies that make present what happened some 2,000 years ago?  Or do I have more important things to do than spend time with our Lord?
    This is not to make light of those who have no choice but to work on those days.  And none of the Sacred Triduum is a holyday of obligation.  But will we make ourselves present to our Lord if we can?  Will we put our life on hold for the one who gave up His life for us?  Yes, they are long liturgies.  Yes, they happen at irregular times from what we’re used to with Masses.  But if we were willing to take off work to see a presidential candidate, are we not willing to take off work to see the King of Kings and be with Him in His agony?
    The choice is yours.  And I will not be your judge as to whether you could or could not have gone for legitimate reasons, or whether you absented yourself due to sloth.  That is for God to judge.  But if we can, the Savior deserves extra time spent with Him this week.  He gave His all for us?  Can we give a little more than usual for Him?  [Who with the Father and the Holy Spirit live and reign for ever and ever.  Amen.]

"Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?"

Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion
    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.].  In today’s Responsorial Psalm/Tract, we hear the words of Psalm 22 (21), which are also echoed in Matthew and Mark’s account of the Passion.  Today I wanted to reflect on these words, words which sounded forth from the lips of Christ as He hung on the cross for our salvation.

The place of the Crucifixion

    The first words do not sound appropriate for our Lord to say.  How could the consubstantial, co-eternal Son of the Father say, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”  How could God abandon Himself?  Christ, as He hung on the cross, felt the full weight of sin in His human nature.  Sin does not simply reflect a choice we make contrary to what God wills.  Sin is, in some sense, a separation from God.  Even venial sins make a momentary choice where we do not choose God, who is holiness Himself, as we hear from the Books of Isaiah and Revelation: “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God of Hosts!”  So when we choose that which is contrary to holiness, even if it is but for a second, we choose against God and we alienate ourselves from Him.  Our Lord, though He had no sin Himself, took upon Himself the consequences for sin of all time and space, and so felt, in His human nature, the horrible absence of God, though, of course, He remained God through all of His Passion.
    But to put these words of the psalmist on his lips also demonstrated His total union with us in all things but sin.  He experienced what we experience when we know we have wandered away from God: that lack of true happiness, that darkness, that void in our hearts that come from choosing lesser goods over our ultimate good. 
    And there is a beauty and a strength for us that come from the knowledge that our God loved us so much that He would humble Himself to experience the pain of sin, though He knew not sin Himself.  We can never truly understand the depths of another’s pain, since each person’s pain is unique, just like each person is.  Yet, it does help when someone we know has been through a similar circumstance, and knows what it is to lose as we have lost.  God can give us that comfort because He has been there, and suffered what we suffer when we do not live up to our supernatural purpose. 
    In saying this one line, Christ included the entire psalm, just as we sometimes will include in our conversation entire lyrics with simply one line.  So Christ also includes the later words within this psalm, “I will proclaim your name to my brethren; / in the midst of the assembly I will praise you: / “You who fear the Lord, praise him; / all you descendants of Jacob, give glory to him; / revere him, all you descendants of Israel!”  In the midst of this pain and sense of abandonment, our Lord also directs His suffering as an offering of praise to God among His brothers and sisters.  Indeed, we use the word assembly, but the Hebrew word is qahal, which is translated into Greek as 𝜀𝜅𝜅𝜆𝜂𝜎𝜄𝛼, whence we get the English word “ecclesial,” meaning belonging to the church.  In the midst of the pain and suffering, Christ praises God the Father in the Church, and invites God’s People to worship Him.
    Pain and suffering do not end in themselves.  Even these are gifts that can be offered to God and lead to praise and worship.  How?  As verse 20 states, “But you, O Lord, be not far from me; / O my help, hasten to aid me.”  God, even in the darkest times of our life, even in the darkest times of human history, past, present, or future, does not abandon us, even when it feels like it.  God the Father was ever present with his Son, Jesus Christ; the Father was not far from the Son, nor is He far from us.  And God sends us help to persevere through our suffering.  When we suffer, united to Christ, our suffering becomes redemptive, whether for ourselves or for others.  Pain gives way to healing; death gives way to life.  And isn’t that precisely what this week is all about?
    So, in the midst of our suffering, may this psalm be on our lips, just as it was on our Lord’s.  May we not stop at the first verse, the feeling of abandonment by God, but continue throughout the entire psalm, proclaiming in the midst of the Church God’s goodness and His proximity to us even when things look darkest, and giving glory to God: the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

The Fickle Nature of Humanity

Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion
    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen].  Today’s Mass is an exhibit on the fickle nature of humanity.  It is an emotional roller coaster if ever there was one.  Even the usually pristine nature of the Mass takes on notes of higher and lower pitch. 

    We started today echoing the words of the people as Christ entered His city, Jerusalem, fulfilling the prophecy of Zechariah.  We, like the Jews at the time of Christ, waved our palm branches, signs of victory and jubilation.  Not long after, however, our cries of “Hosanna” changed to “Crucify him!”  We started with, “‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.’” and we ended with, “‘His blood be upon us and upon our children.’”
    How did this happen?  Our Lord was cheered as a hero, as the fulfillment of the messianic prophecies that filled the minds of the pilgrims in Jerusalem.  He was welcomed and embraced as an honored guest in the Holy City.  But in those few short days between Palm Sunday and Good Friday, the mood changed.  The Messiah was not the type of Messiah the people wanted.  They grew tired of His preaching.  The newness wore off.  Until, whipped into a frenzy by agitators, this honored guest was not only brushed away and forgotten, but snuffed out, even while the crowds called for the release of a notorious prisoner, Barabbas, whose name, ironically, means “son of the father.” 
    It would be easy to think of this simply as a past event.  It would certainly ease our conscience if we didn’t have to take any part in the great drama of salvation, and could stand as critics who know how the scene should play out, because we observe like omniscient spectators, convinced of our own wisdom.  But to do so is to miss the point.  We did not live 2,000 years ago, but we still cry out “Hosanna” and “Crucify him” because we are the crowd.  We are the mob.  We are fickle.
    We see Christ do amazing things for us.  Perhaps we ourselves witness miracles that Christ does to ease our suffering or heal our illness.  Something goes right and we say, “Thank you, Jesus!”  We embrace Him with love because of the mercy He shows us.  But then, as times get tough; as we do not receive all that we desire; as we have to say no to our fallen sinful selves; as our love is tested by sacrifice, we embrace Him again, but this time we say, “‘Hail, Rabbi,’” and kiss Him with the kiss of the betrayer.  We make the words of Psalm 41 (40) about us, as the Lord says, “Thus even my friend, in whom I trusted, / who ate my bread, has turned against me.”  We, who have eaten the bread of angels, the Eucharist, betray Christ and cast Him out of our midst. 
    To be welcomed and celebrated and then cast off so quickly.  How would we respond?  How does Christ?  He feels the agony of rejection, of betrayal, by those whom He loved so dearly: “‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’” he cries out, quoting Psalm 22 (21).  And yet, He also says, “Father, forgive them.  They know not what they do.”  As Isaiah prophesied, “The Lord God is [His] help, therefore [he is] not disgraced.”  He is not ashamed to be called our Brother, even though we are ashamed, at times, to be called His. 
    We are fickle.  Our love fades so quickly.  Perhaps, though, today we silent our tongues, not cheering out in joy, nor howling in impious mockery.  But we simply watch, silently, as our Lord does what must be done for the salvation of the world [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen].

Christ's Rights

 Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion/Palm Sunday in Lent

The sections listed in brackets [] are for the Extraordinary Form only
    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.].  In the United States we concentrate a lot on rights.  We talk about our rights as something to be guarded at all costs.  And some of them are very important.  Certainly at the top of the list is the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  But we also raise to the highest level lesser rights, things that are man-made laws.  Again, they may be important for a well-ordered society in some cases.  But we sometimes treat them as if they’re a sacred cow.
    Juxtaposed to this focus with rights is Christ in our readings.  All things belong to Christ.  He is King of kings and Lord of lords.  He created all things and sustains all things in being.  As He enters into Jerusalem, He enters into His City.  He is Son of David, entering into the City of David.  And the crowd feels it.  They sense that there is something more to Him than simply being an itinerant rabbi from Nazareth.  They wave their palms and lay their cloaks down, not unlike when David brought the Ark of the Covenant into Jerusalem.  

    The Lord has the right of calling on His attendants, the angels, to wait on Him in His city.  He has the right to cast out all those who oppose Him, as He Himself referenced in a parable earlier in His ministry.  And He does cast out the money changers.  But He does not set-up His own government.  He does not expel the Romans, and call down fire from the heavens to burn them up, and James and John suggested He do when the Samaritans would not welcome Him because He and His Apostles journeyed to Jerusalem.  
    Christ has the right to confound the religious leaders of His day, who are intent on getting rid of the One they fail to acknowledge as the Messiah.  He does not give in to their traps, though He sees them, but He doesn’t demand that they profess Him as the Messiah in front of the crowds, who have some sense that Jesus could be the one for whom they have been waiting.  
    In sum, the Lord did not deem equality with God something to be grasped.  Rather, He emptied Himself and took the form of a slave, being born in the likeness of men.  He even “humbled himself, becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.”  Christ seems to give up every right that is His.  He could insist on so much, but insisted on nothing other than doing His Father’s will, no matter the cost.  His thought was not on right, but on responsibility.  
    As disciples who are supposed to pattern our life on Christ, is that the way that we live?  Do we cling to what we believe is ours, our rights, or do we humble ourselves in obedience to the Father’s will?  Are we and our desires the most important things in life, or is the Father?    Our Lord reminds us that whoever exalts himself and his desires will be humbled.  Whoever humbles himself will be exalted.  
    As we enter into this holiest of weeks, the Lord invites us to pattern our life on His, not on grasping on to our rights, but emptying ourselves in service to the Father’s will.  If we humble ourselves like Christ, then we will be exalted with Christ by the Father.  If we die with Christ, we will rise with Him in glory, [where He lives and reigns with the Father and the Holy Spirit, for ever and ever.  Amen].