Palm Sunday
“Hosanna in the highest!”
Today is Palm Sunday, arguably the day of greatest pageantry in the liturgical calendar. For theater kids like me, today was always the most exciting mass of the year, even if it was the longest. We got to do a play! Granted, not a very well-produced play and most of my fellow actors were annoyingly untrained, but it was a play nevertheless. Today is the day when we showcase our enthusiasm for Jesus. We wave palms and shout Hosanna. It’s also a day when we showcase our fickle selves. Because, not even 30 minutes after reenacting Jesus’ triumphant entrance into Jerusalem, we are shouting for his crucifixion. If I’m being honest, shouting “Crucify him!” at mass was always the most fun.
Much is made of the fickle nature of the crowds in Jesus’ day. How did they go from honoring him as the messiah one moment and then condemning him the next? In reality, it doesn’t seem so strange. I imagine that many people who lined the streets on that first Palm Sunday were in fact deeply conflicted. Jesus did not look anything like the messiah that had been promised to them. His preaching was confusing and the rumors surrounding him even more so. But the crowds were shouting Hosanna and it was easy to get swept up in the hype. If, a few days later, the crowd changed their mind, it was just as easy to go with the flow.
It can be challenging to make our own decisions about what we believe, especially when people we respect are confident in their points of view. It’s easier sometimes to follow along, to go through the motions. But faith asks more of us.
I think about the small contingent of women who looked on from a distance, broken-hearted, as Christ breathed his last breath. How bitter and lonely those moments must have been, and how frightening. I once heard it said that, in the moment when Christ’s body was taken down from the cross and laid in his mother’s arms, she was the only person on Earth who still believed in Him.
I’m not sure that’s entirely true. I think Mary Magdalene, John, and a few scattered others were holding the faith. But Mary most likely felt utterly alone in that moment. What I am certain of is that none of the remaining believers were the people waving palms a few days before. They had all gone. What remained were those willing to believe despite the sadness in their souls. Sometimes our hearts break. People who we love and respect decide that we are absolutely in the wrong. We question ourselves and wonder if perhaps our faith is just a blind delusion. But we hold out hope for the resurrection. No matter what.
Palm Sunday is a deeply human ritual. We reenact a story that hits on the very core of our humanity - our desire to be loved and accepted. We desire to be one of the crowd, one of the righteous many. Then, we realize we’ve made a mistake. Who we really want to be are the women at the foot of the cross. We want to be there with Mary when Christ is laid in her arms. We want to be there when He rises again.
Emily is a playwright, screenwriter, and the Executive Director of the Catholic Artist Connection.