Passion Sunday

The crowds that went ahead of him and those that followed shouted,

"Hosanna to the Son of David!"
"Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!"
"Hosanna in the highest!"

When Jesus entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred and asked, "Who is this?"

The crowds answered, "This is Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth in Galilee."

-Gospel according to St. Matthew, 21:9-11

This year marks my first official Holy Week. Though I was raised Catholic, we never went to Mass, not even for Christmas and Easter. I'm glad I was able to go to the Palm Sunday Mass last night. It was an intense, emotional roller coaster that will definitely stick with me for a while.

Last night, the weather was perfect for walking on the parish grounds. Mass began at sunset outside the church, where we were greeted and had palms distributed. Those of us gathered there that had palms were sprinkled with holy water; the water always reminds me of my baptism. Our deacon read from the Gospel the story of Christ's triumphant entry into Jerusalem, and we all headed back into the church with our palms singing joyfully.

The joy of the moment didn't last, though. Our usual moments of song were punctuated with periods of silence, and the hymns were solemn and eerie. The Gospel was the Passion narrative in its entirety...it quickly became clear why the liturgical color of the day was a deep scarlet. The deacon and priest read the narration and the words of Christ, respectively, while the congregation acted as the crowd who had assembled to ask for Christ's crucifixion (St. Matthew 27:21-8):

"Which of the two do you want me to release to you?" asked the governor.
"Barabbas," they answered.

"What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called Christ?" Pilate asked.
They all answered, "Crucify him!"

"Why? What crime has he committed?" asked Pilate.
But they shouted all the louder, "Crucify him!"

When Pilate saw that he was getting nowhere, but that instead an uproar was starting, he took water and washed his hands in front of the crowd. "I am innocent of this man's blood," he said. "It is your responsibility!"

All the people answered, "Let his blood be on us and on our children!"

Then he released Barabbas to them. But he had Jesus flogged, and handed him over to be crucified.

My stomach twisted as I found myself speaking those words. Were we not singing the praises of the Christ a half hour before? How quickly we turned and spat at him. We were the ones to sentence Him to death. Scarlet...the color of blood. His blood really is on our hands.

Finally, when Christ spoke His last words and gave up His spirit on the cross, the narrative paused. The congregation went to its knees, all eyes on the crucifix that hangs above our altar.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

From there, the Mass continued as usual, but there was a somber undertone to the whole thing that subdued us all. Instead of receiving the Eucharist with joy, I took it with sorrow, realizing that His Body and Blood were the last things I deserved, when I had helped to crucify Him with my sins.

And, with a final hymn that pleaded, "Jesus, remember me when you come into Your Kingdom," we were sent out to prepare ourselves for the week ahead--one of fasting, prayer, and penance.

There's a light at the end of all this, however, and it is the hope on which we ground our faith. Christ will die...

And then, He will rise.

And we shall rise with Him.