Palm Sunday

In recent years we have not been at the Oratory for this feast, which is a sort of mini-Holy week all rolled into one. Indeed, it anticipates the coming days' commemoration of Maundy Thursday and Good Friday by recounting these events in the Gospel, which were chanted by two deacons (priests in this case!) and a cantor.

But a preceding part of the normal Mass makes for quite an exciting change in tone from Lent: the blessing and procession of palms recalls the triumphant entry into Jerusalem of Our Lord Jesus Christ, before he was given up to death.

Gloria, laus et honor tibi sit, Rex Christe, Redemptor: Cui puerile decus prompsit Hosanna pium

Glory and praise to Thee, Redeemer blest! To whom their glad hosannas children poured

There is thus a two-fold expression of the theology of the Cross for this season; that of triumphant joy, and that of sorrowful sadness. We are well aware this week that the Passion which we commemorate on Good Friday is a solemn, sad and almost barren occasion. But we are reminded today in advance that "Dicéndo natiónibus: Regnávit a ligno Deus!" (the world was told that from a tree the Lord should reign; from Vexilla Regis, the hymn for tonight's Vespers)

How can such suffering and violence, which was indeed inflicted upon many in Ancient Rome, be regarded as a joyous victory? That is a pivotal question in Christianity, and one that can reward us greatly if we seek the true answer. For many years before I began practising the Faith ardently, I asked myself, "What is the meaning of suffering? When is suffering just?" Most people in life have faced some sort of hardship, and I felt that I had too, in an almost unjust measure. In terms of grief and loss, I felt empty with an overwhelming burning of interior pain, the likes of which I wondered: would it destroy me, or make me stronger?

The fact is, we only tend to truly grow and develop through loss and difficulty. The Church encourages us, and prompts us every year during Lent and Passiontide, to embrace this. We lose the singing of the Gloria in our liturgy, the organ music and flowers in church, and the statues which inspire so much joy and comfort are veiled and hidden. Ultimately, on Good Friday, the altar will be stripped bare and even the Blessed Sacrament will be absent.

Our love of God can only be truly discovered if we consider how utterly dependent upon him we are. It was my realisation, whilst spending time in Africa with people who were desolate and impoverished, that a reliance on God is so much greater and stronger when we have nothing else at all. Thus, when we consider our unhealthy desires and attachments, we grow to realise that it will be necessary to experience loss and suffering if we are to grasp more firmly to the most important thing in life: the Rock of Christ and His Church. It is furthermore in death that we experience loss, "as by fire," (1 Corinthians 3:15) in the most ultimate way, because our whole life's work will be tried, and the character which we have formed will be purged like Gold in a furnace. Therefore the constant need to purify ourselves to make us capable and worthy of being wholly with God, is realised both before and after death.

It is difficult to comprehend how Christ's suffering could atone for the sin of all humanity, and thus free us from its eternal effects. I have just tried to explain and fathom it, but it is so difficult. Perhaps in some way, we can only gain a small grasp through God's revelation:

Surely he hath borne our infirmities and carried our sorrows: and we have thought him as it were a leper, and as one struck by God and afflicted.
But he was wounded for our iniquities, he was bruised for our sins: the chastisement of our peace was upon him, and by his bruises we are healed.
All we like sheep have gone astray, every one hath turned aside into his own way: and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.
He was offered because it was his own will, and he opened not his mouth: he shall be led as a sheep to the slaughter, and shall be dumb as a lamb before his shearer, and he shall not open his mouth.
He was taken away from distress, and from judgement: who shall declare his generation? because he is cut off out of the land of the living: for the wickedness of my people have I struck him.
And he shall give the ungodly for his burial, and the rich for his death: because he hath done no iniquity, neither was there deceit in his mouth.
And the Lord was pleased to bruise him in infirmity: if he shall lay down his life for sin, he shall see a long-lived seed, and the will of the Lord shall be prosperous in his hand.

Isaiah 53:4-10

This, written hundreds of years before Christ was born, gives us an insight into the suffering servant, who "as the Son of man is not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a redemption for many." (St Matthew 20:28)

Our liturgy today, and over the next week, will reflect these essential truths. God appears in a human form many times throughout the Old Testament, and thus could easily have continued to preach and teach us throughout history. But instead, God becomes human - so that he could die and pay the ultimate price, as a supreme act of love for His Creation. As we approach Christ's glorious resurrection of Easter Day, we must pass through, as by fire, the painful process whereby we die to Sin, and are born afresh into newness of life. This is all the more true for the catechumens, who this Easter will die to Sin with Christ through their Baptism. (Colossians 2)

These feasts are not merely a commemoration with reference to the person of Jesus, but also by a union of faith and love, they will bind us closer to Christ, and thus become an actual reality for the Mystical Body of Christ, the Church.

Second and Last Photos by Peter Jennings © 2008