Party Time
There were three celebrations unique to Holy Week in the Holy Land that I was looking forward to. The first was yesterday: The Palm Sunday procession from Bethphage into Jerusalem.
I usually enter Holy Week in a somber spirit, but not just because it’s the busiest and most challenging week of parish life. On Palm Sunday, the sorrow and weight of the crucifixion dominate my attention. Oh sure, I know Mass begins in a celebratory tone with the blessing of palms, but my mind focuses on the later recounting of the passion. For me, Palm Sunday is usually a heavy day of reflection.
That, however, is not what I experienced in Jerusalem.
In this place where Palm Sunday got its name, the atmosphere was one of a party. A big, loud, never-ending party that everyone joined.
In reflecting on it, I suspect that is a much better way to approach Palm Sunday.
While we read the passion narrative at Mass, Palm Sunday is, first and foremost, a commemoration of Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem. While even at that moment, He had His eyes firmly fixed on the horrifying events to come, it didn’t diminish joy over the Messiah’s arrival. The Messiah - God Himself - was claiming kingship and victory, fulfilling the promises that generations of humanity had longed to see fulfilled. If that’s not a good reason to party, I don’t know what is!
Thousands of people were present for yesterday’s procession - countless pilgrims, local Christian communities, and even Muslim women joyfully throwing rice upon the participants as they entered Jerusalem. People with guitars, trumpets, violins, and stereos led their groups in songs of every language while shouting Hosanna. Many more lined the procession route, waving palm and olive branches, taking pictures, and singing with the pilgrims.
Not realizing that it was B.Y.O.P. (bring your own palm), I found some local kids who were happy to charge this American an exceptionally high price for some leaves they probably pulled off the tree in their backyard. So with these valuable palm branches, I joined the crowds (and the seminarians of the Latin patriarchate, who were especially festive) and made the two-hour procession from Bethphage, down the Mount of Olives, past the Garden of Gethsemane, and into Jerusalem.
There are few times that I have experienced such a joyful crowd. I can’t help but think about the challenges involved in being a Christian in the Holy Land; it costs them something to publically proclaim their faith in a contentious land where they are the minority. Their most significant worries aren’t the church’s temperature or the sound system’s quality. At best, they are a tolerated minority and, at worst, a radical group to be driven from the land. Their worries transcend comfort and rest solely on freedom, life, and death. These Christians have experienced that the cross and Christianity go hand-in-hand, and so they have also experienced the joy of the love of Jesus in a way I’m not sure many in the west have - I’m not sure if I have!
Thinking the celebration was over, I returned to my residence only to find the street alive with a three-hour parade of marching bands celebrating Palm Sunday through a seemingly never-ending show. Enjoying it from the rooftop of my building, I decided to call it an early night to rest for the coming solemnities.
Experiencing Palm Sunday as a day of triumphant celebration is new to me and, I think, tremendously formative. While I must have a constant eye on the cross as the only path to resurrection, this Palm Sunday challenged me to ask myself: Am I joyfully celebrating those moments that Jesus enters my life? Have I fully surrendered myself to His kingly entry into my heart? Do I experience His promise that "I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and your joy may be complete" (John 15:11)?