Palm Sunday

I never really understood the Palm Sunday liturgy.

We spend the first five minutes singing, “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!!” and then head straight into fifteen minutes of the Passion and death of Jesus.

As a result, I figured that the Palm Sunday part of it was pretty minor. After all, if it was important, we would spend more time on it.

Then I went to Jerusalem. I celebrated Palm Sunday in Jerusalem. It changed my life.

Let me set the scene: thousands of people from all over the world come together- musicians, youth scout groups, dancers, sisters in a rainbow of habits, priests, brothers, backpackers, grandmothers, infants, students…. all together praising God.

Now I know what heaven looks like- all of God’s children together.

Everybody joins together at the top of the Mount of Olives in Bethany. There is an Israeli Police escort at the head of the procession, but once it begins, the entire group sings, dances, marches and walks down the hill. Palm branches are waving. Children are clapping. Brothers and sisters from opposite sides of the world are talking and sharing how they got here.

The parade ends at St. Anne’s Church. Tradition holds that this was the location of the home of St. Joachim and St. Anne, and was the birthplace of Mary. (It also has great acoustics, so when you go, try to sneak in when no one else is there and sing- it’s incredible!)

Outside of the Church is a large grassy area spotted with trees. This is the excavation site of the Pools of Bethesda, where Jesus healed a sick man. A large stage stands at the front of the grass, filled with a band playing live praise music. Everyone, palms still in hand, is joining together in large circles to dance together.

As I join in the dancing, I look around me and I see: a young Franciscan brother in his brown habit and sandals, a backpacker who has just come from the hostel, two young children and their grandmother who live locally, a Missionary of Charity in her blue and white sari, an older priest who is studying here on sabbatical, a young man in a scouting uniform who works part time at the convent I am staying at.

Every shape, size, age and color of person in God’s Creation is here- singing praise to God.
This is the Catholic Church.

We often say that “Catholic” means “universal,” but we rarely get to see it.

Since that Palm Sunday, I work every year to try to bring that joy and exuberance to my own personal celebration. Some years are more successful than others. But every year, I thank God that He has given me not just the Catholic Church in my neighborhood, but a Catholic Church that reflects and embraces the beauty of His entire Creation.