Homily for Palm Sunday of the Lord's Passion - Year A

The readings for Palm Sunday of the Lord's Passion - Year A may be found at:

https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/032926.cfm

In the two gospels we’ve proclaimed,

at the beginning of Holy Mass

and this one, just now,

the evangelist St. Matthew 

gives us two very different scenes.

And today, the Church places them side by side -

not by accident - but on purpose.

Light and dark.

Joy, hope, excitement, anticipation and praise

next to

sorrow, shock, betrayal, abandonment and silence.

As Jesus enters Jerusalem,

the crowds cry out,

"Hosanna to the Son of David;

blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord;

hosanna in the highest."

Only to shout days later -

"Barabbas!"

"Let him be crucified!"

"Let him be crucified!"

Joy and hope becoming anger and betrayal.

And that -  

should stop us in our tracks -

because it forces us to ask a hard question -

What changed?

We know Jesus didn’t.

He entered Jerusalem 

the same way He always comes -

humble, unassuming, gentle.

Not with power. Not with force.

But with love and peace.

The problem wasn’t Jesus.

The problem was the expectation.

The people wanted a king - a certain kind of king.

One to defeat their enemies.

One to restore power.

One to make everything right - 

on their terms - as they defined them.

And when Jesus didn’t do that,

when He didn’t fit their expectations,

the way they thought He should. They turned on Him.

And if we’re honest -

we’ve done the same thing.

We welcome Jesus,

when He blesses us.

When life is going well.

When prayers are answered.

When faith feels good.

But when the cross appears?

When things don’t go our way?

When following Him costs us something?

That’s when our hearts can turn.

Palm Sunday holds up a mirror to our hearts.

Because the same voice that shouts,  “Hosanna”,

can, quite quickly,  yell something very different.

And yet - 

He doesn’t turn back.

He doesn’t change course.

He doesn’t force us to join.

He continues, faithfully,

all the way to the cross.

Along the way, 

we see everything.

Betrayal. Denial. Abandonment.

Disciples falling asleep - multiple times.

One betrays Him.

Another denies Him - three times.

The disciples scatter and disappear.

And Jesus stands alone.

And from the cross, He cries out -

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

He enters into the deepest place of human suffering.

The place where it feels like God is nowhere to be found,

or has gone silent.

He does that 

so that no one who has ever felt that way

is ever alone again.

That’s the kind of King He is.

Not one who conquers by power - 

but one who saves by love.

Not one who avoids suffering - 

but one who enters into it -

and transforms it - into the place 

where salvation happens.

And that’s why Holy Week matters.

Because it shows us how God works.

Not through control or domination,

but through humility. Through sacrifice.

Through love that doesn’t quit.

And that same Jesus who walks to Calvary,

will meet us again - on this altar.

So the question for us this week is simple.

Will we follow Him?

Beyond the palms and adoration?

Into his Passion?

Will we join Him in the Upper Room?

Will we stay awake in the Garden?

Will we stand attentively at the foot of the Cross?

Because following Jesus

is not proven in the waving of palms,

but in staying when it’s hard.

This Holy Week - don’t treat it like a checklist.

Be present. Walk it. Enter into it.

Come to the liturgies.

Go to the Chrism Mass.

Experience Tenebrae.

Stay awake with us for adoration on Holy Thursday.

Venerate the Cross and walk the Stations on Good Friday.

Sit in the silence.

Let it speak directly to your heart.

Because 

if we walk with Him to Calvary,

we will be ready -

not just to celebrate Easter -

but to rise -

with Him.

Homily for Fourth Sunday of Lent - Year A

The readings for the Fourth Sunday of Lent - Year A may be found at:

https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/031526.cfm

This week, the evangelist Saint John  

gives us a rather long gospel.

But it’s long for a reason -

because the Church wants us to sit in it - 

and maybe, just maybe, to see ourselves.

St. John tells us that

Jesus encounters a man blind from birth.

As the disciples wonder out loud

like we often do when something goes wrong,

whose fault is this?  

Who is to blame?

But Jesus dismisses them out of hand, saying

“Neither he nor his parents sinned; 

it is so that the works of God 

might be made visible through him.”

Or in other words - 

Stop looking for someone to blame.

Start looking for what God wants us to see.

Now, most of us are not physically blind,

But spiritually?

Sure, we can see - but we don’t always perceive.

We see success - but we don’t see pride.

We see conflict - but we don’t see our part in it.

We see other people’s sins - but we don’t see our own.

We see the surface - but we don’t see the heart.

And when confronted with blindness,

St. John tells us that

Jesus does something unexpected.

He spits on the ground, makes clay and

smears it on the man’s eyes.

It’s almost uncomfortable - spit - dirt - fingers - eyes.

But that’s often how grace works.

It’s not sterile.  

It’s not superficial.

It can be messy, 

When Jesus applies the mud of truth to our blindness  

and sends us to wash -

  

to repentance, to confession, to humility.

When the blind man does as Jesus says,

he is healed

spiritually, not just physically.

At first, when people question him,  

he says, “The man called Jesus did this.”

Later, St. John tells us 

the man calls Jesus a prophet.

Later still he says, 

 

“If this man were not from God…”

To finally - “I do believe, Lord.”  

He goes from what he sees, 

to curiosity, to belief, to worship.

Meanwhile the religious ones -

  

go in the opposite direction.

Clinging to their own comforts and judgements.

Refusing to see as God sees.  

And Jesus tells us quite plainly,

“I came into this world for judgment, 

so that those who do not see might see, 

and those who do see might become blind.”

Because -

Real blindness is thinking we don’t need God’s mercy.

Real blindness is refusing it.

The blind man knew he couldn’t see.  

That was his advantage.

The Pharisees thought they saw clearly.  

That was their downfall.

At this halfway point of Lent,  

we must face the fact that these forty days  

are not for people who think they have it all together.

It’s for people who know they don’t.

So, the question we must ask is not, are we blind?

The question we must ask is, do we even know that we are!

Because if we know it, Jesus can heal us.

If we admit it, He can restore us.

If we let Him apply that messy mix of spit and dirt -

 

even when it feels uncomfortable -

like it can in the confessional - 

  

we get washed in the waters of grace,  

and we can see more clearly.

Maybe we are blind in our prayer life -

going through the motions with a distant heart.

 

Maybe we are blind in our pride -

  

clinging to how we feel, rather than the truth.

Maybe we are blind in our resentment -

  

that person we have quietly written off,  

even if we still smile that fake smile like all is ok.

Life can be hard on this side of the dirt.

But we see what happens

after the blind man is healed and  

rejected by the powers that be.

Jesus comes looking for him

and finds him.

That’s this Gospel.

When we step out in faith - 

When we stand for truth - 

When following Christ costs us something - 

He comes looking for us.

And He reveals Himself to us more deeply.

Today the Church celebrates Laetare Sunday - 

the Sunday of rejoicing.

The rose-colored vestments remind us 

that even in the middle of Lent, joy is breaking through.

And we rejoice not because we are perfect.

We rejoice because God is not finished with us yet.

Even in our blindness.

Even in our weakness.

Even in our sin.

He is still making that muddy mixture of grace.

He is still sending us to wash.

He is still opening our eyes.

Teaching us to really see - 

not as the world sees -

but as He does.