We heard in the first reading Saint Paul tell members of the early church that “It is necessary for us to undergo many hardships to enter the kingdom of God”[1] and when we read early church history we quickly come to understand just how difficult and dangerous it was to be a Christian during those unsettled times.
Many of us find ourselves puzzled as to why we proclaim the passion narrative on Palm Sunday, no doubt in large part because of the palm branches we received upon entering the church along with it being called Palm Sunday. To add to the confusion, it is common practice for only one Mass to begin with the Procession with Palms along with the inclusion of the Gospel of Luke, Chapter 19, verses 28-40, which recount the final journey Jesus took to Jerusalem. Yet today is actually called Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion and there is a perfectly legitimate reason for naming it so as well as for having two Gospel readings.
Each year on the middle three Sundays of Lent we observe the scrutinies, ancient rites which, while familiar to most, may seem strange to many. Most simply have little understanding of their significance, their importance, or their purpose. The scrutinies are profoundly rooted in our human experience for they are moments of deep reflection and introspection, periods of time when we scrutinize all that we are: the good and the bad, our successes and our failures, our strengths and our weaknesses.
Saint Ignatius of Loyola, the founder of the Jesuits, established the Society of Jesus upon the spiritual philosophy “Ad maiorem Dei gloriam inque hominum salutem”, that is “for the greater glory of God and the salvation of humanity.” The motto of the Society is an abbreviated form of that phrase “Ad maiorem Dei gloriam” or “For the greater glory of God.” Surely words to preface the beginning of every day, for all of us, not just for Jesuits.
And yet, we think, what might I do that would be worthy of his glory, for I am nothing special? We see ourselves as ordinary persons, going about our ordinary lives doing ordinary things. Where is the glory in that?
In the First Letter of John we hear of the special love bestowed by God the Father upon those who believe in His only Son, Jesus Christ. God calls us his children and as John writes, “Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we shall be has not yet been revealed. We do know that when it is revealed we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.”[1]
Inherent within each and every one of us resides a secret dream, a fantasy if you prefer, of being the central figure in the great adventure of life, the most admired, the most famous, the most interesting, or the most powerful. At times our fantasies would, if they could, make us feel almost as gods. But then these are but dreams and dreams seldom if ever match reality. Within the hidden spaces of our minds, what our dreams truly represent is the very human desire to be noticed, appreciated, recognized and loved. No matter who we are, we all have a need to be valued, to experience, if only for a moment, the spotlight shining upon us. We all long for our fifteen minutes of fame.
I have a dream! Four words that are forever etched in our consciousness; four words that defined a singular moment in time; four words that forever altered the civil and social fabric of our nation and indeed the world; four words uttered by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial on August 28, 1963, 52 years ago. I, along with so many others, were both captivated and moved by the eloquence of Dr. King’s words that day, especially those which were obviously so deeply personal and from the heart. We all remember them, for they have been repeated so often, “I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”
French novelist Alphonse Karr is purported to have penned the proverb “the more things change, the more they stay the same”[1] and a moment’s reflection upon today’s readings certainly lends credence to what Karr wrote. There is a common thread that connects today’s readings and that thread continues to unwind and unfurl, like an unbroken chain from ancient history through the present day.
Not long ago, I found myself in conversation with another Catholic who confessed that she did not regularly attend Sunday Mass, primarily she said, because she saw no compelling reason to do so since one Mass was pretty much the same as another. And, she further added, the rituals it seemed were intended to be nothing more than “symbolic” of Christ’s life and death on the cross. Now I had to give her partial credit for that one although her reasoning was seriously flawed and definitely not in line with either Canon Law[2] or the Catechism of the Catholic Church[3].
If God were capable of making a mistake – and I do not for a moment consider that to be possible – then I suppose it would be in giving us far too great an appetite for the mysterious. Mysteries come in many forms: whether they appear before us as puzzles, enigmas, conundrums, riddles, secrets, or problems they all present themselves as an itch on the brain that demands us to scratch it, to find an answer to any question, to discover a solution to any problem that is set before us. The mistake that far too often we humans make is to hold fast to the notion that any and all mysteries are in fact solvable, that nothing is beyond our ability to discover, to know, and to understand.
