The Paradox of Being Human

“As [Jesus] was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying, ‘Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!’” — Luke 19:37–38

For the disciples walking alongside Jesus, and the crowd of pilgrims who cheered for him along the way, Jesus’s joyful entry into Jerusalem likely signified the culmination of their hopes and dreams. For centuries, they’d been waiting for the Messiah, the king who would deliver them from oppression and usher in a new political future for their people. Within several days, however, another crowd would be calling for Jesus’s execution. And, even more painful to recall, Jesus’s closest friends would betray and abandon him when he most needed them. Crowds can be fickle; we can be fickle.

This shift from welcome to rejection is reenacted in church on Palm Sunday. We sing “Hosanna!” and wave branches for a jubilant entrance hymn and, before long, are drawn into the narrative of Jesus’s suffering and death. We’re asked to join the crowd and respond together, “Crucify him.” I always disliked having to read aloud that part. As a child, I felt certain I would have tried to put a stop to this wrongful conviction and death.

As an adult, however, the juxtaposition invites me to look within and ask myself, How have I abandoned Jesus? When do I desert the One who is always present to me? How much am I willing to risk to follow Jesus? What am I prepared to sacrifice to stand, alongside Jesus, in solidarity with the oppressed?

Questions like these remind us why Palm Sunday is also Passion Sunday — in part, at least, to remember the paradox of being human. We long for God, and we joyfully welcome God into our hearts. And then we reject and alienate ourselves from the same God. The desire to connect and the impulse to resist coexist within us. On Palm Sunday, we must hold this tension with renewed awareness, in the quiet of our own hearts.

It helps, of course, to know the end of the story, the stunning conclusion to Holy Week: Not long after his triumphal entry into Jerusalem, Jesus demonstrates his utter solidarity with us on the cross, when he faces the violence of our world head-on and refuses to respond with more violence. Three days later, the power of his love — his desire to be with us, always — conquers death itself, not only for him but for all of us.

Even in those times we insist we can manage without him, Jesus returns to be with us, to abide in us, to draw us into his plan for a flourishing community of love, on earth as it is in heaven.

— Kathy Bozzuti-Jones

Kathy Bozzuti-Jones, PhD, is associate director, Faith Formation and Education, Spiritual Practices, Retreats, and Pilgrimage.

Read all of Sunday’s Scriptures

Step Into the Story

Here are some ways to think about Holy Week’s invitation to self-examination:

Prayer

Kate Bowler, author and professor of religious history at Duke University, offers us a blessing for Palm Sunday: “Blessed are we, even here in the shadow of our unknowing, where the light of His glory slants low on our path . . .”

Poetry

“The saviour comes. But will I welcome him?” asks poet and theologian Malcolm Guite.

Theology

Perhaps the symbol we need for this yearly observance isn’t the palm but the donkey, suggests Esau McCaulley, associate professor of New Testament at Wheaton College. In choosing to enter Jerusalem on a humble colt, “Jesus picked a symbol that emphasized humility and lowliness instead of military strength,” writes McCaulley. “[W]e can spend Palm Sunday reflecting on what it means to follow a king who rejected the way of violence.”

Visual Art

See the story of Holy Week and Easter told in a series of paintings, old and new, by Raphael, Rembrandt, Dali, and more.