Hosanna

The gospel used in the Palm Sunday liturgy is, to my knowledge, the longest that’s ever read aloud. In fact, it’s the only time when the priest in my parish asks us to sit down instead of stand up as it’s read. I’ve always thought it was a curious story since the Mass readings start out on a high note, celebrating the arrival of Jesus in Jerusalem, and end with his death. And it signals, too, the beginning of the long, dreary, and hot days of Holy Week that move ever so slowly when one does not go out of town for a vacation.

I like my stories to have happy endings, especially if they’re about characters I love. But with Palm Sunday, the story starts out happy and ends up sad. Oh I know Easter will eventually be around the corner and that it is the ultimate happy ending. But first, the story must pause a while for the Last Supper, walk through the Passion, and cower in the face of death. Couldn’t the story just have ended there, I am sometimes tempted to ask. Jesus goes in glory towards Jerusalem, he is elected (is that even historically accurate?) king and rules over everyone. Wouldn’t that have made for a more pleasant story, without all the drama and tragedy in between?

 A more pleasant story perhaps. But not a very powerful one. The glory of Jesus’ resurrection makes for a much more dramatic and powerful ending to the week’s narrative. Now that’s the ultimate twist, as far as stories go. The hosannas of Palm Sunday pale in comparison to the alleluias of Easter. The hosannas the people cried out were perhaps for a man that they had hoped would be king. The alleluias that we cry out during Easter are for God who has conquered even death. So important is the alleluia at Easter, that it’s even taken out for all the Masses at Lent.

 I have had many “hosannas” in my life. And I use the term metaphorically not theologically. Personal moments of glory that eclipse everything else and I feel like I’m on top of the world. I ride high on my metaphorical donkey and wave back at the crowds gathered to celebrate, well, me. (And funnily enough, sometimes even the crowd is made up of the other sides of me!) And they’re not just temporary moments of pride either. Sometimes they can be moments of happiness or success or even entertainment. The little highs that make up all our lives. But these moments are always fleeting. Life goes on. People forget. I forget. And my little bit of Palm Sunday slips into the ordinary days, or worse, my very watered down version of Good Friday.

In contrast, the “alleluias” of my life are more substantial things. The experiences of “glory” that have impact, the ones where the focus is not on me but on the grace given to me. In the same way as “hosannas” give way to “alleluias,” so must happiness give way to deep joy, personal success give way to purpose and mission, and entertainment give way to lasting peace. And many times, these lasting things often come at a great price. Sometimes through sacrifice. Sometimes through suffering. Sometimes through a dying to self. But always through grace.

Palm Sunday is a good way to start the story, I think. A foreshadowing of something ever greater. “”Hosanna!” the crowds cried out. “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the kingdom of our father David that is to come! Hosanna in the highest!”

And on Easter Sunday, how wonderfully Jesus fulfills their (and our) longing for a Messiah. He comes not in the way that they imagined. But in a way that is infinitely and profoundly better. “He is risen,” we will sing. “Alleluia!” And what a celebration it will be for those who believe.The “Hosanna” of Palm Sunday is the invitation. But the “Alleluia” of Easter Sunday is the feast.