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Reflections on Palm Sunday of the Lord's Passion

By George McHale

The readings for
this Sunday:

Isaiah 50:4-7

Philippians 2:6-11

Matthew 26:14- 27:66

In this year of The Passion of the Christ--of which Tony Norman in the Post-Gazette said “…sado-masochism is at the heart of the gospel according to Mel”--we come again to the passion of the Christ.

And I begin a week of bafflement and struggle in my heart, my mind, and my soul, which begins with “Palm Sunday.” Waving palms has always seemed silly to me. (Maybe if we waved Terrible Towels?) I am bothered, too, by the portrayed fickleness of the Jewish people. And I believe that the stress on that fickleness stems, at least unconsciously, from Anti-Semitism, suggesting that, if it weren’t for “them,” none of this would have happened, that if they’d stuck by Jesus, the power brokers would have backed off.

But would we even want the “Divine Plan” to have been foiled? Which brings us to the heart of the matter: the “redemptive” suffering of Jesus.

And here I say that the whole concept repels me--and has since I was a child. Who is, I ask, this vicious god who demands such a thing? Who is this blood-lusting father, satisfied only by the death of a child? I know justice demands reparation, and I know it ends with “Surprise! Death leads to resurrection!” But I still choke and cannot swallow it. Perhaps, as a child, I identified too strongly with Isaac whose “sacrifice” I saw as a horrific act of betrayal.

How does Abraham differ from any paranoid schizophrenic--as a friend calls him--who says, “God told me to kill my child”? The best explanation I’ve heard is precisely that human sacrifice is not desired by God nor acceptable to God. Yet, here we are back in Holy Week, saying, “Well, maybe just this one.”

I’m putting myself into the dangerous spot of arguing with Jesus’ “Not my will but yours be done.” But where does the Father express this will? There is silence in the garden.

But the Gospel of John “skips” the Agony in the Garden and moves Jesus’ questions to just after the entry into Jerusalem. Here, God does speak, but God does not say, ”Sorry, you have to die”; God says, “I have glorified my name and I will glorify it.” It seems that God is saying, “No matter what happens, you will be with me and I will be with you.”

I nursed my father at home for three years after dementia and two major strokes. On the day he had diarrhea in bed for four times, I found myself praying “Thy will be done.” And then with lightning bolt clarity, I knew that diarrhea could not possibly be the will of God. What then can the will of God mean, I asked myself.

The answer was clear, that no matter what happened, I was to treat my father with love and respect and tenderness--that was the will of God.

That is the God I believe in, the God who is with us through our most desperate hours--not the God who brings them upon us.