As I go through the scrutinies and exorcisms this Lent, their dramatic character impresses me more than usual.  I am coming to understand that the Elect and Candidates are meant to identify with, for example, the Samaritan woman at the well, the man born blind and, last week, Lazarus called out of his tomb.  I discover the power of ritual: what we are doing with Jesus is not long ago and far away but…right now.

As you and I listen to the Passion according to St. Mark this weekend, we should note the person with whom we most identify.  Am I the spendthrift woman who ‘wastes’ more than 300 days’ wages on perfumed oil for Jesus?  Or I am confident Peter who cannot imagine abandoning Jesus but who cannot even stay awake with Him in His agony? 

Perhaps, like me, you can see your own ambiguity in Judas: he wants two things at the same time.  He is willing to betray his best friend [perhaps to spur Him into finally declaring His kingdom?] but he wants to kiss Him at the same.  I love you, my God, but not enough to give up my own way of doing things…

For those of us liable to the power of fear, we can identify with the young man so terrified during Jesus’ arrest that he leaves his clothes behind and runs away naked.  Or perhaps we’re like a member of the crowd braying out for Barabbas because that is the ‘politically correct’ choice and who wants to be different?

Or maybe we can honestly identify with Joseph of Arimathea who is willing to risk his reputation in order to pick up Jesus’ body—and to do this act of mercy when he has absolutely nothing to gain and a lot to lose.

Certainly all of us will at some point identify with Jesus.  All of us will enter into our own version of passion: we may suffer atrocious physical pain or betrayal or the failure of the legal and/or religious system in our regard.  We may find ourselves being mocked in the midst of our pain and deserted by those we thought we could depend upon. And the time may come when Jesus’ prayer on the cross becomes ours as well: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Surely many in our parish who are grieving now can identify with the two Marys who watch where Jesus’ body is laid.  I am reading Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking, an unflinching account of the loss of her husband.  Few human experiences match grief’s power to affect our bodies, our minds and our spirits.  Just believing that he or she really died, is not coming back, can take months.

Palm Sunday begins a week like no other: it is at once solemn, sad, bewildering, hopeful, and very, very human.  Not one person in the Passion account comes across as ‘made up’ or melodramatic.  This is indeed our story and thank God [literally] Jesus has made it His story as well.

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Here are some things to remember next weekend, Easter. There are no afternoon confessions on Saturday nor the usual 5:15 Mass.  The Easter Vigil, which includes multiple Readings, Baptisms, Confirmations as well as the Eucharist begins at 8:30 p.m. and lasts for two and a half hours. [Families with infants and small children probably wouldn’t find this a good choice.]  If you wish to be sure of a seat Easter morning, come to the 5:15 Life Teen Sunrise Mass or the 7:15.  The 9:00 and 11:00 are often packed; there is no evening Mass on Easter.  As always we want to be as welcoming and hospitable as possible for this most important day of the Christian calendar!