For the second year in a row, we’ll not be at church on Palm Sunday, and I won’t be in charge of the donkey.
I live in Austin, Texas, where, along with much of the country, I expect to remain under a “Shelter in Place” order during Palm Sunday. What a strange contradiction on a Sunday in which we would ordinarily march around the streets of the church, waving palm branches, and loudly singing, “Hosanna in the highest!”
Palm Sunday will be here in just a few short days and I am not ready for it. I’m not ready for Holy Week as a priest, as a parent, or as an individual person trying to follow Christ. And yet, it’s coming.
Palm crosses are an outward and visible sign of the triumph of sacrifice and love.