Palm Sunday LIVE

This Palm Sunday morning, at 10 a.m. local time, we will attempt (in faith!) our first Mass live streamed to YouTube.  If God blesses us with success, you can watch it live or see it posted afterwards. The link is http://rebrand.ly/ctrmass      My homily is below.

Some years back, I was talking to Father Jeremy Driscoll at Mount Angel Abbey in Oregon. He's a very wise monk who has given me sound spiritual advice over many years.

I honestly don't remember what my problem was, but I told him about some struggle or other that was making me unhappy at the time. After he heard me out, he said "Thank the Lord for giving you a share in His suffering."

He paused only slightly before adding, "And thank Him for making it such a small share."

Father Jeremy, who is now the abbot of Mount Angel, wasn't teasing me. He was stating a fact—both about whatever was troubling me, and about any human suffering. Whatever any of us suffers cannot be compared to the Passion of Jesus, which we have just heard St. Matthew recount.

Every year some members of our parish family are suffering in Holy Week; my own father died on Palm Sunday in 2011. But this year all of us have been given some share in the suffering of Jesus, an opportunity to reflect on what it means for us right now.

This Holy Week, of course, some parishioners face enormous suffering. Some are unable to be with their loved ones due to restrictions in hospitals and care facilities. Others are unemployed and uncertain about how to meet the needs of their families.

There are those in the parish who can't get all the medical care they need because of concern about exposure to the coronavirus.

And, as always, in a family the size of our parish community, there are those dealing with serious or terminal illnesses that are not related to the present crisis. 

All of them are in our hearts and prayers at Mass this morning.

But those in the greatest pain don't usually need a homily to help them join their sufferings to the Passion of the Lord. One fine parishioner already texted me to affirm her faith that her suffering, when joined with Christ's, helps to redeem the world.

Today's homily is for the rest of us—we who need to be reminded that by any standard our current suffering is only a very small share in the suffering of Christ.

We need to spend time with Jesus in each moment of his journey to the cross to understand that he is with us in each moment of this present crisis, in whatever way it affects us.

If we've been disappointed in the support of our loved ones, we should ponder Christ's betrayal by Judas, his denial by Peter, then his abandonment by James and John as they slept during his hour of need.

If what we're suffering is fear, then think about Jesus, "grieved and agitated," in the Garden of Olives. He is both God and man, fully able to feel the deepest human emotions, including sorrow and distress.

Most years, the physical sufferings of Jesus make the greatest impression on us. But in this year of COVID, we are riveted by the sight of our Lord and Saviour trembling with fear of what is to come, praying that it pass him by.

We might ask what possible help it is to see Jesus worse off than we are. The answer comes in the mystery of God's presence in our ordeal, which brings us the help we need to face our fears.

IIn his encyclical on hope, Spe Salvi, Pope Benedict says "Man is worth so much to God that he himself became man in order to suffer with man in an utterly real way--in flesh and blood--as is revealed to us in the account of Jesus’ passion."

What does that mean? The Pope emeritus explains that "in all human suffering we are joined by one who experiences and carries that suffering with us."

The "consolation of God's compassionate love" is present in all our suffering, he says, "and so the star of hope rises."

This is the leap of faith to which we're called this Sunday, this Palm Sunday in the time of COVID-19: to allow the star of hope to rise, not dimmed but made bright by the suffering of Christ, which proves his love can be trusted, since it knows no bounds.