I’ve always found it a little odd that Palm Sunday falls during Lent. Palm Sunday is the celebration of Christ’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem, a time to rejoice, whereas Lent is all about mourning our sinfulness. Until recently, I chalked it up to coincidence. Lent ends at Easter, and Palm Sunday is a week before that, so I figured it was just the way the calendar worked out. This year, though, I’ve come to think it fits perfectly.
First, a little background for those who aren’t familiar with the liturgy:
Anybody who has ever been to a Catholic Mass, or to a liturgical Protestant service, will know that the liturgy begins with a Penitential Rite, a generic group confession of sin. (In the Mass the prayer of repentance is called a “Confiteor,” for “I confess.” I don’t know what other denominations call it.)
In the Confiteor, we say, “...I have sinned through my own fault...” (emphasis mine). The old Latin form said, “Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa,” or “Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.” It’s repeated to make the point that the confession is our own. We can’t pin the blame on somebody else. And it’s through my most grievous fault. It’s not a minor thing, it’s not shared; my sin is a big deal, and it’s all mine.
After the confession comes the Kyrie Eleison, which is Greek for “Lord, have mercy.” It’s a simple prayer, usually, acknowledging the saving power of God, and goes something like this:
Priest: You were sent to heal the contrite: Lord, have mercy.
Congregation: Lord, have mercy. (Or “Kyrie eleison;” either form may be used)
P: You came to call sinners: Christ, have mercy.
C: Christ, have mercy/Christe eleison.
P: You plead for us at the right hand of the Father: Lord, have mercy.
C: Lord, have mercy/Kyrie eleison.
P: May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life.
C: Amen.
So what does all this “I confess” and “Have mercy” have to do with Palm Sunday? Well, let’s look at how Palm Sunday started.
The scene was Jerusalem, during Passover week. Jesus was famous, loved, acclaimed. Hordes of people turned out to welcome the Messiah, the King, to His capital city. As He rode into the city on a donkey, the people threw palm fronds in his path and shouted “Hosanna!” which means “Save us!” They loved Him, and were ready to follow Him when He set up His kingdom.
Now, I don’t know about you, but if I had been in Jerusalem on that day, I probably would have been out there with palms, too. I would have been swept up in the hoopla. But the tide was about to turn.
We all know the story from here. On Thursday night, Jesus was arrested, and the crowd that had acclaimed Him as their king four days earlier was now shouting for His death. Now, we’d all like to believe that if we had been there, we wouldn’t have wanted to see Him crucified. No, sir! Not me! I would have recognized Him as the Savior, and I wouldn’t have shouted “Crucify Him!”
But that’s hooey, and I know it. If I’d been there, I would have followed the crowd. Why? Because I’m a sinner. I would have been guilty of crucifying the Lord, of killing God, just as those people were. And I couldn’t have blamed it on the crowd, or on the heat of the moment, or any of that. Mea maxima culpa. Kyrie eleison.
I would have watched as Jesus was beaten into an unrecognizable pulp. I would have called out for Barabbas to be released. I would have wanted nothing more than to see Jesus die. Christe eleison.
Even if I’d been one of His followers, I would have run and hidden. Peter was a better man than I am, I’m sure, and he chickened out. I have no doubt I would have, too. Kyrie eleison.
And He died alone, only one disciple and His mother still with Him. Shout “Save us!” to a Man Who couldn’t even save Himself? “Hosanna?” Yeah, right. What a joke.
But on Sunday, only a week after He entered Jerusalem to a throng of fair-weather supporters, He proved that He really was the king we had taken him for, and then some. He rose from the dead, walked out of the grave, and showed the cowards and turncoats like me that He had the power to save not only Himself but the whole human race. Now we see all three phrases together. I have rejected Him, through my most grievous fault. I come crawling back to Him, although I don’t deserve another chance. “Lord, Christ,” I say, “have mercy.” And I know now that He really is the Savior of the world, and I can say with less pride and more honesty, “Save us! Hosanna!”
And on Palm Sunday, it makes more sense than ever to remember that Christ came to save us, even though we had sinned deliberately and shamefully. He will “have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life,” if we only ask for it. Our “most grievous fault” is no match for His mercy. And in the midst of the penitential season of Lent, that’s worth rejoicing about.
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