what have you been most wrong about?

Homily

Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion

4 April 2020

Crucify him.  Crucify him.

Those words used to hurt me a lot.  I can remember how they felt when I was 7 years old.  My heart would break. Tears would well up in my eyes.  It would stick with me for days after. I was so sorry for hurting Jesus.  Really sorry. I never wanted to hurt him again. It was maybe the last time I had perfect contrition, when I was 7.  I knew that I wanted to spend my life trying to stop people from hurting Jesus. There was nothing I was more sure of.

I don’t know how things changed or when I lost that heartbreak.  When those tears stopped. When I got used to crucifying Jesus. When I became ok with it.  I just know that I’ve lost it. What I don’t know is how to get it back.   

Our pivotal question this week is:  what have you been most wrong about?  I think the coronavirus is showing us that there’s a lot we don’t know, and that we are wrong about most things.  I never thought I’d be hearing Holy Week confessions outside six-feet apart wearing a mask. I don’t like it. It seems dumb.  Life is upside down right now. A reminder that we’re wrong about most things.

But what have I been most wrong about?  It’s that I would spend my life trying to stop people from hurting Jesus.  I was certain of that, and I still want to live my life for that. But I lost it.  I was wrong. What is worse, instead of learning how to stop hurting Jesus, I’ve learned instead how to stop caring, how to shout all the louder, and how to lead the band.

The greed of Judas?  Check.

The betrayal of Peter?  Check

The sloth of James and John?  The cowardice of every disciple? Check and check.

The scapegoating of Caiphas?  The envy of the Pharisees? The injustice of Pilate, the unrepentance of the chief priests?   Check. Check. Check. Check.

The bloodthirst of the crowd?  The violence and scorn of the soldiers.  Guilty as charged.

Last and certainly not least - the despair and self-destruction of Judas - the final sin against the Holy Spirit?  Yes, I do that too. Most of all, I do that. I’m quite good at giving up and giving in.

Crucify him. Crucify him.

When I hear it now, at age 46, the flutter in my heart is barely noticeable.

The rationalizations are near at hand.  It’s the way things go. It’s a part of life.  It’s fine.    

Crucify him. Crucify him.

Even standing here in persona Christi at the altar, no tears are welling in my eyes.    

It’s who Jesus is.  It’s what he wants. It’s what he chose.  It’s fine.

Crucify him.  Crucify him.

My contrition is lukewarm if I feel any at all.  I’m used to hurting him. I doubt I’ll ever stop.  I love myself, not him, too much to want to change.  Things are good enough the way they are. It’s fine.

Crucify him. Crucify him. 

I thought those words would always break my heart.  It’s what I’ve been most wrong about. I honestly don’t know if they will ever break my heart again.

Still.  Jesus. Comes.  

Even knowing I’m lying in wait for him.  Even knowing my inoculation to his passion. Even knowing that through the social distancing and sanitization of my heart that I would be leading the band this year.  Still he comes into the cacaphony of my sins and yours, to be bludgeoned in every way we can conjur up.

You know what I really want for Holy Week this year?  For him to stop coming. I do. Yet here he is.

Crucify him. Crucify him.

What happens to your heart when you say those words this year?

At least Peter weeps bitterly.  At least Mary and John, Mary Magdalen, Simon of Cyrene and Joseph of Arimathea don’t social distance.  Even Judas deeply regrets and tries to make amends, which is more than I can say for me right now. And you know how his story ended.

Today’s story does not end well.  A sober reminder that Holy Week doesn’t have to change anything. Not even during the coronavirus pandemic.  And it won’t change anything, unless we allow our distant and sanitized hearts to break.

Crucify him.  Crucify him..

I don’t know if those words will ever break my heart again.  But at the end of this story, that’s what I want to be most wrong about.