Palm Sunday and the Passion of the Lord [29 March 2026]

May God bless us and may the Virgin Mary protect us! We enter Holy Week, of which Palm Sunday already gives us a foretaste of the joy and sorrow, the mystery of love and hatred that leads to death: the whole Passion, death and resurrection of Christ. To relive is not merely to remember, but also to open our hearts ever more to this mystery of salvation.

*First Reading from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah (50:4–7)

Isaiah was certainly not thinking of Jesus Christ when he wrote this text, probably in the 6th century BC, during the exile in Babylon. Let me explain: since his people were in exile, in very harsh conditions, and could easily have succumbed to discouragement, Isaiah reminds them that they are always God’s servants. And that God is counting on them, his servants (that is, his people), to bring his plan of salvation for humanity to fulfilment. The people of Israel are therefore this Servant of God, nourished every morning by the Word, yet also persecuted precisely because of their faith and capable, despite everything, of withstanding all trials. In this text, Isaiah clearly describes the extraordinary relationship that unites the Servant (Israel) with his God. Its main characteristic is listening to the Word of God, ‘the open ear’, as Isaiah puts it. ‘Listening’ is a word that has a very particular meaning in the Bible: it means to trust. We usually contrast these two fundamental attitudes between which our lives constantly oscillate: trust in God, a serene surrender to his will because we know from experience that his will is always good; or mistrust, suspicion of God’s intentions, and rebellion in the face of trials—a rebellion that can lead us to believe that God has abandoned us or, worse still, that He might take some satisfaction in our sufferings.

The prophets repeat: “Listen, Israel” or: “Will you listen to the Word of God today?” And on their lips, the exhortation “listen” always means: trust in God, whatever happens. And Saint Paul explains why: We know that all things work together for good for those who love God (Rom 8:28).

From every evil, from every difficulty, from every trial, God brings forth good; to every hatred he opposes an even stronger love; in every persecution, he grants the strength of forgiveness; and from every death, he brings forth life, the resurrection. It is a story of mutual trust. God trusts his Servant and entrusts him with a mission; in turn, the Servant accepts the mission with trust. And it is precisely this trust that gives him the strength needed to remain steadfast even in the opposition he will inevitably encounter. Here the mission is that of a witness: “So that I may sustain with my words those who are weary,” says the Servant. In entrusting him with this mission, the Lord also grants the necessary strength and the appropriate language: “The Lord God has given me the tongue of a disciple.” And even more: he himself nourishes this trust, which is the source of all boldness in the service of others: “The Lord God makes my ear attentive”, which means that listening (in the biblical sense, that is, trust) is itself a gift from God. Everything is a gift: the mission, the strength, and even the trust that makes one unshakeable. This is precisely the hallmark of the believer: to recognise everything as a gift from God. He who lives in this permanent gift of God’s strength can face anything: “I did not resist, I did not turn back.” Faithfulness to the mission received inevitably entails persecution. True prophets, those who truly speak in the name of God, are rarely appreciated during their lifetime. In concrete terms, Isaiah says to his contemporaries: hold fast. The Lord has not abandoned you; on the contrary, you are on a mission for him. Do not be surprised, then, if you are mistreated. Why? Because the Servant who truly listens to the Word of God—that is, who puts it into practice—soon becomes a thorn in the side. His very conversion calls others to conversion. Some heed this call… others reject it and, convinced of their own righteousness, persecute the Servant. And every morning the Servant must return to the source, to the One who enables him to face everything. Isaiah uses a somewhat strange expression: “I set my face like flint” to express resolve and courage. Isaiah was speaking to his people, persecuted and humiliated during the exile in Babylon; but, naturally, when one re-reads the Passion of Christ, this text stands out in all its clarity: Christ corresponds perfectly to this portrait of the Servant of God. Listening to the Word, unshakeable trust and thus the certainty of victory even in the midst of persecution: all this characterised Jesus precisely at the moment when the acclamations of the crowd on Palm Sunday marked and hastened his condemnation.

*Responsorial Psalm (21/22)

Psalm 21 (22) begins with the famous cry: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”. This phrase has often been taken out of context and interpreted as a cry of despair, whereas in reality the psalm must be read in its entirety. Indeed, after describing suffering and anguish, it ends with a great song of thanksgiving: “You have answered me! I will proclaim your name to my brothers and sisters’. The one who at first feels forsaken ultimately recognises that God has saved him and has not left him alone. Some images in the psalm seem to describe the crucifixion: ‘They have pierced my hands and my feet’, ‘they divide my garments’, ‘a band of evildoers surrounds me’. This is why the New Testament applies this psalm to the Passion of Jesus. However, the text originated in a specific historical context: the return of the people of Israel from the Babylonian exile. The exile had been like a death sentence for the people, who had risked disappearing; the return to their own land is therefore likened to the liberation of a condemned man who had narrowly escaped death. The image of the crucifixion serves to express the humiliation, violence and sense of abandonment experienced by the people, but the focus of the psalm is not suffering but rather the salvation received. The cry “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” is therefore not a cry of despair or doubt, but the prayer of one who suffers and continues to turn to God with trust. Even in the midst of trial, Israel does not cease to pray and to remember the covenant and the blessings received from the Lord. For this reason, the psalm can be likened to a votive offering: in times of danger, God’s help is invoked, and once saved, thanks are given publicly. The psalm recalls the tragedy endured, but above all proclaims gratitude towards God who has delivered his people. The final verses thus become a great hymn of praise: the poor shall be satisfied, those who seek the Lord shall praise him, and all nations shall acknowledge his lordship. God’s salvation will also be proclaimed to future generations. For this reason, in Christian tradition, this psalm has been recognised as a prophecy of Christ’s Passion: on the cross, Jesus echoes the first verse of the psalm, but just as for Israel, so too for him the final word is not suffering, but salvation and life.

*Second Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Philippians (2:6–11)

During the exile in Babylon, in the 6th century BC, the prophet Isaiah had bestowed upon the people of Israel the title of Servant of God. Their mission, amidst the trials of exile, was to remain faithful to the faith of their fathers and to bear witness to it among the pagans, even at the cost of humiliation and persecution. Only God could give them the strength to fulfil this mission. When the early Christians were confronted with the scandal of the cross, they sought to understand Jesus’ destiny and found the explanation in the words of St Paul: Jesus ‘emptied himself, taking the form of a servant’. He too faced opposition, humiliation and persecution, drawing his strength from the Father and living in total trust in Him. Although he was of divine nature, Jesus did not seek glory and honours. As Paul says, “though he was in the form of God, he did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited”. Precisely because he is God, he claims nothing for himself, but lives in gratuitous love and becomes man to show mankind the way to salvation. His exaltation is not a deserved reward, but a free gift from God. God’s logic is not that of merit or calculation, but that of grace, which is always a free gift. According to Paul, God’s plan is a plan of love: to bring humanity into his life, into his joy and into his communion. This gift is not earned, but received with gratitude. When man demands or claims, he closes himself off from grace, as happened symbolically with the sin in the Garden of Eden. Jesus, on the other hand, lives in the opposite attitude: the total acceptance of the Father’s will, what Paul calls obedience. For this reason, God exalted him and gave him the Name that is above every name: the name of Lord, a title which in the Old Testament belonged only to God. Before him “every knee shall bow”, to quote the words of the prophet Isaiah (Is 45:23). Jesus lived his entire life in humility and trust, even in the face of human violence and death. His obedience – which literally means “to place one’s ear before the word” – expresses a total and trusting listening to the Father’s will. For this reason, Paul’s hymn concludes with the Church’s profession of faith: “Every tongue shall confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father”. In Christ, the glory of God is fully manifested, that is, the revelation of his infinite love. Seeing Jesus love to the very end and give his life, one can recognise, like the centurion beneath the cross, that he is truly the Son of God.

*The Passion of Jesus Christ according to Saint Matthew (26:14–27:66)

Every year, on Palm Sunday, the liturgy reads the account of the Passion from one of the three Synoptic Gospels; this year it is that of Matthew. The four accounts of the Passion are similar in broad outline, but each evangelist highlights certain particular aspects. Matthew, in particular, recounts certain episodes and details that the others do not mention. First of all, Matthew is the only one to specify the exact sum for which Judas betrays Jesus: thirty pieces of silver, which according to the Law was the price of a slave. This detail shows the contempt with which men treated the Lord. Later, Judas himself, overcome with remorse, returns the money to the chief priests, saying that he has handed over an innocent man to his death. They, however, do not wish to take responsibility for it. Judas throws the coins into the temple and hangs himself; the priests use that money to purchase the potter’s field, intended for the burial of foreigners, later called the ‘Field of Blood’, thus fulfilling a prophetic word. During the trial before Pilate, Matthew recounts a unique episode: the intervention of Pilate’s wife, who sends word to her husband not to have anything to do with ‘that righteous man’, for she has suffered greatly in a dream because of him. Pilate himself appears unsettled and, seeing that the crowd is growing ever more agitated, performs the symbolic gesture of washing his hands, declaring himself innocent of that man’s blood. The crowd replies: ‘Let his blood be on us and on our children.’ Pilate then releases Barabbas and hands Jesus over to be crucified. At the moment of Jesus’ death, Matthew also recounts that the veil of the temple is torn, but adds extraordinary details: the earth trembles, the rocks split, the tombs open, and many righteous people rise and appear in the holy city after Jesus’ resurrection. Finally, Matthew highlights the authorities’ concern to guard the tomb, fearing that the disciples might steal the body and claim that Jesus has risen; this very message is what they will spread after Easter. The account highlights a great paradox: the blindness of the religious authorities, who persecute Jesus, whilst some pagans, almost unwittingly, bestow upon him the highest titles. Pilate’s wife calls him ‘righteous’, Pilate has ‘King of the Jews’ written on the cross, and even the title ‘Son of God’, initially used to mock him, ultimately becomes a true profession of faith when the Roman centurion exclaims: ‘Truly this man was the Son of God’. This confession already foreshadows the opening of salvation to the pagans and shows that Christ’s death is not a defeat, but a victory. Matthew highlights the contrast between the weakness of the condemned man and his true greatness: it is precisely in his apparent powerlessness that Jesus manifests the greatness of God, who is infinite love. And in this light, we come to understand ever more deeply the significance of Christ’s Passion, which we shall relive visually this week and in particular during the Holy Triduum: Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday, and above all in the outpouring of Easter joy at Christ’s Resurrection.

+Giovanni D’Ercole

(Mt  21:1-11; Mk 11:1-10; Lk 19:28-40; Jn 12:12-16)

In the Gospels the Lord does not allow himself to be identified with the ‘eagle’ of Jn, although it is He who comes from above - and ‘sees’ beyond the immediate.

He is not a winged spiritual being [like the symbol of Mt] but fully incarnate, despite being the authentic Angel, that is, the Sent of the Father par excellence.

Jesus is not associated with the ‘lion’ [Mk], king of the forest and of beasts, although He is the only successful and majestically royal man - the true and totally ‘present’ Person according to God.

Much less do we imagine him as an ‘ox’ [Lk], icon of the ancient traditionally sacrificial devotion.

On an evangelical basis, it is not even possible to imagine the figure and proposal of the Master with the typical “bestiary” of homage and respect with which sovereigns and dignitaries, all the powerful and the elect even of the official religious caste, were idealised in the ancient East.

The Gospels do not recognise Jesus as a majestic ‘raptor’: they equate the stability, quality and action of his Spirit in the icon of the «dove».

Then with a figure that really makes the chickens laugh: the 'hen', who regrets the ruinous choices of her brood (Mt 23:37).

Instead of the power of the ‘lion’ [of Babylon or Judah tribe] here is the meekness of a Lamb that gives all of itself, including skin.

In place of ascetic renunciations, or of animals destined for the offertory necessary to appease the gods, a «man with a heart of flesh and not of a beast» with the ideal of Communion; life torn from the prehuman.

As if to say: it is a web of being (oneself, even small ones) and qualitative relationships, which supplants and sublimates the archaic sacrificial practices [sacrum-facere] with which in ancient times people sought contact and a reciprocal relationship with celestial Life.

Now it is identified with human fullness.

Instead of the fiery arrogance of a steed that presses and becomes the protagonist of great enterprises, fully collaborating to make its leader illustrious, we see a symbol of tireless industriousness, dropped into everyone's common need: the ‘little donkey’!

That of the «donkey» is a thunderous proposal of a humble life, tailor-made for disciples still distracted, bamboozled by dreams of solemnity, prestige, worldly glory, and competitive lusts.

It means: within each one of us there is a «prophecy of unceasing service» that must be "untied".

It is as if there dwells within us an unexpressed spring being that can and wants to be «freed» from the many bonds of expectations of easy success, greatness, and consensus.

Previously indifferent or outraged hopes - for having gived credit to a resigned, humble Messiah.

Such is the level of Faith that it surpasses common religious sense.

That is why the same people who cheer and acclaim acclaim, expecting triumphal celebration, sublime accolades and easy shortcuts - then queue up behind those who reject the Christ.

[Palm Sunday]

Introduction:

Emphasis on Weakness (Mt 26:14–25)

Matthew, Mark and Luke place the institution of the Eucharist within the context of the Jewish Passover meal. A theological reworking to affirm (in the Faith) the meaning of the true Passover of Liberation in Christ.

Compared to the Synoptic Gospels, the Fourth Gospel is more faithful to the meaning of the Broken Bread: a source of Life for all.

John ‘anticipates’ the Lord’s death at the moment when the priests were slaughtering the lambs destined for the Passover meal, on the Temple esplanade.

Thus the sacrifice of the Cross – contemporary with this latter event – is rightly placed by John in the hours preceding the ‘Passover’ meal of the Synoptic Gospels.

In fact, the Lord’s Supper did not originate from the popular celebration of the Exodus of the First Testament in April of the year 30 (Jesus was 37 years old).

No Eucharist has ever involved the typical ingredients of the Jewish Passover meal, such as spices or sauces, sweet and bitter herbs, different cups of wine and so on.

The original meaning of the Master’s ritual gesture with his disciples – which forms the backdrop to today’s Gospel passage – is the joyful one of the Zebah-Todah (Lev 7:11ff: the only votive offering that could be celebrated outside the Temple in Jerusalem, at home, with friends and family).

Hence the dual term (communion) still used to designate the effective sign that Christ left us: Communion (Zebah) and Eucharist (Thanksgiving: Todah).

Todah was a sacrifice of great praise, one of the various specific types of the Communion sacrifice. We find several traces of this in the First Eucharistic Prayer.

The ceremonial act of Thanksgiving was understood in a very profound sense, for it celebrated Life regained, following a serious illness or a narrow escape from death.

A significant portion of the Psalms – perhaps more than a third – express this same ultimate joy in various places: the averted threat to life, and the experience of finding oneself saved together with one’s loved ones, through divine grace.

The meaning of this daily praise was, in fact, initially celebrated by the Catholic Church as well (for almost the entire first millennium, just like the Orthodox Church) with leavened bread (Lev 7:13), to indicate its domestic and real value.

It echoes the tones of that ancient cult of thanksgiving in the hearth – unfortunately, difficult to convey in the specific formulas (perceptible only to a particularly trained ear, and in the original Hebrew text).

The joyful and familiar atmosphere in which the rite of Communion and Thanksgiving was celebrated seems here marred by the drama of unfaithfulness. It is a powerful call to vigilance for all of us.

Jesus gives himself up not because the Father’s plan demanded blood… nor that at least one should pay dearly for all.

The traits of the non-pagan God have nothing to do with a fixation on recompense.

The Father needs no repayment of any kind.

He is no energy vampire; he does not demand that we live for him; quite the contrary.

And we see this in the Son, whom even Judas may dispose of (but so that he might reflect on his own condition – and so too Peter).

The Face of Christ is that of the betrayed man.

But he lets it happen, because friends belong to one another – and he knows: the inviolability of a loved one may not endure, even through greed. Even at the expense of the One who first welcomed us.

If the sense of mutual belonging falls away, then the face of the authentic man becomes that of the man who has been sold out...

All this takes place with a sense of peaceful loss – not as the result of a preordained plan, but so that the disciples might reflect on their own situation, to recognise it and come to terms with it.

It is the way through which we are taught to be aware of our radical lack; to be conscious of the distance from the ideal – of the need for a path of love and authenticity, far greater than any compensation.

The condition of the apostles (as seen in the Gospel passage) is still empty and inattentive, or even beastly and pre-human – prone even to trading in God, and in unspoilt people.

It is as though (to rouse us) through the doubt concerning Judas and the entire group around him, the Lord were still silently saying – to us specifically, but without moralising: ‘Where are you?’

    Because of the persecutions, some members of the community in Matthew had allowed themselves to be intimidated and had abandoned their brothers and sisters in faith. What attitude should we adopt towards them?

The scandalous story of the failure of the first disciples opens up ceaseless glimmers of hope for the churches of all ages: the logic of the Kingdom remains unshaken by anything.

Doors wide open even for those who deny and flee the Master.

The religious journey without the leap of Faith instils in sensitive people a progressive and marked sense of unworthiness: it imposes a nerve-wracking wait for perfections that press upon us.

What counts is splendid ability and aptitude: what man does for God...

But divine love is not conditional. Therefore, on the genuine and most reliable path, what counts above all is the surprise: what the Lord does for us.

He is the One Who Comes and the One Who acts, disposes and guides – He who weaves the fabric anew and, through unexpected twists or leaps, rips us free from the obsession with inadequacy.

Without such Friendship (free and guided) that is more than wise, one yields and may end up selling Christ in exchange for will-o’-the-wisps, fleeting flashes, the convictions of others, futile trinkets; self-interest and cheap happiness.

Jesus continues to dip the morsel in his Blood and to offer it to us. Little by little, we shall learn to stand up for his values, so that he may live again through us as Bread broken and distributed.

Gradually, we shall even manage not to fall silent and not to flee in the face of the gift of life... transforming ourselves into Food.

The only person who, on the other hand, ruins and destroys himself (Mt 27:5) is the one thoroughly compromised by false spiritual guides.

To internalise and live out the message:

When asked what defines you, do you commit to laying bare the convictions of others and external or imitated goals? Or do you proclaim the freedom to be and become yourself in Christ?

Passion of Love according to Matthew

(Mt 26:14–27:66)

    Jesus introduces into the world a total novelty, a principle of life: unconditional love.

The events narrated in the Passion accounts are fundamentally the same, but each author emphasises the catechetical themes deemed urgent for his community.

The Passion according to Matthew draws on Mark’s account, creating a subtle parallel between the story of Christ and the drama of the righteous one in Psalm 22 (vv. 2, 8–9, 16, 17, 19, 25).

Matthew introduces, in his own original way, only the episodes of Judas’s financial agreement with the chief priests, the death of the traitor himself, and the guarding of the tomb.

A constant theme of the narrative is the reference to the fulfilment of the Scriptures, because the author is writing for communities in Galilee and Syria whose members come from a Jewish background.

In that culture, a great and powerful victorious Messiah was expected: a condemned man hanging on a cross was abhorred as one cursed even by God, as well as a source of contamination (Deut 21:22–23).

The challenge at the foot of the Cross by officials of the Sanhedrin and religious authorities – willing to believe only those who assert themselves – must be understood within this framework of internal catechesis.

‘Save yourself’ is the mantra we too repeat to ourselves when we think of using our qualities to advance and dominate over everyone else. Possibly relying on God, if He approves.

To these doubts, Matthew responds by highlighting a long-dormant strand of ancient Middle Eastern culture and Scripture, which portrayed a humiliated Messiah – our fellow traveller in solidarity through suffering caused by oppression and abandonment.

God’s intervention is not revealed in immediate victory, but in transforming defeat into a source of life, and even death into birth.

Humiliation and silencing become an opportunity for growth towards authentic, indestructible fulfilment and blossoming.

The Gospel passage begins precisely with the venal agreement between Judas and the priests. Betrayal and denial of Christ challenge us regarding our own ambitious and conflicting plans.

Introducing the Last Supper, Matthew immediately turns to address his community – placing the question ‘Is it I?’ on the lips of all those present at the Lord’s Supper.

The evangelist has a strong pastoral concern to make each person recognise their own ‘anti-disciple’ side, dispelling any illusions of immunity. It is a question that each of us would do well to carry within ourselves.

The true apostle is not arrogant or self-assured. He knows his own frailties; he knows he can be mistaken.

‘This is me’ is, in fact, the meaning of the paradoxical sign, the personality and proposal that the Lord leaves us.

In the language of the time, the expressions ‘my body’ and ‘my blood’ indicated the totality of life, teaching and the individual’s word. In short, they were synonymous with ‘myself’.

The juxtaposition that serves as a comparison and contrast between the first episodes is clear and instructive.

In breaking bread (the whole of life) ‘for the multitudes’, Matthew introduces a theme dear to his theology: the universalism of salvation. The chosen people are not the exclusive custodians of redemption.

But the (rather partial) interpretation—common to the Passion narratives of the Synoptics—emerges that Christ’s sacrifice is ‘for sins’ (the term, used in the singular by John, has a different value: theological and existential, comprehensive and far less moral).

The idea of a propitiatory, expiatory and vicarious death for the redemption of humanity was, in fact, typical of the earliest communal interpretations of his story.

This is the reason that led the Synoptics to introduce the events of the Lord’s Passion of love with the so-called institution of the Eucharist.

Moreover, in his account, Matthew multiplies quotations drawn from the First Testament to show Jesus’ earthly defeat as the very expression and culmination of the ancient Scriptures – thereby emphasising their conformity.

Gethsemane reveals the full humanity of Jesus, who goes towards his destruction with a dramatic sense of his destiny, and without even the joy of some understanding.

Beside him were the usual three close companions [namely, the leaders of the early ecclesial communities]: the most distant and stubborn, whom he wished to invite to keep an eye on him, so that they might begin to understand at least something.

First and foremost, the Master recommends prayer to them—that is, attentive listening—so that they might finally assimilate the Father’s will and avoid the temptation to separate themselves from it.

For they were the first to want to excel and return to the ideology of power (and precedence) that still occupied their minds—each dreaming of primacy, and who knows what else.

The evangelist suggests that the true struggle is not with secular powers, which [obviously] defend themselves by any means. To be in agreement with God’s plan for humanity – that is the point.

And we must take this into account in our mission: we must not be caught off guard. To perpetuate itself, the ancient world is capable of anything.

The episode of the arrest, in fact, highlights Christ’s demeanour. He freely proceeds to his death and teaches that the things of God are not defined by violence and the sword.

High priests, official theologians and elders—that is, the influential members of the Jewish aristocracy—feared the new order of things advocated by Jesus.

His dream of a new Temple, a living one alone, would have undermined their positions. The powerful Messiah, on the other hand, would have confirmed their teachings and justified their standard of living.

Jesus, however, asserts his position as the Son of Man. In short, before Caiaphas he reaffirms his distinct stance.

Divine status coincides with the highest expression of common humanity.

A highly dangerous proposition for any institutional mediation structure. After all, every quest for authentic love is free and interpersonal: it loses its lustre with any third party intruding.

The leaders realise this. In the Gospels, the Son of Man – the true and full realisation of the divine plan for humanity – is not hindered by those who frequent places of ill repute, but by the regulars of the sacred precincts.

The growth and humanisation of the people is not opposed by sinners, but precisely by those who are supposed to have the ministry of making the Face of God known to all.

The condemnation for blasphemy follows. It seems obvious that whoever relies on the criteria of such ‘spiritual authorities’ becomes an enemy of life, and thus falls into despair and self-destruction.

However, within the theological framework of Matthew, it is more plausible that the terrible words spoken about Judas serve to emphasise his heavy destiny (according to the Scriptures) to hand over the Redeemer – rather than reading them as a clear-cut judgement of condemnation and damnation.

Certainly, they are another firm warning addressed to the members of the community, so that they may not be deceived by flattery or ways of life that ultimately become utterly unforgivable in themselves.

All creation seems to participate in Christ’s death. ‘The earth shook’: Matthew realises that a new world is being born.

At that time, it was believed that the transition from the age of iniquity to the messianic era would be marked by cosmic events.

It is the irruption of the day of God, which breaks free from the local confines of religion. Now everyone has direct access, thanks to the relationship of Faith.

And every death is no longer a threat to life, but rather strengthens it – even if it takes place amidst external insults.

Instead, Judas’s end is the fate of the disciple who follows the Master for a time, then gives up because he realises that it is not with Him that dreams of glory can be realised.

Judas is the apostle who entrusts his loneliness and torment to the wrong guides – mere profiteers and opportunists. Matthew’s warning to church members: whoever follows his example, alas, has no escape.

All this whilst the deeply religious world continues to proceed with its usual logic, placing its guards to watch over life – which seeks to emerge from the den to which it has been consigned.

The guards watching over the tomb aptly symbolise the world of falsehood’s attempt to silence the righteous, locking them away in a tomb.

It is another reminder from the evangelist: often the powers of evil give the impression that they can secure definitive triumph.

The weak then risk becoming disheartened, regarding (too hastily) hopes for justice as utopian, mere pious dreams.

Meanwhile, Jesus is, in his own way, overcoming evil.

He does not do so through sudden miracles or decisive interventions, but by stripping the forces of death of their power to harm – indeed, by transforming them into an opportunity that prepares and sets in motion further developments.

The result will be such luminous growth and progress that the soldiers stationed to defend and uphold iniquity must flee in terror from a blinding light they cannot bear.

God rolls away every stone that hinders the return to life, and sits upon it (28:2).

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

This evening, in stillness and moved in heart, we have journeyed in prayer along the Way of the Cross. We have gone up Calvary with Jesus and we have meditated on his suffering, rediscovering how deep his love was and is for us. But let us not limit ourselves to a compassion dictated be weak sentiment; rather, we wish to participate in the sufferings of Jesus, we wish to accompany our Master, to share his Passion in our lives, in the life of the Church, for the life of the world, since we know that it is precisely in the Lord’s Cross, in love without limits, that he gives everything of himself, is the source of grace, of liberation, of peace, of salvation.

The texts, the meditations and the prayers of the Way of the Cross have helped us to consider the mystery of the Passion in order to appreciate the great lesson of love which God gave on the Cross, that there might be born in us a renewed desire to change our hearts, living each day that love which is the only force able to change the world.

This evening we have gazed upon Jesus and his countenance marked by pain, derided, outraged and disfigured by the sin of humanity; tomorrow night we will look upon the same countenance full of joy, radiant and luminous. From the moment Jesus goes into the tomb, the tomb and death are no longer a place without hope where history stops in the most complete failure, where man touches the extreme limit of his powerlessness. Good Friday is the greatest day of hope, come to fruition upon the Cross, as Jesus dies, as he draws his last breath, crying out with a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit” (Lk 23:46). Entrusting his “given” existence into the Father’s hands, he knows that his death is becoming the source of life, just as the seed in the earth must be destroyed that a new plant may be born: “If a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (Jn 12:24). Jesus is the grain of wheat that falls to the earth, is split open, is destroyed and dies, and for this very reason is able to bear fruit. From the day on which Christ was raised upon it, the Cross, which had seemed to be a sign of desolation, of abandonment, and of failure, has become a new beginning: from the profundity of death is raised the promise of eternal life. The victorious splendour of the dawning day of Easter already shines upon the Cross.

In the silence of this night, in the silence which envelopes Holy Saturday, touched by the limitless love of God, we live in the hope of the dawn of the third day, the dawn of the victory of God’s love, the luminous daybreak which allows the eyes of our heart to see afresh our life, its difficulties, its suffering. Our failures, our disappointments, our bitterness, which seem to signal that all is lost, are instead illumined by hope. The act of love upon the Cross is confirmed by the Father and the dazzling light of the resurrection enfolds and transforms everything: friendship can be born from betrayal, pardon from denial, love from hate.

Grant us, Lord, to carry our cross with love, and to carry our daily crosses in the certainty that they have been enlightened by the dazzling light of Easter. Amen.

[Pope Benedict, Way of the Cross at the Colosseum 2 April 2010]

1. "Pueri Hebraeorum, portantes ramos olivarum.... The Jewish children went to meet the Lord waving olive branches".

This is the antiphon that we sing in the solemn procession as we carry our branches of olive and palm on this Sunday, called Palm or Passion Sunday. We have relived what took place on that day:  in the midst of the crowd rejoicing around Jesus who entered Jerusalem riding a donkey there were crowds of children. Some Pharisees would have wanted Jesus to have them keep quiet, but he answered that if they would have been silent, even the stones would have cried out (cf. Lk 19,39-40).

Even today, thanks be to God, there is a multitude of young people here in St Peter's Square. The "children of Jerusalem" have become young men and women of every nation, language and culture. Welcome, dear friends! I warmly greet each one of you! Today's gathering directs us toward the coming World Youth Day, that will take place in Toronto, Canada, one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the world. The World Youth Day Cross is already there. Last year on Palm Sunday, Italian young people entrusted it to their Canadian peers.

2. The Cross is the focus of the liturgy today. Dear young people, with your attentive and enthusiastic participation in this solemn celebration, you show that you are not ashamed of the Cross. You do not fear the Cross of Christ. Indeed, you love and venerate it because it is the sign of the Redeemer who died and rose again for us. Those who believe in Jesus, crucified and risen, carry the Cross in triumph as an indisputable proof that God is love. With the total gift of himself on the Cross, our Saviour decisively conquered sin and death. Therefore we joyfully proclaim:  "Glory and praise to you, O Christ who has redeemed the world with your Cross".

3. "Christ became obedient for us even to death, death on the Cross. Therefore God raised him on high and gave him a name above every other name" (Gospel acclamation).
We have used these words of the Apostle Paul, just heard in the Second Reading, as our acclamation before we begin the reading of the Passion. They express our faith:  the faith of the Church.

However, faith in Christ can never be taken for granted. The reading of his Passion sets us before Christ, living in his Church. The Easter Mystery that we will relive during the days of Holy Week is always present. Today we are contemporaries of the Lord and, like the multitude in Jerusalem, like the disciples and the women, we are called to decide if we are to be with him, or flee, or just be spectators at his death.

Every year in Holy Week the curtain rises once again on the great scene in which the definitive drama is decided, not only for one generation, but for all humanity and for each one.

4. The Passion narrative points out the fidelity of Christ, contrasted with human infidelity. In the hour of his trial, while the disciples and even Peter abandon Jesus (cf. Mt 26,56), He remains faithful, willing to pour out his blood to bring to fulfilment the mission the Father has entrusted to him. Beside him is Mary, silent and suffering.

Dear young people! Learn from Jesus and from his and our Mother. The real strength of a man lies in the fidelity of his witness to the truth and in his resisting flattery, threats, misunderstandings, blackmail, even harsh and relentless persecution. This is the path on which our Redeemer calls us to follow him.

Only if you are ready to do this, will you become what Jesus expects of you, that is, "the salt of the earth" and "the light of the world" (Mt 5,13-14). As you know, this is the theme for the coming World Youth Day. The image of salt "reminds us that, through Baptism, our whole being has been profoundly changed, because it has been "seasoned' with the new life which comes from Christ (cf. Rom 6,4)" (Message for the 17th World Youth Day, n. 2).

Dear young people, do not lose your flavour as Christians, the flavour of the Gospel! Keep it alive by meditating constantly on the Easter Mystery:  may the Cross be your school of wisdom. Boast of nothing else save this sublime throne of truth and love.

5. The liturgy invites us to climb towards Jerusalem with Jesus, hailed by the young Jews. In a little while he "will have to suffer and on the third day rise from the dead" (Lk 24,46). St Paul has reminded us that Jesus "emptied himself, taking the form of a servant" (Phil 2,7) to obtain for us the grace of divine sonship. From him springs the true spring of peace and joy for each one of us! Here is the secret of the Easter joy that is born from the hardship of the Passion.

I hope that each one of you will share in this joy, dear young friends. The One you have chosen as Teacher is not a merchant of deceptions, not a powerful one of this world, not a ready and skilled debater. You know who it is you have chosen to follow: the Crucified is risen! The Crucified is risen! Christ died for you, Christ rose for you.

The Church assures you that you will not be disillusioned. Indeed, no one else other than he can give you that love, peace, and eternal life for which your heart so deeply yearns. Blessed are you young people if you will be faithful disciples of Christ! Blessed are you who are ready to witness on every occasion that this man is truly the Son of God (cf. Mt 27,39).

May Mary, Mother of the incarnate Word guide and go with you, ready to intercede for everyone who comes into the world.

[Pope John Paul II, Palm Sunday homily 24 March 2002]

Joyful acclamations at Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem, followed by his humiliation. Festive cries followed by brutal torture. This twofold mystery accompanies our entrance into Holy Week each year, as reflected in the two characteristic moments of today’s celebration: the initial procession with palm branches and the solemn reading of the Passion.

Let us enter into this movement, guided by the Holy Spirit, and thus obtain the grace we sought in our opening prayer: to follow in faith our Saviour’s example of humility, to heed his lesson of patient suffering, and thus to merit a share in his victory over the spirit of evil.

Jesus shows us how to face moments of difficulty and the most insidious of temptations by preserving in our hearts a peace that is neither detachment nor superhuman impassivity, but confident abandonment to the Father and to his saving will, which bestows life and mercy. He shows us this kind of abandonment by spurning, at every point in his earthly ministry, the temptation to do things his way and not in complete obedience to the Father. From the experience of his forty days in the desert to the culmination of his Passion, Jesus rejects this temptation by his obedient trust in the Father.

Today, too, by his entrance into Jerusalem, he shows us the way. For in that event, the evil one, the prince of this world, had a card up his sleeve: the card of triumphalism. Yet the Lord responded by holding fast to his own way, the way of humility.

Triumphalism tries to make it to the goal by shortcuts and false compromises. It wants to jump onto the carriage of the winner. It lives off gestures and words that are not forged in the crucible of the cross; it grows by looking askance at others and constantly judging them inferior, wanting, failures... One subtle form of triumphalism is spiritual worldliness, which represents the greatest danger, the most treacherous temptation threatening the Church (De Lubac). Jesus destroyed triumphalism by his Passion.

The Lord truly rejoiced with the people, with those young people who shouted out his name and acclaimed him as King and Messiah. His heart was gladdened to see the enthusiasm and excitement of the poor of Israel. So much so, that, to those Pharisees who asked him to rebuke his disciples for their scandalous acclamations, he replied: “If these were silent, the very stones would cry out” (Lk 19:40). Humility does not mean denying reality: Jesus really is the Messiah, the King.

Yet at the same time the heart of Jesus was moving on another track, on the sacred path known to him and the Father alone: the path that leads from “the form of God” to “the form of a servant”, the path of self-abasement born of obedience “unto death, even death on a cross” (Phil 2:6-8). He knows that true triumph involves making room for God and that the only way to do that is by stripping oneself, by self-emptying. To remain silent, to pray, to accept humiliation. There is no negotiating with the cross: one either embraces it or rejects it. By his self-abasement, Jesus wanted to open up to us the path of faith and to precede us on that path.

The first to follow him on that path was his mother, Mary, the first disciple. The Blessed Virgin and the saints had to suffer in walking the path of faith and obedience to God’s will. Responding with faith to the harsh and painful events of life entails “a particular heaviness of heart (cf. Redemptoris Mater, 17). The night of faith. Yet only from that night do we see the dawn of the resurrection break forth. At the foot of the cross, Mary thought once more of the words that the angel had spoken about her Son: “He will be great… The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end” (Lk 1:32-33). On Golgotha, Mary faced the complete denial of that promise: her Son was dying on a cross like a criminal. In this way, triumphalism, destroyed by the abasement of Jesus, was likewise destroyed in the heart of his Mother. Both kept silent.

In the footsteps of Mary, countless holy men and women have followed Jesus on the path of humility and obedience. Today, World Youth Day, I would like to mention all those young saints, especially the saints “next door” to us, known only to God; sometimes he likes to surprise us with them. Dear young people, do not be ashamed to show your enthusiasm for Jesus, to shout out that he is alive and that he is your life. Yet at the same time, do not be afraid to follow him on the way of the cross. When you hear that he is asking you to renounce yourselves, to let yourselves be stripped of every security, and to entrust yourselves completely to our Father in heaven, then rejoice and exult! You are on the path of the kingdom of God.

Festive acclamations and brutal torture; the silence of Jesus throughout his Passion is profoundly impressive. He also overcomes the temptation to answer back, to act like a “superstar”. In moments of darkness and great tribulation, we need to keep silent, to find the courage not to speak, as long as our silence is meek and not full of anger. The meekness of silence will make us appear even weaker, more humble. Then the devil will take courage and come out into the open. We need to resist him in silence, “holding our position”, but with the same attitude as Jesus. He knows that the battle is between God and the prince of this world, and that what is important is not putting our hand to the sword but remaining firm in faith. It is God’s hour. At the hour that God comes forth to fight, we have to let him take over. Our place of safety will be beneath the mantle of the holy Mother of God. As we wait for the Lord to come and calm the storm (cf. Mt 4:37-41), by our silent witness in prayer we give ourselves and others “an accounting for the hope that is within [us]” (1 Pet 3:15). This will help us to live in the sacred tension between the memory of the promises made, the suffering present in the cross, and the hope of the resurrection.

[Pope Francis, Palm Sunday homily, XXXIV WYD 14 April 2019]

(Jn 11:45-56)

Christ is all that the Jewish feasts had promised and proclaimed.

They deciphered authoritatively, but unconsciously [vv.47-52 take pleasure in double entendre words].

In fact, the high priest spoke in the name of God: he interpreted the situation in a divinely inspired way.

In Christ the people was setting out to fulfill the promise made to Abraham: the era of the dispersion of women and men was ending.

The Cross would have fulfilled the vocation of the Temple: recomposition of the people and unity of the human being from the arid and distant land, in sharing and gratuitousness.

But what could were being the starting point (energetic) also for Jesus, not to withdraw into the limits of his own environment down to the details, and activate a path of rebirth?

The community of Bethany [«house of the poor»] is an image of the first realities of Faith, destitute and composed only of brothers and sisters.

Person-friendly. Where people “looked” at each other, and those bonds that prevented them from going beyond the already known could be dissolved.

Nest of healthy relationships, which was also able to make sense of wounds.

«House of the poor» is the only place where Jesus was at ease, that is, the only reality in which we can still recognize Him alive and present ‘in the midst’ - available, equidistant. Source of life for the modest and needy.

In the passage from the Gospel, the comparison with the vulgar cunning of the authorities and the out-of-scale dimension of the places and festivals is strident.

As if there no sap flowed between the Holiness of God and the real life of the discharged people.

Although the Master did good - as in all regimes, there was no shortage of delators (v.46).

On the other hand, a large part of the inhabitants of Jerusalem found their material sustenance in the induced of the Temple activities.

Top ones in the class could never have been persuaded to follow a stranger who intended to supplant the official institution and privileged positions, with an unadorned utopia.

The throne of the princes of the fraternal House was conversely without ‘cushions’, and the community co-ordinator a woman: Martha [«lady»]. Leader in reverse, servant.

In such guise, Bethany gave hints of new life, because of its very composition, and intimate spirit.

Hearth free of standards and roles of primacy.

Reality devoid of struggles, defences, positions, vested interests: all tensions to 'fix' things which still mark us downwards, towards sloppiness.

Under Domitian these small alternative realities - caring for the small and distant - had to live like Jesus: clandestine.

They paid for unity, with the cross. But they renewed the life of the empire.

[Saturday 5th wk. in Lent, March 28, 2026]

"I have other sheep that are not of this fold; I must bring them also, and they will heed my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd" (Jn 10: 16).

John repeated the same thing after the Sanhedrin had decided to kill Jesus, when Caiaphas said that it would be better for the people that one man die for them rather than the entire nation perish. John recognized these words of Caiaphas as prophetic, adding:  "Jesus should die for the nation, and not for the nation only, but to gather into one the children of God who are scattered abroad" (11: 52).

The relationship between the Cross and unity is revealed:  the Cross is the price of unity. Above all, however, it is the universal horizon of Jesus' action that emerges.

If, in his prophecy about the shepherd, Ezekiel was aiming to restore unity among the dispersed tribes of Israel (cf. Ez 34: 22-24), here it is a question not only of the unification of a dispersed Israel but of the unification of all the children of God, of humanity - of the Church of Jews and of pagans.

Jesus' mission concerns all humanity. Therefore, the Church is given responsibility for all humanity, so that it may recognize God, the God who for all of us was made man in Jesus Christ, suffered, died and was raised.

The Church must never be satisfied with the ranks of those whom she has reached at a certain point or say that others are fine as they are:  Muslims, Hindus and so forth. The Church can never retreat comfortably to within the limits of her own environment. She is charged with universal solicitude; she must be concerned with and for one and all.

[Pope Benedict, homily 7 May 2006]

1. We profess our faith in the central truth of the messianic mission of Jesus Christ: he is the redeemer of the world through his death on the cross. We profess it in the words of the Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed, according to which Jesus 'was crucified for us under Pontius Pilate, died and was buried'. In professing this faith, we also commemorate Christ's death as a historical event, which, like his life, is known to us from reliable and authoritative historical sources. Based on these same sources we can and will also know and understand the historical circumstances of that death, which we believe was "the price" of man's redemption for all time.

2. And first of all: how did the death of Jesus of Nazareth come about? How do we explain the fact that he was put to death by the representatives of his nation, who handed him over to the Roman 'procurator', whose name, transmitted from the Gospels, also appears in the Symbols of Faith? For now, let us try to gather the circumstances, which 'humanly' explain the death of Jesus. The evangelist Mark, describing Jesus' trial before Pontius Pilate, notes that he had been 'delivered up for envy' and that Pilate was aware of this fact: 'He knew . . . that the high priests had delivered him up for envy' (Mk 15:10). Let us ask ourselves: why this envy? We can find its roots in resentment not only for what Jesus taught, but for the way he did it. If, according to Mark, he taught "as one having authority, and not as the scribes" (Mk 1:22), this circumstance must have shown him in the eyes of the latter as a "threat" to their own prestige.

3. In fact, we know that already the beginning of Jesus' teaching in his hometown leads to conflict. The thirty-year-old Nazarene, in fact, when speaking in the synagogue, points to himself as the one on whom the announcement of the Messiah, pronounced by Isaiah, is fulfilled. This provokes astonishment and later indignation in the hearers, so that they want to throw him down from the mountain 'on which their city was situated' . . . "but he passed by among them and went away" (Lk 4:29-30).

4. This incident is only the beginning: it is the first sign of subsequent hostilities. Let us recall the main ones. When Jesus makes it clear that he has the power to forgive sins, the scribes see this as blasphemy, because only God has such power (cf. Mk 2:6). When he performs the miracles on the Sabbath, asserting that "the Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath" (Mt 12:8), the reaction is similar to the previous one. And it is already then that the intention to kill Jesus transpires (cf. Mk 3:6): "They sought . . . to kill him: because he not only violated the Sabbath, but called God his Father, making himself equal with God" (Jn 5:18). What else could the words "Verily, verily, I say unto you, before Abraham was I Am" mean? (Jn 8:58). The listeners knew what that designation meant: "I Am". So again Jesus runs the risk of stoning. This time, however, he ". . . he hid himself and went out of the temple" (Jn 8:59).

5. The event that ultimately precipitated the situation and led to the decision to let Jesus die was the resurrection of Lazarus in Bethany. The Gospel of John lets us know that at the next meeting of the Sanhedrin it was noted: 'This man performs many signs. If we let him do this, everyone will believe in him and the Romans will come and destroy our holy place and our nation". Faced with these predictions and fears Caiaphas, the high priest, pronounced this sentence: 'Better that one man should die for the people and not the whole nation perish' (Jn 11:47-50). The evangelist adds: 'This, however, he did not say for himself, but being high priest he prophesied that Jesus should die for the nation, and not for the nation only, but also to gather together the children of God who were scattered'. And he concludes: "From that day therefore they decided to kill him" (John 11: 51-53).

John lets us know in this way a twofold aspect of Caiaphas' stance. From a human point of view, which more accurately could be said to be opportunistic, it was an attempt to justify the decision to eliminate a man deemed politically dangerous, without worrying about his innocence. From a higher point of view, made his own and noted by the evangelist, Caiaphas' words, regardless of his intentions, had an authentically prophetic content, concerning the mystery of Christ's death according to God's saving plan.

6. Here we consider the human unfolding of events. At that meeting of the Sanhedrin, the decision was made to kill Jesus of Nazareth. They took advantage of his presence in Jerusalem during the Passover festivities.Judas, one of the twelve, betrayed Jesus for thirty silver coins, pointing to the place where he could be arrested. Once taken, Jesus was brought before the sanhedrin. To the high priest's essential question: "I beseech thee by the living God, that he may tell us whether thou art the Christ, the Son of God", Jesus gave the great answer: "Thou hast said it" (Matt 26:63-64; cf. Mk 14:62; Lk 22:70). In this declaration the Sanhedrin saw blatant blasphemy, and ruled that Jesus was "guilty of death!" (Mk 14:64).

7. However, the sanhedrin could not carry out the sentence without the consent of the Roman procurator. And Pilate is personally convinced that Jesus is innocent, and he makes this clear several times. After uncertainly resisting the pressure of the Sanhedrin, he finally relents for fear of risking Caesar's disapproval, all the more so since the crowd, stirred up by the proponents of Jesus' elimination, now also demands his crucifixion. "Crucifige eum!" And so Jesus is condemned to death by crucifixion.

8. Historically responsible for this death are the men indicated in the Gospels, at least in part, by name. Jesus himself declares this when he says to Pilate during the trial: "He who delivered me into your hands has a greater guilt" (John 19:11). And in another passage; "The Son of Man goes, as it is written of him, but woe to that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! Better for that man if he had never been born!" (Mk 14:21; Mt 26:24; Lk 22:22). Jesus alludes to the various people who, in different ways, will be the architects of his death: to Judas, to the representatives of the Sanhedrin, to Pilate, to others . . . Even Simon Peter, in his speech after Pentecost, disputes the killing of Jesus to the leaders of the Sanhedrin: "You nailed him to the cross by the hands of ungodly men and killed him" (Acts 2:23).

9. However, one cannot extend this imputation beyond the circle of the truly responsible persons. We read in a document of the Second Vatican Council: 'If Jewish authorities with their followers worked for the death of Christ, nevertheless what was committed during his passion cannot be imputed either indiscriminately to all the Jews then living, or (even less) to the Jews of our time' (Nostra Aetate, 4).

When it comes to assessing the responsibility of consciences, we cannot forget Christ's words on the cross: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do" (Lk 23:34). We find an echo of those words in another speech by Peter after Pentecost: "Now, brothers, I know that you acted in ignorance, as did your leaders" (Acts 3:17). What a sense of reserve before the mystery of the human conscience, even in the case of the greatest crime committed in history, the killing of Christ!

10. Following the example of Jesus and Peter, even though it is difficult to deny the responsibility of those men who deliberately caused Christ's death, we too will look at things in the light of God's eternal plan, which required his beloved Son to offer himself as a victim for the sins of all men. In this higher perspective we realise that we are all, by reason of our sins, responsible for Christ's death on the cross: all, insofar as through sin we have contributed to Christ dying for us as a victim of atonement. Jesus' words can also be understood in this sense: "The Son of Man is about to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill him, but on the third day he will rise" (Matthew 17: 22).

11. The cross of Christ is thus for all a realistic reminder of the fact expressed by the Apostle John in the words: "The blood of Jesus, his Son, cleanses us from all sin. If we say that we are without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us" (1 John 1: 7-8). The cross of Christ does not cease to be for each of us this merciful and at the same time severe call to acknowledge and confess our guilt. It is a call to live in truth.

[Pope John Paul II, General Audience 28 September 1988]