I’ve always liked Palm Sunday, and since the bare-bones Low Mass that we found at St. Michael’s this morning left me feeling sad and disappointed, I thought I might console myself by reflecting a little on the day’s significance for Christians.

Palm Sunday is an odd feast. It is the only feast day I can think of that is, in a sense, a mockery of itself. It begins (ideally, though at St. Michael’s 10:30 Mass the “palm” aspect of the day was more or less ignored) with a happy procession outside in brilliant sunlight (also missing this morning, though I don’t suppose anyone can be blamed for the rain.) We carry festive branches and sing joyous hymns of praise. “Hosanna! Hosanna!”

Palm Sunday has none of the deep, rich joy of Easter. Even if we didn’t know already that there are dark days soon to come, the mood isn’t the same. One is reminded that, according to Holy Scripture, it was the Hebrew children who went before the Anointed One waving their palms. Although adults participate, there is something youthful about the march. The “hosannas” have something of the tone of a “hooray!” Though we don’t build floats or hire jugglers, there is a touch of the city parade in the Palm Sunday procession. I don’t exactly mean that in a sacrilegious way (though it may be relevant to note that grave sacrilege was soon to follow) but I do think that the attitude of Palm Sunday should be less one of mature, grateful joy and more one of spontaneous, childlike delight.

And then it abruptly ends. In some parts of the world (and I don’t believe this innovation came only with Vatican II, though I haven’t really researched it) it was the custom to have the people participate in the Gospel reading on Palm Sunday. This wasn’t the full-fledged pageant that you sometimes see in Novus parishes. The people had just one line. Crucify him! Crucify him!

Even without inviting the people to shout, I think it’s appropriate for them to identify to some degree with the sentiment. As quixotic as it may seem, we go in a matter of minutes from singing delighted praises to demanding an ignoble death, all for the same person. And yes, it is unrealistic. In the real story it took all of a few days.

They certainly were fickle, those Israelites, and never more so than in the week of Jesus’ death, when we may assume that some of the same people who sent their children to greet Jesus with palms and songs, gathered together again to demand in no uncertain terms that he be tortured and killed. What went wrong? St. Matthew tells us that the Jews welcomed Jesus as the “Son of David.” St. Mark reports that they hailed, “the coming Kingdom of our father David.” It’s surely no accident that David was on their minds. David, who established a prosperous and autonomous kingdom in Jerusalem. David, who taught the surrounding kingdoms to fear him. Since the time of David the Jews had been exiled, dominated and persecuted by one foreign power after another, and they were longing for a change. They wanted another David and they thought Jesus was their man.

He was, of course, but not that way. You can imagine their disgruntlement when he showed no interest in bothering the Romans, and focused instead on ousting the vendors from the temple, criticizing the Jewish religious leaders, and making grandiose claims about his divine calling. I think we have to imagine that, by Good Friday, the Jews were feeling disappointed and duped. Add to that the anger that always haunts the guilty when they’ve been exposed, and it may not be so strange that the people were willing to accept the release of a dangerous robber if it meant a traitor’s death for Jesus.

Return again to our own position as Catholics, participating in the Palm Sunday processions of our local parishes. Of course we’re not filled with excitement in anticipation of coming military victories. But we might be filled with the kind of natural pleasure that can come from sun and crowds, songs and waving branches. There is a kind of love in it, but it’s not the deepest kind. It’s the love of the enthusiast, and not a love of longsuffering gratitude. In that way, our love may be akin to that of the singing Hebrew children. And it can evaporate as quickly as theirs did.

Whether or not we feel this way on Palm Sunday, surely we do have times like this? There are days when praises bubble effortlessly from us with a happy eagerness. It often happens to me on bright mornings, or when I’m enjoying a particularly lovely walk in nature, or when I’m delighted by a lovely sound or taste or smell. This is Palm Sunday praise, and however good it may seem at the time, the progression of the Mass reminds us that it is also fleeting. It’s one of the tragedies of our fallen nature that even those parts of us that seem most good and wholesome are underlined with a deep hypocrisy. The humble pleasure of a sunny morning fades into the irritable griping of a contentious afternoon. We praise Jesus today as our triumphant King, but tomorrow we may be grumbling inwardly against him, pushing him hastily from our minds, or even screaming for his execution. And if we think about the matter honestly, we know that this betrayal is more than possible; it is highly likely, and has happened countless times. Treachery has taken root in our souls, and no amount of effervescent delight in God’s loveliness can cleanse our souls of this vile deformity. Only Christ’s blood can do that.

What should we do? Would it be better to remain silent until our cry, ”Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!, is free of all hypocrisy? Our human instinct suggests that it might be better, but Jesus himself tells us otherwise. Consider this verse from the signature hymn of today’s feast.

To Thee before Thy passion
They sang their hymns of praise.
To Thee, most high exalted
Our melody we raise.

Thou didst accept their praises.
Accept the love we bring,
Who in all good delightest
Our great and gracious King!

Jesus accepted the praises of the Jews, even knowing that they were mistaken in their expectations, and that they would turn against him in hatred by the end of that very week. Even such imperfect praise as this was apparently pleasing to him: “If these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out.”

Christians like to talk about being “an Easter people” and we should certainly aspire to be worthy of such a title. But sometimes I think that here in via, we are more realistically a Palm Sunday people. Unlike the Jews, we know what Christ has done for us, but we are not able to properly appreciate it. Our praise is always radically incomplete. Our attempts to love and to worship are pocked with minor betrayals, or sometimes with major ones. And as on Palm Sunday, we know in our souls that our cleansing will involve more darkness and pain on the road ahead. Insofar as Palm Sunday is a mock-feast, it is we who are being mocked.

But at the same time, insofar as we are a Palm Sunday people, we should not deny ourselves those opportunities to praise God, with gladness and delight and something of the enthusiasm of children. It may be the praise of hypocrites, but somebody’s got to sing the Master’s praises, and we wouldn’t want to leave it to the stones. And so, in the last hours of this Palm Sunday, I will add my voice to the rest.

Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!