Paulist Fr. Rich Andre preached this homily for Palm Sunday (Year A) on March 29, 2026 at Old St. Mary’s Catholic Church in Chicago, IL. The homily is based on the day’s readings: Matthew 21:1-11; Isaiah 50:4-7; Psalm 22; Philippians 2:6-11; and Matthew 26:14 – 27:66.

[Outdoors, after the proclamation of Matthew 21:1-11:]

Did you notice that Matthew says Jesus rode into Jerusalem on both a donkey and a colt? It’s strange, but we believe Matthew is explicitly showing Jesus fulfilling a prophecy of Zechariah. Even though Zechariah probably wasn’t talking about two different animals, he used the Hebrew poetic device of using synonyms to describe the same idea twice.

When a king rode into a city on a donkey or a young colt instead of a horse, it indicated that he was coming in peace, not in an act of aggression. The people surely recognized that symbol, especially considering that King Herod probably rode into Jerusalem for the Passover celebrations on a horse, accompanied by an armed battalion that very same day. The people’s acclamations echo other Bible stories of kings entering Jerusalem. In particular, the Jews had used palms 200 years earlier to show homage to Judas Maccabeus (2 Maccabees 10:7) after he led the people to victory over their Greek oppressors.

We have no kings but Christ, our Prince of Peace. 

Dear brothers and sisters, like the crowds who acclaimed Jesus in Jerusalem, let us begin this celebration in peace.

[After blessing the palms, singing Hosanna, and processing into the church, but before the collect:]

Now the mood of our Mass changes drastically.

As Zechariah prophesied, “Your king is coming to you; a just savior is he / Humble, and riding on a donkey, on a colt.” For the rest of this Mass, we journey with Jesus as he became our king through meekness, humility, and submission.  

[After proclamation of the Passion (Matthew 26:14 – 27:66):]

Matthew’s account of the Passion varies from those of Mark, Luke, and John in seemingly minor ways. Almost all the distinctive details are about other people, not Jesus. Judas dies by suicide. Pilate washes his hands. Pilate’s wife has a dream. An earthquake occurs, the saints enter Jerusalem, and soldiers guard the tomb. If we concentrate on these details, will we miss the forest for a few trees?

There is also a danger of equating the crowds of Palm Sunday with the people of Good Friday. We don’t know how large the crowds were accompanying Judas, demanding the release of Barrabas, or mocking Jesus at Golgotha. But surely they were not as large as the crowds on Palm Sunday, and they surely are not a representative cross-section of all Jews. The characters in the Passion include both Jewish and non-Jewish people: people who knew Jesus well and those who didn’t know him at all. Friends and strangers alike rejected him. Friends and strangers alike accompanied him and unsuccessfully interceded on his behalf.

The question that hangs in the air during Holy Week is about the nature of suffering. It is always hard to transition from the joy and triumph at the beginning of Palm Sunday to the evil and seeming defeat of the Passion. How could Jesus’ closest disciples betray and abandon him? Why did Jesus endure such abuse, torture, rejection, and death? How could this be part of God’s plan? We may gain insights into the Paschal Mystery from time to time in our lives, but we will never fully comprehend the mystery in this lifetime. 

The Passion definitively proves that God is not remote. God understands the human condition. Jesus Christ emptied himself of godliness. He experienced the full range of human emotions. He suffered and died in the complexities of social sin, a system that seemed difficult for any one individual to stop.  

The crises rocking our world also seem to be beyond our control. Our warming planet has increasing cases of droughts, wildfires, and food instability. Inflation, high debt, and skyrocketing energy prices are exacerbating the situation for everyone who lives in poverty. Tens of millions of people are being forced to flee their home nations, even as governments around the world are treating incoming refugees with cruelty. These disasters are also caused by the complexities of social sin. Like the circumstances of Jesus’ passion, these social sins may seem to be beyond our control to change… but are they?

The most distinctive element of Matthew’s account is not found in the passion itself. Matthew is the teaching gospel, structured around five teaching discourses. After each of the first four discourses, Jesus puts his teachings into action. But the fifth and final discourse occurs in the days immediately before the Last Supper, after Palm Sunday. Perhaps Matthew is indicating that it is up to others to put Jesus’ teachings of this final discourse into action. In each of the last three lessons of Jesus’ final discourse, the characters who take action are rewarded. On the contrary, the maidens who did not bring oil, the servant who buried his talent in the ground, and those who did not feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, visit the sick, or ransom the imprisoned are denied entrance into the banquet.

Our actions make a difference, even if we cannot see the effects of the difference. When do we actively contribute to evil, like Judas? When do we try to actively intercede to change the course of events, like Pilate’s wife? When are we called to quietly accompany those who suffer, like Mary Magdalene? But perhaps the most damning question of all: when have we washed our hands of our power to change the course of events, like Pontius Pilate?

Our actions – no matter how small – make a difference in how the kingdom of God breaks into the world. As Jesus teaches about the Last Judgment, whatever we do for another human being — whether consciously or unconsciously — we do it for Christ. 

At the Stations of the Cross on Friday evening, hosted by the Music and Young Adult Ministries, we all recited the following after the eighth station:

Father, do not let me find consolation in sensible devotion 
to the person of Jesus Christ, 
while Jesus Christ passes me by unrecognized, unknown, unsought, uncomforted on the way of the cross we travel together. 

Do not let my heart be moved by pity for the shining Christ on the crucifix 
while it remains a stone, hard, insensitive
to Christ suffering alone in the ugliness of shame and disgrace; 
to those who are outcast, shunned, forgotten; 
to Christ in mental patients hidden away in hospitals,
in hostages wrestling with bitterness and despair; 
in those fighting a losing fight with human weakness and degradation; 
in those who are unhelped, uncomforted, unloved.

(prayer by Caryll Houselander, 1901-1954)

Let us remain compassionate to the sufferings of our sisters and brothers, and let us stay awake for the coming of Christ. We know neither the day nor the hour.