A Palm Sunday Reflection from the Church of Our Lady of the Rosary, Doha

Happy Palm Sunday!

Now that we are in touch with each other, all through the day, and that every day carries some significance, people have started greeting each other, almost on every other pretext or occasion. Latest in the line for the traditional Mar Thoma Christians — 1) Kozhukotta (rice flour dumpling with stuffing of grated coconut with jaggery) Saturday/feast — this is thought to be reminder of the attempt of Jews to throw stones at Jesus, just about the glorious entry into Jerusalem. The sweet dumplings being symbolic of the stones!! 2) Palm Sunday.

So now, I could expect similar greetings through this week — with Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday. Is there anything wrong in that? Oh nothing. But it is all new. That’s just my observation. Some 30 years ago, as I was a student of a rural college of Najibabad (though Najibabad was a township, so to say, the college could best be described as a rural college), one of my class mates sent me a greeting card, greeting me ‘Happy Good Friday’. I was the lone Christian student of the college, and Good Friday happened to be a national public holiday. I didn’t find anything amiss in the greeting, rather found it right and fitting. It is a fitting day for the Christians to be happy, though the day is dedicated to the severest penance by the Christians.

Leading a life, away from the churchy circles, and away from being the celebrant and cynosure of the ceremonies, I feel somewhat unattached. Yet I did go to the church, just about 10 kilometers from my hotel. There are about 10 priests serving various catholic communities there, and on Sundays and Fridays, during the English masses, somebody would be there in the confessional to hear the confessions. I too joined the queue, which had just begun to be formed, and humbled myself before the Lord, confessing my commissions and omissions, and receiving absolution. Then, it was followed by the solemn mass. The massive church, with a capacity to seat around 3000 was full, and spilling over. The balcony was also full.

Outside, though it is now past spring, almost summer, the wind was indeed strong, and cold. In this kind of a weather, Peter and his friends would naturally have required a fire to warm themselves while waiting for the judgement awaiting Jesus.

Though I am not unfamiliar with Latin rite Holy Week celebrations, this time it appeared all new to me. The celebrant (Fr. Elie, visitor from Australia, standing tall at about 6'6'’, visible to all in the packed Church from anywhere) in red vestment, initiated the prayers at the entrance of the Church. The palm fronds, green in colour, had been placed outside the entrance(s), and people had to pick them up before entering the Church. I didn’t. But as the priest began the prayers, someone charitably passed 2 pieces to me, and I didn’t want to reject his gesture of goodness. The gospel passage on Jesus’ glorious entry into Jerusalem was read out from Mathew. Then as the priest prayed, the people lifted up the palm leaves and shook them up indicating welcome and joy. The celebrant, with the support of some around 15 to 20 eucharistic ministers went around the church, sprinkling holy water, thus blessing the palm leaves and the people.

As soon as the celebrant and his retinue of ministers ascended the elevated sanctuary, the edited version of the passion narrative was held, with some of the narrators, reading out with some theatrical punch. Then there was the usual sermon and the mass. The holy communion, held in a very orderly fashion, under the guidance of several usherers, even with the help of the 20 odd eucharistic ministers, took almost 15 minutes.

I am still grappling with the mystery of Jesus’ glorious entry — with all its enigmatic puzzles. The mysterious and symbolic choice of the ass and the colt for the ride, the meticulous plan (divine or managerial?) with which they were organized, the spontaneous flow of emotional support for a very popular leader, the children spontaneously repeating the chorus of the exuberant crowd, the unexpected and daring outburst of Jesus with the trading in the temple in connection with the festivities, and the punchline — ‘house of prayer for all peoples being made a den of robbers’ (Is 56:7 & Lk 19:46), and the scripture based rebutting of the blame regarding children’s innocent and joyful praise: ‘out of the mouths of the babes, thou has produced perfect praise’ (Ps 8:2; Mtt 21:6).

As we enter into the holy week, I meditate on the charming, bold, witty, reflective, insightful, imaginative, well-read, radical Jesus. And hope and pray that he will transform my frail and failing frame into his house, a house of prayer for all nations, and he will elicit the right and uncontaminated praise from my lips! Help me O Lord!

And my Lord, this is my prayer to thee:

“Strike, strike at the root of penury in my heart.

Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows.

Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service.

Give me the strength never to disown the poor or bend my knees before insolent might.

Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles.

And give me the strength to surrender my strength to thy will with love.” (Gitanjali 36)